Celestrian Palace, Naurus

———Red———

The morning sun glints off the polished armor of Empress Brenelor as she stands with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze fixed on me and Domnik. Behind her, the sprawling towers of the Celestrian Palace cast long shadows over the vast training field. The grass is soft beneath my boots, and the scent of dew still clings to the air. Domnik is across from me, rolling his shoulders and grinning like we're about to have a friendly spar. We're not.

"You both know the rules," Brenelor calls out, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "No holding back. Impress me."

I tighten my grip on my sword, its hilt warming under my palm. This is no ordinary steel; it's imbued with traces of Arkane's magic, sharper and lighter than it should be. Across from me, Domnik cracks his neck, his crimson eyes flickering with a faint, hellish glow.

"Ready to get burned, Smith?" he taunts, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.

I don't respond. Talking just gives him the satisfaction of thinking he's under my skin. I plant my feet, adjusting my stance, and wait for Brenelor's signal.

"Begin!"

Domnik moves first, a blur of motion as he lunges at me. His horns begin to sprout, curling upward in an unsettling display of his daemon heritage. He swings his fist, aiming for my ribs, but I sidestep, bringing my sword up in a clean arc. He ducks, laughing as the blade whistles past his ear.

"You'll have to be faster than that!" he jeers.

I grit my teeth and press forward, forcing him to backpedal. My sword sings as it cuts through the air, each strike aimed with precision. Domnik blocks with his forearm, his daemonic skin tougher than iron. Sparks fly, and I feel the vibration of each impact in my arms.

Suddenly, he slams his hand into the ground. The earth trembles, and a jagged crack splits the field, fiery light spilling out from the depths. A daemon's clawed hand emerges, followed by another, as one of Domnik's summoned beasts pulls itself free. It snarls, its eyes glowing like embers, and lunges at me.

I pivot, bringing my sword down in a brutal arc. The daemon shrieks as the blade cleaves through its shoulder, dissolving into ash before it can retaliate. But Domnik's already moving, using the distraction to close the gap. His fist collides with my side, and the force sends me skidding backward, my boots digging trenches in the grass.

"Focus, Red!" Brenelor barks from the sidelines.

Domnik is grinning again, his horns fully grown now, his shadow looming larger than life. "You're predictable, Reggie," he says, his voice taking on a guttural edge. "Always on the defensive."

I wipe the sweat from my brow and square my shoulders. "You're overconfident, and never call me Reggie!"

This time, I take the offensive, feinting low before slashing upward. Domnik raises his arm to block, but I twist the blade at the last second, nicking his cheek. The grin drops from his face, replaced by something darker.

"Not bad," he mutters, his voice a low growl. "But let me show you how it's done."

He raises both hands, and a deafening roar fills the field as a wave of fire erupts around him. The heat is suffocating, and I'm forced to shield my face as the flames surge toward me.

The inferno rushes toward me like a living beast, consuming everything in its path. I roll to the side, the heat licking at my heels as I barely escape being scorched. The grass around me blackens, smoke curling into the sky. Domnik steps through the flames like he's untouchable, his grin back in full force.

"Getting warm, Red?" he taunts, his voice carrying over the crackling fire.

I don't have time for a comeback. My eyes dart to the ground, where his fire has left the field uneven and jagged. If I can use the terrain to my advantage, I might stand a chance at putting him on the defensive.

I dash to the left, feinting a retreat. Domnik follows, his steps heavy and deliberate. He's baiting me, waiting for me to falter so he can land a finishing blow. But I've been studying his moves since this fight began, and I'm not about to make it easy for him.

When I reach a patch of uneven ground, I spin on my heel and strike. My blade cuts through the air, aiming for his side, but Domnik twists with inhuman speed, his arm catching my wrist mid-swing. The impact sends a jolt up my arm, and he uses the momentum to yank me forward, slamming his forehead into mine.

Stars explode in my vision, and I stumble back, my grip on the sword loosening. Domnik doesn't let up, advancing with a feral gleam in his eyes. His horns glint in the sunlight, a reminder of the power he wields—the power I refuse to let intimidate me.

"Come on, Red," he says, his voice low and mocking. "You're supposed to be the hero here, aren't you?"

I plant my feet, shaking off the dizziness. My fingers tighten around my sword's hilt. "I'm not done yet."

I channel every ounce of strength into my next move, lunging forward with a speed that catches him off guard. My blade meets his claws in a shower of sparks, and for a moment, we're locked in place, each pushing against the other. His strength is immense, but I use my smaller frame to slip under his guard, slicing across his leg. The cut isn't deep, but it's enough to stagger him.

Domnik snarls, his daemonic aura flaring as the wound begins to heal almost instantly. "Cheap shot," he growls.

"Effective," I counter, breathing hard.

Before he can recover, I leap onto one of the jagged rocks jutting from the cracked earth. From the higher ground, I aim a downward strike at his shoulder. He draws his blade to block, but the force of the blow drives him to one knee. His horns dip low, and for the first time, his cocky grin falters.

"Enough!" Brenelor's voice cuts through the chaos like a whip.

Domnik and I freeze, our weapons still locked. I glance at her and see her standing tall, her eyes blazing with authority. I wave my hand and the flames on the field extinguish in an instant, leaving only smoke and charred grass behind.

She strides toward us, her steps deliberate, and stops a few paces away. "Impressive," she says, her gaze flicking between the two of us. "But still sloppy. Red, your technique is solid, but you hesitate. Domnik, you rely too much on brute force. That kind of power means nothing if it's uncontrolled."

Domnik snorts, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. "You say that like you don't enjoy the show."

Brenelor's eyes narrow, and he wisely shuts up. She turns to me, her expression softening slightly. "You've improved," she says, her tone almost approving. "But you'll need more than quick thinking to survive what's ahead."

I nod, swallowing hard. My muscles ache, and the taste of ash lingers in my mouth, but her words fuel the fire in my chest. What's ahead?

"Again tomorrow," Brenelor commands, turning on her heel and walking away. "And next time, I expect both of you to fight like your lives depend on it. Because one day, they will."

I turn to Domnik, wiping soot from my cheek. "What do you think she's on about with all that 'your lives will depend on it' stuff?"

Domnik shrugs, his crimson eyes flickering back to a duller shade, the daemonic energy retreating as he exhales. "Not a clue. But I do know one thing—if she hadn't called it when she did, I would've wiped the field with you."

I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, come on. You know damn well I was winning this time. That last strike? Flawless."

"You call nicking my leg 'flawless'? Please," Domnik retorts, his grin widening as we start walking toward the palace. "Face it, Red. You got lucky."

"Says the guy who summoned a daemon to bail him out," I shoot back, sheathing my sword. My ribs ache from his earlier hit, but I'm not about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing it. "If Brenelor hadn't stepped in, you'd be on your knees begging for mercy."

Domnik chuckles, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Keep telling yourself that, hero. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The banter carries us across the scorched training field, the tension of the fight melting into something easier. Domnik's cocky attitude drives me insane, but it's better than the weight of the secrets he carries. For now, it's just two teenagers giving each other hell, and I can live with that.

As we approach the palace, a familiar figure waits at the door. Alyse. She's leaning casually against the frame, her arms crossed. Her smile is warm, but there's a sharpness to her gaze that says she's been watching everything.

Alyse stands just a little shorter than me, though her presence has a way of filling any space she's in. Her auburn hair, a gift from our mother, tumbles in soft waves past her shoulders, catching the light and giving off an almost coppery glow. Her hazel eyes hold a sharpness that's hard to miss—always scanning, always thinking. They're like the forest in autumn, flecks of gold and green shifting depending on her mood. She's got a way of carrying herself, too, with this quiet determination that's both admirable and infuriating. It's in the way she crosses her arms when she's angry, her foot tapping out her irritation like a metronome. She might not have powers—but there's a fire in her that burns brighter than most. It's the same fire that kept her going last year, even after everything she endured.

Her smile, when she lets it show, has a way of making you forget how tough she is. It's rare these days, but when it's there, it's genuine. The kind of smile that reminds me of simpler times—before the Daem, before the quests and battles, back when we were just kids running through the woods outside Pinecrest. But there's also a weight to her now, a shadow in her gaze that wasn't there before. I'd like to think I can protect her from everything, but I know better. She's not the same girl I set out to rescue. She's stronger now, sharper. And sometimes, I can't help but wonder if that strength came at too high a price.

"Good fight today, boys," she calls out, stepping forward as we approach.

I glance at her, trying to read her expression. "You were watching?"

"Of course," she says, smirking. "I wanted to see if either of you actually learned anything. Turns out, you're both still a little reckless."

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Domnik rolls his eyes. "Reckless is just another word for exciting."

Alyse raises an eyebrow. "Reckless is another word for dead if you're not careful. You're lucky Brenelor called it when she did. Red was actually getting the upper hand."

"Ha!" I bark, turning to Domnik. "Hear that? Even Alyse knows it."

Domnik groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's just being nice, Red. I could've turned the tables anytime. Besides, she has twin sibling bias."

"Sure, sure," I reply, grinning. "Keep telling yourself that, Dom."

Alyse cuts in, her tone turning more serious. "Joking aside, Brenelor isn't just pushing you two for fun. If she's worried, you should be too."

I frown, the weight of her words sinking in. "You think she knows something we don't?"

"Probably," Alyse admits, her expression darkening slightly. "She always seems ten steps ahead. But whatever it is, I'm sure the two of you got it."

Her confidence steadies me, even as questions swirl in my mind. Brenelor's warning, Alyse's tone—there's something they're not telling us. But right now, the palace looms ahead, and we've got the rest of the day to figure it out.

As we step through the grand doors, Domnik nudges me with his elbow. "So, what's the plan, hero? Another round of training, or are you finally going to let me show you how to enjoy life for once?"

"Enjoy life?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Coming from the guy who spends half his day drinking?"

He grins, his teeth sharp and gleaming. "Exactly. What's more fun than a little chaos?"

Alyse groans behind us. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

We all laugh, but deep down, I can't shake the feeling that Brenelor's warning isn't just talk. Something's coming, and no amount of training—or banter—will be enough to stop it unless we're ready.

The halls of the Celestrian Palace are quiet as we walk inside, our footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The grandeur of the place is almost overwhelming—high vaulted ceilings, intricate carvings on every surface, and banners bearing Brenelor's crest fluttering faintly in the breeze from the open windows. It's hard not to feel small here, even after a year and a half of staying under its roof.

Domnik grins mischievously. "I guess we could head into the city, maybe hit up some taverns, listen to a few local bards. And hey, Alyse, maybe find a girl for your brother. He needs it." He nudges me sharply in the ribs.

I flinch, but the teasing grin on Domnik's face gets a laugh out of Alyse.

"I'll pass," I say, shaking my head. "Seems like every girl is more interested in The Scarlet Phoenix than Red Smith. And trust me, they're not the same guy. But the taverns do sound tempting—especially after the week we've had."

Alyse nods eagerly. "We should go to the Slithering Eel! Fabian Leone is performing tonight."

Domnik groans loudly, throwing his head back as if the mere mention of the bard pained him. "That elf from the southern isles? Alyse, please."

"What's wrong with Fabian?" she asks, narrowing her eyes defensively.

"Where do I start?" Domnik snorts. "His accent is so over the top it feels like he's showing off every word he speaks. And his hair—gods, does he ever stop brushing it?"

I add, "That, and he's got to be what, seven feet tall? Alyse, he's way too tall for you."

Alyse crosses her arms, glaring at both of us. "Oh, shut up, you two. You're just jealous."

"Jealous?" Domnik grins, raising an eyebrow. "You've got me there. Clearly, I dream of swooning over Fabian's enchanting lute ballads while he towers over me, dazzling the crowd with his flowing locks."

"Okay, okay," I interrupt, chuckling. "We'll go to the Eel. Why not?"

"Perfect!" Alyse beams, already halfway to the door to her room before pausing to think. "Wait... what am I going to wear?"

Before any of us can answer, Brenelor's voice cuts through from a nearby staircase. "So, you three have plans tonight, I see?"

We turn as the Empress descends, her imposing presence filling the room even in casual conversation.

"Yeah," Domnik says with a shrug. "Alyse wanted to go to the Slithering Eel. She's totally obsessed with Fabian Leone."

Brenelor raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Gods, that elf from the southern isles? He performed for me when he first came to the capital. It was... interesting, to say the least." She smiles faintly. "My wife was a bard, a damn good one. Could've taught him a thing or two if she were still here."

Domnik, ever tactless, chuckles. "I can't stand the guy."

I cut in, curious. "Wait, your wife... Neon, right? She was Celestial-born, like us, wasn't she?"

Brenelor's expression softens, but there's a sadness in her eyes. "She was. An angel and one of Magnus's royal guards. Most of the angels disappeared before his death—hunted by the Mythic, the order of the Daemonic Princes." Her gaze grows distant. "Neon was one of them. She's still out there, though. Hiding. I can feel it."

"I'm sorry, Empress," I say softly.

Brenelor waves the comment off, her voice firm. "Spare me your pity. Neon wouldn't want that, and neither do I." She straightens, her tone shifting. "Enjoy your evening. Just don't stray too far. I may need you."

Her piercing gaze lingers on me for a moment before she turns and disappears down the corridor, her presence fading but the weight of her words remaining.

Domnik breaks the silence first, exhaling loudly. "Needs us for what, though?"

I shake my head, muttering, "Good question."

"Who cares?" Domnik slaps me on the back, his grin returning full force. "Sounds like a problem for later. Right now? Let's get drunk!"

I laugh despite myself, the heavy moment with Brenelor already fading into the background. For a brief moment, things feel normal. A night out in the city. Laughter. Something to remind us of who we are outside of the chaos.

But deep down, I can't shake the feeling that the Empress's warning isn't for nothing. Something's coming. Something big. And whether it's tonight or in the days ahead, we'll have to face it.

-

The streets of Celestria's capital are alive with the hum of nightfall. Lanterns glow softly along cobblestone streets, their golden light casting a warm ambiance over the bustling city. Merchants call out from their stalls, trying to sell the last of their goods before closing, while street performers gather small crowds with fire tricks and music. The scent of roasted meats and spiced ale fills the air as taverns spill over with laughter and cheer.

We wind through the crowds, Alyse leading the way in her best dress—a deep burgundy gown that twirls with each step. She's practically skipping, her excitement for Fabian Leone's performance written all over her face. Domnik and I follow behind, more amused by her enthusiasm than anything else.

"So, Red," Domnik nudges me, his smirk already forming. "What's the over-under on Alyse swooning the second Fabian looks her way?"

"She'll last five minutes," I say without hesitation. "No, three."

Alyse spins around, hands on her hips. "You two are insufferable."

"Just calling it how we see it," Domnik teases, shrugging. "I mean, you've been talking about this guy nonstop all day."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't bother arguing. Instead, she quickens her pace, determined to leave us in the dust.

By the time we reach the Slithering Eel, the place is already packed. The tavern is a chaotic mix of rowdy patrons, barmaids balancing trays of overflowing tankards, and the steady hum of a lute from the corner stage. The air inside is thick with the smell of spilled ale and woodsmoke, but there's a charm to it—like stepping into a story that's been told a thousand times.

Alyse spots Fabian almost immediately, her eyes lighting up as she points toward the stage. "There he is!"

Fabian Leone is everything she described—tall, elegant, and impossibly self-assured. His long, silver hair flows over his shoulders, catching the dim light, and his fingers dance across the strings of his lute with practiced ease. His voice is smooth and melodic, and I have to admit, the guy knows how to command a room.

Domnik groans audibly. "Oh, come on. He looks like he fell out of a painting."

I suppress a laugh as Alyse glares at him. "You're just jealous."

"Jealous of what? His perfectly styled hair?" Domnik gestures dramatically. "It probably takes him hours every morning." He speaks in a mocking tone, mimicking Fabian's accent.

Ignoring him, Alyse pushes her way toward the stage, leaving us to find a table near the back. We sit down, and Domnik flags down a barmaid, ordering a round of ale for the two of us.

As we wait for our drinks, Domnik leans back in his chair, watching the crowd with a faint smirk. "You know, as much as I hate to admit it, this is kind of nice. No monsters, no Daemonic schemes—just good old-fashioned debauchery."

I nod, though my mind is elsewhere. Something about the energy in the city feels... off. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but it's there—a faint hum of unease beneath the surface. I can't tell if it's my own paranoia or if something really is lurking just out of sight.

Our drinks arrive, and Domnik raises his tankard in a toast. "To surviving another week of insanity."

I clink my tankard against his. "And to making it through whatever comes next."

We both drink deeply, and for a while, the weight of our responsibilities seems to lift. The music, the laughter, the warmth of the tavern—it's a rare moment of peace in a world that rarely offers any.

Alyse eventually returns to the table, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. "Fabian's even better live! You guys have to admit, he's amazing."

"Sure," Domnik says, smirking. "If you're into tall, overly dramatic elves."

She sticks her tongue out at him, then turns to me. "What do you think, Red?"

I shrug. "He's good. Not my style, but good."

Alyse beams, clearly taking that as a victory, and settles in with her own drink. For a while, it feels like we're just three ordinary people enjoying a night out. No missions, no Daems, no looming threats.

But as the night wears on, that uneasy feeling grows stronger. I glance toward the windows, half-expecting to see something out there in the dark. The city feels too calm, like the kind of calm that comes before a storm.

Domnik notices my distraction and nudges me. "Hey. You good?"

"Yeah," I say, though I'm not sure I believe it. "Just... keeping an eye out."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't press the issue. Instead, he leans back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs as he takes another swig of ale. "Well, if trouble shows up, let's hope it waits until after I've finished my drink."

I manage a small smile, but my hand drifts to the hilt of my blade beneath the table. Just in case.

The laughter and music in the tavern blur into the background as the unease in my chest tightens like a vice. I glance around, scanning the room for anything unusual. The patrons are lively and loud, oblivious to the weight pressing down on me. Domnik is grinning at some joke Alyse just made, and she's laughing, carefree and radiant. But my stomach churns, my fingers twitching at the hilt of my blade. Something's wrong.

Or maybe it's just me.

I close my eyes for a moment, willing the tension to ease, but instead, it grows. The sounds of the tavern grow distant, replaced by echoes of another time. Alyse's screams. The cold, dark corridors of Udis' lair, the way he twisted the Kingdom. The overwhelming feeling of being too late, of failing her.

"Red?" Domnik's voice snaps me back to the present. His chair clatters to the ground as he leans forward, concern etched across his face. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?" I say, my voice sharper than I intended.

"The thing where you look like you're about to fight a ghost."

"I'm fine," I mutter, forcing my hand away from my blade. "Just... tired."

Alyse tilts her head, studying me. "Are you sure? You've been acting weird all week."

"I said I'm fine." The words come out more forcefully than I meant, and the moment I see the hurt flash across Alyse's face, I regret it.

"Alright," Domnik says quickly, trying to defuse the tension. "Maybe we should call it a night. The Slithering Eel isn't going anywhere, and I'd rather not deal with a moody Red and a lovesick Alyse."

Alyse rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. She glances toward the stage one last time, her excitement dimmed. Guilt gnaws at me, but I can't bring myself to apologize. Not yet.

We make our way out of the tavern, the cool night air hitting us as we step into the street. The city feels quieter now, the crowds thinning as people retreat to their homes or other taverns. The lanterns flicker in the breeze, casting long shadows across the cobblestones.

I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched.

"Red," Domnik says, falling into step beside me. His voice is low, meant just for me. "You sure you're alright? You've been on edge ever since we got here."

"I said I'm fine," I snap, but his stare doesn't waver.

"You're not, though. You've said that same thing every day for the past year and a half," he says, softer this time. "Look, I get it. You've been through a lot. We all have. But whatever you're carrying—it's eating you alive."

I stop walking, clenching my fists. "I don't need a lecture, Domnik."

"No, you need a friend who's going to call you out when you're spiraling," he says, stepping in front of me. "You think Alyse doesn't notice? She's been tiptoeing around you for weeks because she doesn't want to set you off. She blames herself for what happened last year. Is that what you want?"

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I glance back at Alyse, who's walking a few steps ahead, humming a tune from the tavern. She looks so light, so free—so different from how I've been feeling.

"Look," Domnik continues, his tone softening. "I know you're scared. Scared of losing her again. But this—" he gestures at me— "this constant tension, the way you're always on high alert... it's not helping. It's going to get you killed. Or worse, it's going to push her away."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. He's right, even if I don't want to admit it. The phantom threats, the feeling of being watched—it's all in my head. My own mind, my own fears, playing tricks on me.

But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to let go.

"Fine," I say finally. "I'll... try. But I'm not making any promises."

Domnik smirks, clapping me on the shoulder. "That's all I ask, Red. Baby steps."

Ahead of us, Alyse turns back, her brow furrowed. "You two coming or what?"

"Yeah, we're coming," I say, forcing a smile.

As we walk back toward Brenelor's stronghold, the tension in my chest eases—just a little. Maybe it's Domnik's words, or maybe it's the sight of Alyse, alive and safe, her laughter echoing through the quiet streets.

But deep down, I know the fight isn't over. Not with the Daem, and not with myself.