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A delicate fragrance of blooming flowers and sweet confections wafted through the air as Zafiro stood at the heart of Wolfsteeth's western district, now cheekily dubbed the Love Shack. The recently repurposed area buzzed with life, its cobblestone streets lined with quaint shops displaying trinkets of affection—handcrafted jewelry, plush toys, and bouquets of rare blossoms. Couples strolled hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the melodies of street musicians.

'All this because of one boy,' Zafiro mused, observing the vibrant scene before him. Alexander's romantic gestures had sparked a cultural phenomenon, inspiring even the most stoic of Wolfsteeth's residents to embrace displays of affection. It was remarkable how a single individual's actions could ripple through society, shifting norms and igniting new traditions.

'Such a fascinating boy,' he thought, his mind turning over the puzzle that was Alexander. He possessed a charm that captivated the masses—genuine kindness that resonated deeply with people.

Zafiro had spent days wandering the city, witnessing firsthand the impact of Alexander's influence. The Love Shack was merely a glimpse into the boy's heart—a testament to his desire to uplift others. But beneath the surface, Zafiro sensed a complexity that intrigued him. 'There's more to him than meets the eye.'

His thoughts shifted as he noticed Isabella's gaze switching from her floating glove to him. 'I can't ignore those fools then, can I?' he sighed inwardly. If the puppyish conflict escalated—leading to hurt and worse, it could tarnish Alexander's efforts to build goodwill among the households.

Typically, Zafiro refrained from meddling in his peers' disputes. Young nobles often clashed, their fiery tempers leading to duels and disputes that seldom required intervention. As long as commoners weren't harmed, he let them sort it out. But today felt different. The stakes were higher, and the potential fallout greater.

He recalled the stories of Scarlet—a prodigy whose brilliance was overshadowed by her cruelty. She had carved a path of devastation, her bloodlust earning her the moniker Nightmare. She drowned villages in seas of blood of their loved ones who fought on the battlefield as punishment, making her name synonymous with terror. In contrast, Alexander used his gifts to heal and support, going as far as using prestigious mages to clean streets and aid the destitute. Two sides of the same coin, but what would happen if Alexander were pushed too far?

'We can't afford another Nightmare,' Zafiro thought, his gaze hardening. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. He had to act for Alexander's sake and Moorgrel's sake. While Scarlet was undoubtedly a military power like no other, she was also unpredictable, making diplomacy almost impossible to achieve.

Isabella's eyes widened in astonishment as she locked gazes with Zafiro. He stood there with an air of nonchalance, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth's corners. "You seem to have dropped this," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of mischief as he levitated the glove back to her.

The surrounding nobles turned their attention to him, whispers rippling through the crowd of common onlookers, who were still watching from a seemingly safe distance. The Heart-Fire triplets—Persephone, Styx, and Lethe—exchanged confused glances, their earlier aggression momentarily forgotten. Isabella, too, saw them calming—sheathing her rapier and slipping the glove back on, her expression a mix of irritation and curiosity.

Before Zafiro could offer another quip, a towering figure approached. Freya Iron-Claw strode over, her emerald eyes filled with genuine concern. Her presence was commanding, muscles honed beneath an elegant dress that seemed almost out of place on her warrior's frame. Beside her, Bjoern moved with a quiet caution, his gaze assessing Zafiro with suspicion and intrigue.

"Well, would ya look at that, Bjoern!" Freya exclaimed, her accent rolling like distant thunder. "A wee lad playin' with magic tricks. Ain't he just the cutest? Did ya try to help the ol' lady over there?"

Bjoern crouched to meet Zafiro's eye level, his sapphire eyes soft yet piercing. "Aye, young one—it's dangerous here with many unsavory folks about. Should we find a guard to help you locate your parents?"

Heat flushed Zafiro's cheeks as he realized the misunderstanding. 'Right, the attire.' Dressed in simple commoner clothes—worn leather boots, a plain white shirt, and linen pants smudged with dust—he hardly looked the part of the nobility. His carbuncle-kin features didn't help; the soft, greenish fur and bright eyes often led others to mistake him for a puppy.

Squaring his shoulders, he met their patronizing gazes. "I assure you, I am no pup," he declared, injecting as much authority into his voice as his stature allowed. "As you've witnessed, my abilities speak for themselves."

Freya chuckled, ruffling his hair with a teasing grin. "Oh, I know, lil' pup. You're probably an outstanding student, eh?"

Bjoern nodded appreciatively. "Impressive magic for someone so young."

Zafiro stepped back, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Listen here! I am Zafi—"

"Nice to meet ya, Zafi!" Freya interrupted, her smile widening. "But you should really be on yer way." She cast a stern glance at Isabella, her demeanor shifting. "This isn't a place fo' pups."

Looking for help, Zafiro spotted, out of the corner of his eye, his sister and a guard stifling their laughter, clearly enjoying his predicament. 'You'll pay for this,' he vowed silently, irritation gnawing at him. But the humiliation was secondary to the larger issue at hand.

Persephone's sly grin caught his attention. "Aw, listen to him. So earnest! Tell me, little one, where are your parents?"

Styx and Lethe snickered, their amusement evident. Zafiro's hands clenched into fists. 'It's always the same,' he thought bitterly. Since he could think of, he was never taken seriously, but so wasn't his Father, who looked barely older than someone right after their first mating season—a curse for being too cute but perfect to deceive people, making them let their defense fall.

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Isabella chimed in with a mocking smile. "Perhaps we should help him find his way home. Can't have a lost pup wandering about, can we?"

Freya and Bjoern exchanged puzzled glances, seemingly oblivious to the teasing. Bjoern leaned in, concern etched on his face. "We didn't mean any harm. Just thought yer might need some help."

An idea sparked in Zafiro's mind. 'Let's make it interesting if they want to play games.' He allowed his eyes to glisten with unshed tears, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly. Drawing upon his [Acting] skill, he looked up at the Iron-Claw siblings with feigned vulnerability as if suddenly broken down.

"I... I was just trying to find someone to help," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "That lady's friends," he pointed shakily at Persephone, who stiffened, "they... they hurt my sister. She chased her ball into the street, and they just... ran her over. When I went to the Temple for help—" he cast a fearful glance at Isabella, "—her friends beat me up and took my donations."

He continued, his expression and movements perfect as he described how he wanted to take the coin back because he was religious and didn't want to make a wrong impression on the Temple. He wished to become part of it, knowing that Freya and Bjoern were firm believers.

Freya's eyes widened, a storm brewing within their depths. "What did ya say?" she growled, her accent thickening with her rising anger.

Bjoern's expression darkened, his jaw set in a grim line. "Is this true? Did yer people harm this boy's kin?"

Isabella's confident facade cracked. "What? That's ridiculous! He's lying!"

Persephone stepped forward, her eyes narrowing to slits. "A convenient story. You're quite the storyteller, aren't you, Za—"

But Freya cut her off, her gaze hardening. "I won't stand for harm comin' to a pup," she declared, her voice ice-cold and unforgiving.

Before anyone could defuse the situation, Bjoern surged forward, his aura erupting with raw power. "ye'll pay for what yer done!" he roared. Isabella barely had time to draw her rapier before his fist collided with her blade, the force bending the metal and sending shockwaves through the air.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Isabella shouted, struggling to maintain her footing. She tried to channel her [Energy], but the risk of harming bystanders held her back. Bjoern's relentless assault left her scrambling, barely able to deflect his attacks.

Persephone snarled, her voice laced with urgency. "Enough of this!" She clasped her hands, drawing in a deep breath. A haunting melody spilled from her lips, weaving a spell to strengthen her brothers.

But Freya was a step ahead. Activating her [Mystic Skill], she blurred into motion, her form becoming translucent. "Yer think yer fancy singing can save ya?" she taunted, her voice echoing eerily.

Persephone's song faltered as Freya appeared beside her, phasing in and out like specters. She swung a fist, and though Persephone tried to evade, the blow grazed her arm, a chilling numbness spreading from the point of contact.

Styx summoned a barrier of fiery energy, his eyes blazing. "Back off!" he hissed. Freya laughed, slipping through his defenses like smoke. "Yer think ya can stop me?" Her muscles coiled like steel ropes, a predatory glint in her eyes.

Lethe stepped forward, dark energy swirling around his hands. "Bind her!" he commanded, launching tendrils of shadow toward Freya. But she vanished, reappearing beside him in an instant—her kick connected with brutal force, sending him hurtling past Zafiro and crashing into a nearby building.

Amidst the chaos, Zafiro watched with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. 'Perhaps I've taken this a bit too far,' he admitted. The marketplace had erupted into a battlefield, and panicked commoners scattered in all directions—making some opportunists appear.

'Hmm, trying to steal amidst the chaos?' Zafiro's eyes narrowed. With a subtle gesture, he focused on a young thief reaching into an old man's pocket. The pickpocketer suddenly stumbled, his eyes darting in all directions, while his limbs became uncontrollable. He babbled incoherently before collapsing and emptying his stomach onto the cobblestones.

The Moorgrel household had no flashy [Mystic Skills] or [Wild Demonic Energy] as most were about trickery and manipulation. The only thing they had were two [Mystic Skills]. One could increase their [Luck] immensely, which often turned the tides in their favor. At the same time, the other could lower it against enemies—unseen and underestimated, frequently seen as a joke until it destroyed them.

But, it was too strong to use it now, as it could lead to severe consequences, so he had to use his [Mystic Skill] that could manipulate the perception, making them think that up was down, left was right, etc. as he tried to control the crowd.

After Zafiro knocked out the fourth troublemaker, he sighed, realizing the situation was spiraling. 'I should put an end to this before someone gets seriously hurt.' Yet, as he considered intervening, a towering wolf-kin stepped between Isabella and Bjoern, effortlessly halting their attacks and sending a shockwave through the area.

"Enough! Stand down, all of you," the newcomer commanded, his deep voice resonating with authority. Zafiro recognized him instantly. 'Maurice. So, he's here.'

Maurice held Isabella's bent rapier in one hand and Bjoern's clenched fist in the other, his expression stern—an apron was tied around his waist, and he carried a bag of baking ingredients with his tail—a peculiar sight that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air.

Bjoern withdrew, eyeing Maurice warily. "Who might ya be?"

Isabella relaxed her stance, relief washing over her features. "You must be—"

Anguished cries cut off her words from across the square.

"What nonsense is this?!" Freya struggled mid-air, ensnared by shimmering threads that coiled around her translucent form.

"Who dares threaten me? Show yourself!" Persephone shouted, gripping a thread that pressed dangerously against her throat.

"Enough of this!" A voice echoed, amplified by magic. A young woman stepped forward, her fingers deftly manipulating the threads that bound Freya and Persephone. Her upper eyes—those of a spider-kin—glowed a fierce crimson, betraying her anger. "Push, and I'll slice you to pieces," she warned, tightening the threads until they bit into skin.

Zafiro observed her with interest. 'Alexander's disciple. Impressive control.' Despite the tension, she maintained her composure, though her clenched jaw hinted at the effort it took.

Freya's eyes blazed with defiance. "Release me! They deserve a beatin'!"

Persephone's gaze burned with indignation. "We were attacked without cause!"

Zafiro felt a twinge of guilt. 'This has escalated beyond a simple prank.' He contemplated stepping in to reveal the truth when a cold whisper brushed against his ear.

"Quite the spectacle you've orchestrated."

He stiffened, turning to face Narsiz—a wolf-kin with sleek blond hair and piercing golden eyes. His smile was sharp, lacking warmth, and the air around him seemed to chill.

"Narsiz," Zafiro acknowledged cautiously.

Narsiz chuckled softly. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic. Stirring up trouble among the Houses? That's a bold move."

Zafiro met his gaze steadily. "I have no idea what you're implying."

"Come now," Narsiz replied, his tone dripping with feigned sympathy. "Perhaps we should pay Alex a visit. I'm sure he'd be most interested in today's... events."

They held each other's gaze, a silent battle of wills. Memories of past encounters flickered in Zafiro's mind. Narsiz had once been shy, almost endearing, but time had sharpened him into something far more dangerous.

'This isn't good,' Zafiro thought, weighing his options. But he didn't have to think for long, knowing he was at fault.

As the chaos began to subside, Zafiro took a deep breath. "Very well," he said quietly. "Perhaps a conversation with your brother is in order."

Narsiz's smile widened ever so slightly. "Excellent choice."