The village was a husk of its former self. Smoke curled from the skeletons of burnt huts, their blackened frames creaking faintly in the cold morning breeze. Splintered carts lay shattered along the dirt path, broken like forgotten toys. Bits of clay pottery crunched underfoot, and the ground was a patchwork of soot, ash, and dried blood. Lifeless bodies were scattered everywhere, some unrecognizable, others left in twisted poses of terror and pain.
In the heart of the devastation, two girls huddled close together. Lyra, her face smudged with grime and blood, crouched protectively over Miya. One of Miya's arms was a mess of blackened flesh and blisters, and a thin stream of blood ran from her temple into her hair. Lyra's torn cloak barely hung off her shoulders, yet she kept one hand gripping Miya's tightly, shielding her with her own trembling body.
Across from them, standing on opposite ends of the square, two figures eyed each other with growing tension.
Prince Cael—clad in royal garb tarnished with dust—stood upright, posture regal, but his eyes betrayed a mixture of disdain and restrained fury. Sir Rion, by contrast, was loose and relaxed, like a man watching a dull play, hands in his coat pockets, boots tapping against broken cobblestone.
Rion's voice broke the silence, laced with amusement. "So, tell me, Your Royal Pompousness—what exactly do you want with the girls?"
The prince's lips tightened. "You're not in a position to question a royal, Sir Rion."
Rion chuckled and took a slow, deliberate step forward. "Oh, I think I am. You see, these two? They fall under the Magic Council's jurisdiction now. So, maybe it's you who should back off."
"They're mine by right," Cael shot back, stepping forward to close the distance.
Rion grinned, another step. "By right? Since when do you care about that? Last time I checked, you were too busy hiding behind your golden curtains while the world burned."
Cael's eye twitched, but his stance didn't budge. "Watch your tongue."
"What, scared someone might finally tell you the truth?" Rion leaned closer, their noses nearly touching. "Or maybe you're still sore from the last time we sparred? You know, when I knocked you so hard you needed a month of bedrest and a royal nurse to spoon-feed you grapes."
The prince's jaw clenched.
Rion gave a mock bow. "Your Highness. Still not fun at parties, I hear. Don't worry—your seat at mine's always open. Though I hear you avoid those like the plague. What is it? Too many women? Too much laughter? Must be awful for a guy like you."
Before Cael could respond, a high-pitched scream shattered the moment.
"Riiioooonnnnn!"
A blur shot across the battlefield. In the blink of an eye, a figure launched herself onto Rion's back, arms locking around his chest in a vice-grip hug.
"Gods above!" Rion staggered with a laugh. "That voice—Luna?"
The girl clinging to him was short and clad in navy-blue armor with silver and gold trim, the insignia of the Royal Knights of Zarion emblazoned on her chest. A gleaming letter B was stitched below the symbol. From behind her fluttered a small white fur tail, and one long rabbit-like ear twitched erratically.
"How long has it been? Four years?" Luna cried, tightening her grip.
Rion grinned, adjusting her weight. "Four years, damn! You've grown like a woman should. You planning on coming to one of my parties finally, or still playing innocent?"
Luna shoved him hard in the chest, face twisted in mock horror. "Your parties? Gross! Filthy dens of sleaze and sin. Keep your invites. I'd rather sleep in a pigsty."
Rion laughed heartily. "Same thing, really."
Suddenly, Luna's expression shifted. Her back straightened, and her grip on Rion loosened. With a graceful pivot, she turned toward Cael and bowed stiffly.
"Your Highness," she said, tone crisp and formal.
Prince Cael returned the gesture with a subtle nod, surprise flickering in his otherwise icy eyes.
"Rion, bow," Luna commanded sharply.
Rion crossed his arms. "Bow? To the guy I clobbered? What next, you want me to shine his boots?"
Luna's eyes widened, shocked. "Rion!"
"I mean," Rion shrugged, turning to the prince, "you remember, don't you? That fight? Knocked you flat. Heard you were crying in your sleep. I almost sent flowers."
Luna, red-faced and stifling a laugh, slapped her hand over Rion's mouth. "He doesn't mean it, Your Highness."
Prince Cael said nothing. His eyes narrowed briefly, but he didn't respond.
The awkwardness broke when Luna glanced around the ruined village, her nose wrinkling.
"Ugh, this place is awful. What happened here?"
As she stepped back, her foot caught a beam. With a yelp, she stumbled backward. Rion reacted instantly, catching her by the ear and pulling her upright.
"Focus, Luna. Not the time to play bunny-hop."
"Ow! My ear!" she winced, straightening. Her playful grin returned.
A fresh breeze swept through the ruins, carrying the sound of heavy boots. A line of armored knights emerged from the northern path—silent, uniform, their black and silver armor concealing their faces entirely.
At their head strode Arkan, a high-ranking member of the Magic Council. His cloak billowed behind him as he surveyed the scene.
"Search every home. Look for survivors. Gather evidence," he commanded. His voice was cold, calculated.
He moved toward the group, giving a shallow bow toward Prince Cael. "Your Highness, this is not your assignment. You're needed back at the military front. The Council will handle this."
Cael didn't argue. His gaze flicked toward Lyra, who still clutched Miya in the center of the square.
"I expect a full report," he said curtly. "Starting with that girl."
Rion gave a long, low whistle. "Told you he was interested."
Luna jabbed him in the ribs. "Shut it."
In a sudden gust of air, Prince Cael vanished. The blast of his departure sent a wave of dust straight into Rion's face.
"Damn it! Every time!" Rion sputtered, swiping at his face.
Luna dusted off his tunic, fingers brushing across his stomach absently.
"Careful," Rion teased. "You touch too long, you'll owe me dinner."
Luna rolled her eyes but didn't stop.
Rion turned to Arkan. "So, who beat the demon?"
Arkan didn't blink. He pointed toward the sky.
Rion followed the gesture. A single bird circled high above, its eyes faintly glowing.
"You spying with birds now?"
"It recorded everything," Arkan said.
Rion frowned. "Creepy. Useful, though."
Arkan's tone changed suddenly. "Take the wounded. Get them to safety."
As the knights moved through the scorched rubble, they reached the two sisters.
Miya lay slumped against Lyra, unconscious—her small body motionless, singed, and bruised. But Lyra wasn't awake either. Her eyes were closed, her face pale. She had fainted long ago.
One of the knights stepped forward and crouched down. He reached to pull them apart—expecting limp resistance.
But the moment he tried to move Miya, he paused.
"...What?"
He tried again, this time with both hands, tugging carefully. Lyra's arms wouldn't budge. Though completely unconscious, her grip was locked tight around her sister like iron shackles.
"She's out cold," the knight muttered. "But she won't let go."
He pulled harder, gritting his teeth, but still couldn't break the hold.
Arkan, watching silently, narrowed his eyes and glanced at Rion.
"Try," he said.
Rion stepped forward, crouching beside them. He studied Lyra, then Miya.
"White core," he murmured. "You trying to set me up here?"
Even Luna went silent.
Arkan gave a curt nod. "Take them both."
As the knights carried the girls away, Rion glanced east, toward the river.
"Something's off about that place," he muttered.
Arkan's head snapped toward him. "No, Rion. Leave it. Too much mana residue already. You go there, it's a mess."
"Yeah, I know a mana trap when I smell one. That's not just dust. That's something darker."
Arkan's voice grew soft. "Don't. Come with me instead. My ship's warm, food's hot. Plenty of... company."
Rion smirked. "That your way of bribing me?"
Then, without warning, he scooped Luna up bridal-style.
"We're coming."
In a blur, they vanished.
Arkan stood alone now. The wind tugged at his cloak. He looked skyward.
"Sorry, Mother," he whispered.