Garett stood in the training grounds outside the Castle Barracks, his breath steady despite the exertion. The space was a vast, open field of compacted earth, bordered by rows of wooden training dummies, weapon racks, and sparring rings. Luminite lanterns hung from iron posts, casting a steady glow even as the sun began its slow descent. The air smelled of sweat, steel, and the faint tinge of magic from prior training sessions. Soldiers and knights moved through drills in the distance, but Garett had claimed a more secluded corner of the grounds for himself.

His polearm cut through the air in a precise arc, the haft spinning effortlessly in his grip as he transitioned from one stance to another. The weapon—a training variant of his usual armament—felt lighter, yet he executed each motion with the same measured control he demanded in battle. The Azeroth Drive, hanging from a chain around his neck like a pendant, pulsed faintly as he attempted to channel its power into his strikes. Energy crackled at the weapon’s edge, but the effect was unstable, flickering in and out of existence.

Leona approached from the barracks, arms crossed as she surveyed the training grounds. She had been on her way to check on the troops when she spotted Garett, and curiosity got the better of her. The sight of him training alone was nothing new, but the intensity in his movements—and the fact that he was shirtless—caught her off guard. She had grown up alongside him, had sparred with him countless times before, but this was different. His physique had become more defined, each movement exuding a raw strength she hadn’t quite noticed before.

Leona cleared her throat, snapping herself out of her thoughts. “Put a damn shirt on first.”

Garett barely spared her a glance, focused instead on testing the Azeroth Drive. “Why? We’re training.”

Leona groaned, rubbing her temples. “Just… get decent, will you?”

Still oblivious, Garett sighed but relented, pulling on a loose training tunic before facing her properly. “You offering to spar?”

Leona just gave him a wink.

They armed themselves with wooden training weapons—Garett with a long, reinforced training polearm, and Leona with a sword and shield. She activated her barrier magic instinctively, a faint shimmering wall flickering into existence around her before settling into a nearly invisible veil of protection.

Leona’s combat style was a blend of her heritage. The Leonis school emphasized defensive mastery, an impenetrable bulwark that allowed warriors to hold the line against overwhelming odds. Her shield absorbed incoming attacks and stored kinetic energy, which she could later unleash in a devastating counter. Fenralis swordsmanship, on the other hand, thrived on relentless aggression. It turned the shield into a weapon, creating openings through sheer force and breaking enemy formations with brutal efficiency.

Garett lunged first, his polearm thrusting forward with deceptive speed. Leona deflected the strike with her shield, feeling the impact ripple through her barrier before dissipating. She immediately countered, pivoting to close the distance and launching a heavy downward slash. Garett spun his weapon, using the haft to redirect the blow before stepping back into a defensive stance.

Leona narrowed her eyes as she pressed forward, looking for an opening. Just as she prepared to go in for the finishing blow, a sudden shimmer in the air stopped her mid-strike. A translucent barrier flared to life between them, absorbing her attack. Leona’s eyes widened in shock.

“What—? Since when could you use barriers?” she demanded.

Garett hesitated for a split second before responding. “I… wasn’t sure if it would work.”

Leona lowered her sword slightly, still catching her breath. “You could’ve told me earlier.”

Garett shrugged. “Didn’t think I’d need it.”

Leona scoffed. “Yeah? Well, now I want to see how it holds up.”

She pushed forward again, her attacks coming sharper, faster. Garett reinforced his barriers between counters, the shimmering defenses flickering against the force of her blows. The more they fought, the more Leona analyzed his technique—not in a scholarly way, but through raw experience. She could feel where his defenses were strongest, where they wavered, and where they might break. Garett, in turn, adapted, refining his barriers in real time.

Finally, Leona poured her strength into one final, decisive strike. Garett, unwilling to back down, met her head-on. Their weapons clashed with immense force—only for both wooden armaments to splinter apart in the same instant.

A moment of silence hung between them as the broken pieces clattered to the ground. Leona huffed, frustration evident in her expression, but she couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Damn it. That was supposed to be my win.”

Garett exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “If you had gotten serious, it would have been.”

Leona studied him, then let out a reluctant chuckle. “Fine. I’ll give you that one. But next time, I’m not holding back.”

Garett grinned, inclining his head. “Looking forward to it.”

Unbeknownst to them, a small crowd had gathered around the training grounds—castle soldiers, grizzled veterans, and green recruits alike, drawn in by the brutal dance of combat. Even a handful of servants lingered at the edges, eyes wide as they stole moments from their duties. Some stood in the dirt, while others perched along the hoardings, murmuring wagers under their breath. The air crackled with the raw energy of the duel, each ringing clash of wood against wood punctuated by gasps and muttered curses.

When the match came to an abrupt end, a wave of reaction rippled through the spectators. A few warriors clapped in approval, their eyes gleaming with respect for the display of skill. Others groaned in frustration, shaking their heads as they exchanged coin, cursing their misplaced bets. A gruff sergeant spat into the dust, muttering about wasted steel and reckless form. Only then, as their breath still came hard and fast, did Leona and Garret become aware of the gathered onlookers. The weight of dozens of eyes settled upon them, a silent acknowledgment of the spectacle they had unknowingly provided.

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A bit embarrassed and exhausted, the two of them decided to take a break.

As they sat on the edge of the training grounds, catching their breath, Garett turned to Leona with a curious expression. “How do you cast your barriers and fortification spells, anyway? I’ve been trying to figure out the mechanics, but it’s not as straightforward as I thought.”

Leona blinked, caught off guard by the question. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing as if she’d never considered it before. “Uh… I don’t know. I just think about it, and the barriers just happen.”

Garett stared at her, waiting for more. When nothing came, he raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? You don’t calculate the energy output or visualize the probability space? You just… think about it?”

Leona’s face scrunched up as she tried to articulate her process. Steam seemed to rise from her forehead, her skin flushing red as she strained to explain. Her mouth even foamed slightly as she stammered, “I—I don’t know! It’s like… I want a barrier, so I make a barrier. That’s all there is to it!”

Garett leaned back, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. Internally, he couldn’t help but marvel at the simplicity—or perhaps the sheer audacity—of her approach. It seems the people of this world have gotten so used to magic that they bypass the second step entirely: calculation. They go straight from projecting their will into a probability space to collapsing reality. No wonder it’s so inconsistent for me. I’m overthinking it.

He couldn’t resist quoting one of the great physicists of his world, muttering under his breath, “As Einstein once said, ‘Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.’ Apparently, Leona took that to heart.”

Leona shot him a glare, still puffing steam. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Garett smirked. “Nothing. Just admiring your… efficiency.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a piece of broken training weapon at him. “Shut up, nerd.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The afternoon sun slanted through the tall, arched windows of the audience chamber, bathing the polished stone floor in golden light. Massive pillars stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, their surfaces carved with runes that shimmered with a faint, latent magic. Tapestries lined the walls, woven with the rich histories of the Verdant Vale, their silken threads whispering of past triumphs and betrayals.

At the far end of the chamber, Garett sat upon the high seat, his polearm resting against the arm of his chair like a king’s scepter. His gaze, sharp and unyielding, swept over the gathered nobles and emissaries—each clad in the colors and crests of their respective houses, each vying for his favor with measured words and careful posturing.

The air was thick with incense and tension. Petitions were made, grievances aired. Garett listened, weighing each argument with a patience that Leona did not share. She stood at his side, arms crossed, her fingers drumming idly against the pommel of her sword. Courtly affairs were an exercise in tedium, a delicate dance of power that she had neither the heart nor the stomach for. But she remained, ever vigilant.

At the chamber’s edge, near the shadows where the sunlight faded, Lyra lingered. The weight of her pack pressed against her shoulder—a quiet reminder of her decision. Her time here was done. She had fought beside them, bled beside them, but duty called her elsewhere. Elderwynd awaited, and she could not delay any longer.

Just as she turned to leave, the great oak doors of the chamber crashed open.

Gasps rippled through the hall as a nobleman stumbled inside, his face red, his breath ragged. His finery was soaked in sweat, his boots caked in mud. Behind him, guards reached for their weapons, but he waved them off, urgency etched into every frantic gesture.

“I beg your forgiveness!” he rasped, bending in a hasty bow. “But I bring grave news. Elderwynd has fallen!”

A hush fell, as if the room itself recoiled. Garett leaned forward, his expression sharpening into something cold and dangerous. “Speak.”

The nobleman swallowed, his throat working around the words. “The town is gone. The people… slaughtered. Or taken.” His voice wavered, thick with horror. “And there’s something else.”

At his signal, his aides wheeled a cart into the chamber. It rattled across the stone floor, covered by a heavy, bloodstained cloth. Whispers stirred through the crowd, uneasy and edged with dread.

Lyra’s breath hitched. Elderwynd. Her home. She had just been there. Had spoken to the healer and the old lady who gave her the quest. This had to be a mistake

With a sharp motion, the aides tore the cloth away.

A collective gasp shuddered through the hall.

The figure sprawled upon the cart was massive—easily twice the size of a man—encased in armor unlike anything they had ever seen. Plates of steel and a darker, unknown metal interlocked in a grotesque mockery of a knight’s regalia, its surface carved with runes that pulsed with a sickly green light. The helmet, molded into the snarling visage of some horned beast, seemed to leer at them even in death.

The nobleman hesitated, then reached with shaking hands, wrenching the helmet free.

A wave of rot and magic rolled outward, thick and cloying. A body lay within the armor—a corpse of an ogre, its flesh pallid, eyes sunken, lips twisted into something that might have once been a scream. Faint tendrils of reanimation magic flickered across its skin, an unnatural, unholy shimmer.

Garett’s stomach clenched. He had seen marvels in his past life—machines that bent light, engines that harnessed the power of the stars—but this? This was an abomination. His eyes traced the contours of the armor, noting the layered plating, the underlying mechanisms. Whoever built this understood metallurgy and arcane fusion at a level that should not exist in this world. He would have been impressed if he weren’t so horrified.

Lyra staggered back. Her pack slipped from her shoulder, striking the floor with a dull thud.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “No, this can’t be…”

Nyx, perched on her shoulder, nuzzled against her cheek, its feathery form warm and reassuring. “Lyra,” it murmured, voice curling softly in her mind. “Breathe. You are not alone.”

But her world was unraveling. The people she had sworn to protect… gone. The weight of it pressed down on her, crushing, suffocating.

Garett rose from his seat, his expression carved from stone. He stepped down from the dais, each footfall echoing through the silent chamber. Leona was at his side in an instant, her hand clenched around her sword’s hilt.

Garett studied the ogre’s armor, his gaze dark and calculating. “What is this?” he demanded.

The nobleman hesitated. “We found it at the ruins,” he said. “There were others… but this one was different. It commanded them. And the magic—” his voice faltered, “—it is unlike anything we have seen.”

Garett reached out, fingers brushing the metal. The runes flared in response, thrumming with power. He drew his hand back sharply. “This is more than reanimation magic.” His voice was quiet, lethal. “This is something worse. Someone is fusing dark sorcery with technology.”

Lyra’s head snapped up, grief warring with fury. “Who would do this?” she demanded. “Who could be so—so monstrous?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. This was no mindless slaughter. This was calculated. Purposeful.

And if Elderwynd had been targeted, then nowhere in the Vale was safe.

Garett turned to Lyra, his gaze steady. “We will find them,” he vowed. “And we will end this.”

Leona stepped forward, eyes burning with resolve. “This doesn’t stop with Elderwynd. We need to move. Now.”

The room erupted in shouts. Fear. Panic. But Garett’s voice cut through the storm like a blade.

“SILENCE!”

The hall fell deathly still.

“I, Viscount Garett Von Fenralis, Warden and Protector of the Vale, Firstborn Son of Duke Alden Fenralis, swear to find whoever did this and to make them pay.”

His voice rang through the chamber, final and unwavering.

Lyra wiped the dampness from her cheeks, sorrow hardening into steel. She would not run. Not now.

“I’m staying,” she said, her voice steady.

Nyx fluffed its feathers, eyes gleaming with determination.

Garett nodded, approval flashing in his gaze. “Then we march.”