The forest loomed like a beast, its tangled limbs stretching skyward to block the faint light of the moon. Shadows danced across the dense undergrowth as the campfire sputtered and crackled, sending faint trails of smoke curling upward. The air was sharp with the tang of burning wood and the earthy musk of damp foliage. Around the camp, the night pulsed with distant sounds—an owl’s mournful cry, the rustle of unseen creatures in the brush, and the occasional snap of a twig that made every flickering shadow seem alive.
Alira sat motionless, her slight frame hunched against the jagged rocks behind her. Heavy chains bound her wrists, their cold, unyielding weight biting into her tender skin. Her nightgown, once a soft white, was now torn and streaked with dirt. A coarse cloth gag muffled her voice, her faint whimpers drowned by the crackling flames. Yet her emerald eyes burned, their fierce light undimmed by tears that froze as they traced icy lines down her pale cheeks.
Across the fire, Vathros lounged against a boulder, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. The firelight painted his scarred face in grotesque relief—the jagged burn across his right cheek glistened with an oily sheen, and an old scar of blade on his left cheek that goes from his cheek to jaw. In his hand, a chunk of roasted meat dripped with grease, which he tore into with slow, deliberate bites. He seemed to relish each chew as though savoring more than the taste.
Beside him, an old man sat hunched, the hunch of his shoulders exaggerated by the weight of his black hood. He rotated a skewer of meat over the fire, his bony fingers working with mechanical precision. His beard, long and white, caught the light like frost against shadow. Occasionally, he muttered to himself, his tone dismissive, uninterested in the tension saturating the camp.
At the edge of the firelight, the two guards stood with weapons in hand, their silhouettes shifting against the darkness. Their quiet murmurs drifted over the crackling flames.
“She’s just a kid,” one guard said, his voice low and uneasy. His breath smoked in the chill night air as he rubbed his hands together. “What’s our master want with her? Killin’ her mother, I get that but this? Dragging her across the wilderness?”
The other guard grunted, his tone bitter. “You’ve not been in service long enough to understand. Master Valar’s changed since the battle happened fifteen years ago. He was always cunning, sure, but now… there’s something darker in him. That woman’s death wasn’t the end of it, he is searching for something with how frequent these missions have become.”
“Yeah, well,” the first guard said, leaning his spear against a tree, “my father served the house before me. He died when I was just three, in that raid past the gates. You know the one of the captains leading the vanguard? Never found his body. Almost no one made it out. Just one recruit and Lord Vathros who was the commanding officer at that time.”
“And that mysterious woman,” the second guard whispered, his voice barely audible. “The one living in the palace now for years. You’ve heard the rumours about shadow guards, their once black armour has been changed to that of living shadows. And it even moves like it’s alive.”
The first guard stiffened. “I’ve seen them. Once. They followed him back in the tournament last year on Prince’s coming of age. Their eyes… like voids, swallowing the light.” He shivered. “Whatever they are, they’re no men.”
“Enough!” Vathros’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and cold. The guards flinched as he glared at them. “If you’ve time to gossip, you’ve time to work. Go hunt something fresh—and fetch some Bluewater leaves while you’re at it. They grow on dry trees. Bring enough for her,” he spat, jerking his head toward Alira. “She needs to stay alive.”
The guards muttered their assent, retreating into the darkness with their weapons in hand. Their departure left the camp even quieter, the crackle of flames and the distant hoot of an owl the only sounds.
Alira’s glare fixed on Vathros, her gaze unwavering despite the shiver that ran through her. Her ragged nightgown offered no protection against the biting air, and her skin was pale from the cold. Her chains clinked faintly as she shifted back, trying to put more distance between herself and her captors.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances before disappearing into the trees, their footsteps fading into the darkness. The camp grew quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional pop of the fire and Alira’s faint, labored breaths.
Vathros turned his attention to her, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. “Still glaring, are we? That fire in your eyes... just like hers.” His voice was low and venomous, each word laced with malice.
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Alira shrank back, the chains clinking softly as she tried to create distance. Her body trembled, not just from the cold, but from the fear that gripped her chest like a vice.
Aldrich spoke without looking up, his tone dry and disinterested. “Careful, m’lord. You harm her too much, and the Master won’t be pleased. She’s fragile enough already.”
Vathros exhaled sharply, running his fingers over the raised edges of his scar. “You think I don’t know that?” His gaze lingered on Alira, his expression darkening. “But every time I look at her, I remember what her mother did to me.”
Alira’s heart raced as his words cut through the air. Her fingers tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The chains bit into her skin, but she didn’t care. Her glare remained fixed, even as her body betrayed her with a shiver.
Aldrich tilted his head slightly. “If you don’t mind me asking, m’lord... what exactly happened between you and that woman? The rumors say you returned from some secret mission with half your body scorched.”
“You want to know why you’re here, little lizard?” Vathros leaned forward, his face illuminated by the fire. “Do you want to know why your mother died? Listen well. Maybe your tiny mind can comprehend it.”
Alira’s tear-streaked face turned toward him, her body rigid with tension.
Aldrich let out a quiet chuckle. “Do enlighten us, m’lord. The girl may as well understand what her blood has cost her.”
He leaned forward, the firelight casting his face in sharp relief. “Your mother was the jewel of the Leonharts—the princess of flames. But she defied tradition, and abandoned marriage oaths. She fled, carrying the shame of a bastard child.” His eyes narrowed. “That insult to our Master was unforgivable. It started everything.”
“That all happened when I was stationed under Edward Leonhart, your uncle, at the Devil’s Gate. Each great house sent their champions to guard that damned fortress, but not all of us shared their lofty ideals. After two years when I returned to Valar lands after completing my mission, the old head of the family was murdered. Everyone knew who did it, though no one dared say his name.”
He smirked, his teeth gleaming in the firelight. “That’s when Master Ishlar took control. His grudge against the Leonharts never waned, but he was patient and cunning planning everything from the shadows. Finally, his move at the Devil’s Gate incident crushed them entirely. A little forged evidence, a little manipulation, and suddenly Edward Leonhart was a traitor, conspiring with demons.” He paused, savoring the moment. “Of course, the council believed it. They had to, with strong evidence that was provided.”
Aldrich snorted softly. “Cunning. If Edward had been alive that damned house would have regained its former glory. But Edward wasn’t the only target, was he? Lyra was there too.”
Vathros nodded, his expression grim. “She have been hiding for years even with the help of House Vincent’s network it took years to find her. When we finally tracked her down, she was hiding in a small border town, recovering from childbirth. That’s where I first saw you,” he said, his gaze piercing Alira. “A baby in her arms, and a little boy no more than three clinging to her leg. That bastard boy with those red demon eyes.”
Alira’s muffled protests grew louder, her muffled voice breaking into the story.
Vathros leaned closer, “You know what I did to them?” His voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and cold. “I fought them both that day. Your mother’s flames burned hotter than ever. She fought like a bird protecting her eggs. But it didn’t matter. Your father...” He paused, his lips curling into a malicious smile. “He screamed the loudest when my spell began eating him alive. Do you know how long it takes for a body to rot from the inside out?”
Alira’s eyes burned with unshed tears, but beneath the fear, there was something else—a flicker of rage, of defiance that even her chains couldn’t hold.
His hand shot out, gripping her chin with bruising force. “Do you understand, girl? Your blood carries a sin. Your family’s legacy is but an ash. And you...” He sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “You’re just a bag of blood that is needed for the greater good. That dragon lineage your blood carries is what we want.”
Alira’s tears flowed freely now, her body rigid with a mixture of rage and despair. But deep within, a flicker of defiance refused to be snuffed out. Her eyes burned even as her body trembled.
Vathros’s hand cracked across her face, the slap ringing out into the night. Alira hit the ground hard, her chains rattling as she leaves a trail of blood from her mouth. The cold earth pressed against her cheek, her vision blurred by tears.
“Don’t ever look at me like that,” Vathros growled, his voice sharp as a blade. “You’ve no right.”
The campfire flickered, its light dimming as the shadows crept closer. Alira clung to a single thought, her silent plea carrying through the darkness: Brother, save me.
In the distance, the guards’ voices echoed faintly as they returned with their spoils. Vathros straightened, his demeanor shifting back to cold detachment. “Get the herb ready for her, and get her for god damn awaken,” he barked at Aldrich. “We have to reach the forest entrance by tomorrow noon, they’re waiting for us.”
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