Sullivan rubbed his forehead, grumbling, “They’re trying to work me to the bone.”

Uncle Chen stood nearby with a faint smile but said nothing.

Silas, curious, asked, “What’s happening, Father?”

Sullivan looked at him, deep in thought for a moment. “It’s good that you’re here now. Clean up; we’re leaving for Mistral Meadows this evening.”

Silas’s eyes widened. “Mistral Meadows? That’s almost a week’s journey by foot. Isn’t that the Baron’s territory?”

Sullivan nodded. “Yes. There’s been an Ashtral sighting— a strong one. The Baron’s forces are holding it off, but they won’t last long. The clan wants me to handle it.”

Excitement surged through Silas. He rarely left the clan’s grounds, let alone travelled to a place as dangerous and mysterious as Mistral Meadows. However, the excitement was tempered by a thought. “Can I ask Rowan to come along?”

Sullivan sighed. “Fine. Just remember, this isn’t a picnic. But while we’re there, I’ll make sure you two stay safe.” He turned to Chen. “Prepare two shortswords and two bows for them, just in case.”

Lian Chen nodded. “Consider it done, Milord.”

With that, Silas sprinted to Rowan’s house to share the news. Rowan was equally surprised and excited.

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A colossal shadow swept across the courtyard as the evening sun dipped low. Emerging from the twilight, a gargantuan black eagle, its wings as vast as storm clouds, descended with a powerful thump. Silas and Rowan stared, wide-eyed, at the magnificent creature.

“Father, it’s incredible!” Silas exclaimed.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Rowan echoed, his voice tinged with awe.

Sullivan nodded, his expression seasoned but appreciative. “It’s a Blackwing eagle, raised by the clan. We’re borrowing it to reach Mistral Meadows quickly. Now, let’s not forget why we’re here.”

Silas and Rowan faced the daunting task of climbing the eagle. Rowan, being older, went first, his heart pounding. The eagle’s feathers felt impossibly soft, yet its immense size was overwhelming. Silas followed closely, gripping the rough scales on its legs for support.

Once aboard, fear and exhilaration gripped the boys as the eagle’s muscles rippled beneath them. The wind howled as the bird ascended, carrying them into the vast sky. Below, the world transformed into a patchwork of colours. The initial terror gave way to a thrilling sense of freedom.

“Hold on tight, boys!” Sullivan shouted over the rushing air. The boys exchanged a breathless grin, their fear momentarily forgotten as they soared above the world.

The journey was swift, but the sky darkened ominously as they flew. Storm clouds gathered, and soon, heavy raindrops pelted them. The eagle pressed on, its wings battling the storm.

“This is getting bad,” Lian Chen shouted.

“We need shelter soon,” Sullivan replied, his voice tense.

Rain lashed their faces, soaking them to the bone. Silas and Rowan huddled together, shivering from the cold.

“I can’t feel my hands,” Rowan whimpered, his teeth chattering.

“Me neither,” Silas replied, shivering as well.

Guiding the eagle through the storm, Sullivan maintained a stern focus. Uncle Chen, enduring the brunt of the rain, became a silhouette against the dark sky.

Hours later, the storm began to subside. Below them, Mistral Meadows came into view— a sprawling, muddy landscape. The scent of wet earth and decaying vegetation filled their nostrils.

“It smells awful here,” Rowan complained, wrinkling his nose.

“Welcome to Mistral Meadows,” Sullivan said grimly. “We have our work cut out for us.”

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He turned to Lian Chen. “Contact the Baron’s battalion and get their location. We should go on foot from here to avoid being easy targets for other flying beasts.”

Uncle Chen nodded, pulling a small brass device from his belt. With a few quick taps, he sent a message. The eagle descended, landing with a gust of wind that ruffled their hair. Once on the ground, they tied the eagle to a thick tree. The loyal creature understood and didn’t fuss.

Uncle Chen’s device crackled to life. “They’re at the heart of the old oak forest,” he reported.

The forest was a maze of ancient trees, their gnarled branches reaching skyward. As they ventured deeper, the air grew thick with unnatural silence, broken only by the crunch of their boots in the mud. Then they saw it: a clearing, now a grim battlefield.

The vibrant grass was now a muddy, crimson carpet, trampled and stained with blood. Dozens of fallen soldiers lay scattered, their bodies twisted, their weapons abandoned. At the centre of the chaos, a colossal figure moved— an Ashtral. Standing about 40 feet tall, its sickly grey skin and burning red eyes were terrifying. The Ashtral, though scarred and battered, fought on with otherworldly ferocity. A gaping black portal shimmered nearby. Through portals like this one,, creatures such as the Ashtral, as well as Abyssals and Sprites, often emerged, bringing chaos and destruction in their wake.

The remaining soldiers, no more than thirty-five or forty, clung to life, their faces twisted with fear and determination. Despite its injuries, the Ashtral fought with terrifying strength. Arrows pierced its leathery hide, and boulders from trebuchets cracked against its massive form. Three ballistae fired in rapid succession, their bolts sinking deep into the creature’s flesh, eliciting roars of pain that shook the earth.

But the Ashtral was relentless. It hurled boulders with deadly accuracy, destroying the catapults. With a menacing roar, it lunged at two soldiers, but before it could crush them, a sanguine flash sliced through the air. A sword, wielded with inhuman speed, severed several of the Ashtral’s fingers, freeing the soldiers. The battle raged on, a titanic struggle between man and monster.

Sullivan narrowed his eyes at the sight of the glowing sword. “Seems like there’s someone interesting among them. The Ashtral looks like it’s on its last legs.”

Silas and Rowan stood rooted, their faces pale. The horror of the scene overwhelmed them. But slowly, Silas forced himself to focus, clenching his fists to regain control. He reached out, patting Rowan’s shoulder in silent reassurance. Rowan looked up, finding strength in Silas’s resolve.

Sullivan and Uncle Chen exchanged a knowing glance. The boys had exceeded their expectations, showing resilience despite their fear. They were no longer just children but witnesses to a brutal reality.

The Ashtral fought on despite its injuries, drawing strength from its wounds. It grew more imposing with each passing moment, refusing to back down.

Silas, now more composed, couldn’t help but ask, “Shouldn’t it be running away?”

It seemed logical for the creature to retreat, given the circumstances. So why did it stay and fight?

Uncle Chen shook his head and answered, “Ashtrals are proud. They’d rather die in battle than flee in defeat.”

A surge of unexpected respect for the Ashtral coursed through Silas and Rowan. Its struggle had a raw, untamed power, a defiance that resonated deeply within them. They admired its courage despite the terror it had caused.

But Sullivan retorted, “Well, it’s a foolish notion. Pride can be a shackle, making you forsake your life.”

Uncle Chen pondered the statement while Silas and Rowan grew agitated. Rowan couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “Why do you think so, War Master?”

Sullivan looked at the boys and asked, “Hmm, if I asked you what’s the most important thing in life to you, what would your answer be?”

After a moment’s thought, Rowan answered, “Pride,” and Silas said, “My friends.”

Sullivan smiled. “Both are expected answers, given your upbringing. But if you asked a child begging on the streets or an orphan, they’d say something like ‘Food,’ ‘Survival,’ or ‘To see their dead siblings again.’ That’s the difference between those who strive for nobility and those who strive to survive.”

He glanced at the fighting Ashtral. “Pride has its place, but it can’t compare to survival. As long as you breathe, there’s hope— for vengeance, to mend what’s broken, to chase a brighter future, and perhaps... to find redemption. But you must fight for your continued existence.”

He patted the boys’ heads and said, “Remember this. If you’re ever in a similar situation, strive to survive without hesitation. That alone is enough.”

With that, he began walking toward the battlefield. “Well, they don’t really need my help now, but let’s finish this.”

Sullivan used Spirit Infusion on his own body. With enhanced physical attributes, he approached the Ashtral, with casual grace. In a single, fluid motion, he drew his sword. The blade connected with the Ashtral’s chest with a sickening crunch. Black blood erupted from the wound, and the monstrous creature collapsed. The boys watched in awe as the once-mighty beast was felled with a single, effortless stroke. Sullivan hadn’t even used his Soul Weaving arts.

Amidst the soldiers’ shock and confusion, Sullivan turned to his companions. “It seems we’re done here.” As the words echoed, the portal at the edge of the clearing shimmered and then collapsed, leaving a smoking crater behind.

Silas smiled wryly. “We didn’t get to use our swords or our bows.”

Rowan grew agitated hearing this, as if the statement had made him realise his powerlessness.

Uncle Chen laughed. “As if Master wanted you two kids to fight the Ashtral, by my understanding, it was just weight training through the mud. Of course, the main purpose was to broaden your horizons.”

Silas and Rowan exasperatedly nodded and walked towards Sullivan.