I am Ren Drakemore, age 9, the 2nd Prince of the Kingdom of Arcadia, and I am on a journey to the Kingdom of Hyperion.

"That's the last one," Shadow says as he places the final crate of potions into the back of the wagon with a soft thud and the faint clinking of glass inside. He and Maribel had arrived just before sunrise, backing their wagon to the manor entrance to help us load the full stock—two thousand potions in total.

"Thank you, Shadow," I say, watching as he lifts the back gate into place and fastens the latches on either side with a solid click. While he works, my gaze drifts to Maribel, who stands a little distance away, framed by the amber light of dawn as she feeds correl-root to Huckleberry and Buttercup. The rising sun casts long shadows behind them.

Shadow and Maribel stand in their distinctive adventuring gear, instantly recognizable even at a glance. Shadow's thick, grey plate armor amplifies his already formidable stature, turning him into something more like a moving fortress than a man. At his hip hangs a single broadsword—etched with faint runes for paralysis—similar in enchantment to my own, though his is built for raw power and reach.

Maribel's appearance offers a stark contrast. She wears a fitted black bodysuit built for speed and subtlety. Twin spike-like daggers rest at her hips, and a bandolier of miniature crossbow bolts crosses her chest. Her gauntlets, both armored, double as weapons—her right one concealing a compact wrist-mounted crossbow for quick, close-range shots. Both she and Shadow wear cloaks made from mithril bear fur, the faint blue shimmer catching in the morning light.

I'm dressed for the road as well, in a tailored blue and white doublet and trousers, styled after Arcadian officer uniforms—popular among nobles, but chosen by me for their durability and craftsmanship rather than fashion. Beneath the doublet, I wear padded armor layered with mithril chainmail—offering a practical middle ground between weight and protection.

Where Shadow favors overwhelming defense, and Maribel prioritizes agility and stealth, my gear strikes a deliberate balance. I'm more protected than she is, and more mobile than he is—an equilibrium suited to my strengths.

My paralyzing short sword rests at my side, and in my hand, I carry my new staff—elegant and dark, capped with a white-crystal focus that glints faintly in the sunlight.

"Looks like it's about time to head off," I say, turning back toward Lord Griswald, Silfy, Mira, and Jade, who have all come to see us off. "Thank you for waking early to send us off, Lord Griswald."

Silfy scoffs lightly, clicking open the chronologue that hangs around her neck and glancing down at the slow dance of its dials and arms. "It's only half past the sixth hour. I'm usually awake at this hour anyway," she says, sounding proud of herself.

They gifted me a similar device on my birthday, but I'm still not in the habit of referencing it as often as Silfy does.

"And thank you for making breakfast early, Lady Mira," I add with a grateful nod in her direction.

"It was my pleasure, young master," Mira replies, bowing her horned head with a warm smile. As she straightens, she holds out a small cloth-wrapped box, tied at the top to form a neat carrying handle. "And please take this—I've packed lunch for the road."

"Thank you, Mira. That's very kind of you," I say, accepting the bundle. "I'm going to miss your cooking."

Mira beams, her broad bovine face glowing with pride. The flick of her tail behind her shows she's pleased by the compliment.

"How long will you be gone?" Jade asks with a yawn, rubbing her tired eyes. She's clearly far less awake than the rest of us.

"About an arc," I reply.

"Why can't I come?" she pouts, arms crossed and eyes beginning to glisten.

"Like we discussed," I explain patiently, "you need to stay here to manage the mithril trade while we're gone. Look on the bright side—you'll get the chance to learn smithing from Hilda while I'm away. That's something I can't teach you."

"But I want to stay with you…" she mumbles, her tail drooping as a tear begins to form at the edge of her eye.

"We'll have plenty of time together when I get back. But right now, I need you to do your job here, while I take care of mine in Hyperion."

"Fine," she mutters, clearly disappointed but no longer arguing.

Another very real reason I'm not bringing Jade—one I haven't explained to her—is that kobolds haven't been seen in generations. In Arcadia, people at least recognize them from religious texts, but in Hyperion, their existence might not be known at all. Her appearance could cause confusion at best, or panic at worst. None of that is helped by the conspicuous gift that Tiamat has given her.

It might seem ridiculous—Jade is small, cheerful, and harmless—but that's only because we know her. I can't predict how others will react, and I can't risk her presence jeopardizing the mission. Trying to explain that to her would be difficult and possibly hurtful, so I've chosen not to. Better she think it's about practicality than feel like a liability.

"Safe travels, young prince," Griswald says in his deep booming voice as he offers a respectful nod.

I return the nod with gratitude, then step forward to join Lady Willow at the wagon. With her usual effortless grace, she swings herself into the back—her flowing white dress billowing like silk in the breeze as she lands silently atop a crate. I pass her my staff and the bundled food, which she sets neatly beside her. A moment later, I climb in after her—far less elegantly—and plop down on the crate beside her.

"Shadow, you make sure you take care of the prince," Griswald says firmly.

Looking back, I see the two of them clasping forearms in a warrior's handshake. It's the first time I've seen them standing side by side since Shadow received his new mithril body—and now, he nearly matches Griswald in both stature and bulk.

"You have my word," Shadow replies with quiet resolve. "No harm will come to Ren while I'm there."

As they release their grip, Griswald's gaze drifts to Maribel, who's gently petting Buttercup while Huckleberry nudges in, clearly jealous and angling for attention of her own.

"It seems you've taken good care of my horses," Griswald observes with a faint smile.

"One should care well for a gift so generous and invaluable," Shadow says sincerely. "Thank you again for entrusting them to us."

Shadow turns and heads back to the wagon, meeting Maribel halfway as she returns from pampering the horses. With practiced ease, he helps her up, and she settles onto a crate across from us. Shadow then climbs into the driver's seat. The wagon groans under his weight, the entire frame shifting slightly as he settles in.

He gathers the reins and gives them a flick, coaxing the mares into motion. As the wagon begins to rattle forward, I glance back and raise a hand in farewell to Griswald, Mira, Silfy, and Jade, all of whom wave in return.

As we roll past the guard post, I offer another wave to Sir Loxly and the stationed guards. They return the gesture with respectful nods, watching us continue down the road.

I turn back to see Maribel leaning forward, closely inspecting one of the high-grade healing potions she must have lifted from a crate when I wasn't looking. Whether it's because I'm sitting much closer to her today, or perhaps I was just too exhausted to notice before, I now catch the faint but pleasant floral scent coming from her. It's a striking contrast to the skeptical glare she's giving the glass bottle in her hand.

"So, you're the second prince, huh?" she says, shifting her piercing gaze toward me. The question feels more like an accusation than a greeting.

"Yes, I am," I reply, a little thrown by her tone. Beside me, Willow narrows her eyes slightly, and even Shadow, up on the driver's bench, glances back. Clearly, they've picked up on it too.

"And could you please refrain from stealing the merchandise?"

Maribel ignores the comment completely. "I didn't even know there was a second prince until yesterday," she remarks dismissively.

I sigh. "Yes, well… my father has more or less disowned me."

"The king has kept the existence of his second son secret because of his hatred for Ren," Willow adds flatly.

She's not wrong—but the bluntness still stings.

"How tragic," Maribel mutters, clearly unconvinced.

"But something doesn't sit right with me," she continues, raising the potion slightly. "That rabbitkin maid said you made these potions."

"Thats right. I did."

"Well, the thing is," Maribel says, digging into her magical bag with her free hand, "there's no such thing as a 'standard' potion bottle. Potion-making is a rare skill, and every alchemist uses their own unique style of bottle."

"Oh, yeah. I guess that's true," I admit, trying to sound casual. Of course I know that—I craft my own bottles using magic. It's faster and more convenient than dealing with a glassmaker for custom orders. Naturally, my bottles are distinct.

"Exactly," she says, pulling out a dark purple potion in an identical bottle. "And this—this is the exact same bottle as the one Shadow gave me the day I met him."

I glance from the bottle to Maribel's eyes, which are now fixed on me with sharp suspicion.

"It looks like you filled my potion bottle with some very dangerous poison," I remark flatly.

"Well, yes," Maribel replies, rolling her eyes. "But this was the bottle Shadow gave me the day I met him at the Adventurer's Guild in Cairndorn, about a year ago. I save empty potion bottles and reuse them—for poisons, mostly."

"That's very frugal of you," Willow interjects with a soft smile.

"Yeah, actually, that's pretty smart," I add thoughtfully. "We could probably save a lot of time and materials if we offered a discount to people who returned their empty bottles."

"That's not the point," Maribel groans, clearly frustrated. "What I'm saying is that you obviously made all the potions Shadow's been using for the past year." She fixes me with a sharp, questioning look.

"I didn't think she'd make the connection that quickly," Shadow thinks to me.

"She's pretty clever."

"She's also very good at spotting lies. I don't think there's any point trying to deny the connection," he adds, his voice echoing in my mind.

A moment of silence falls between the four of us—pregnant and heavy.

"Well, Shadow? Mr. Prince?" Maribel says finally, her gaze flicking between us. "This clearly isn't the first time you've met. What exactly is going on between you two, and why have you been pretending not to know each other?"

At that, Shadow gently pulls back on the reins, bringing the wagon to a stop in the middle of the road north of Stonebrook. He secures them, then rises from the driver's bench and steps into the back of the wagon, taking a seat across from us to properly join the conversation.

"You're right," Shadow begins calmly. "Prince Ren has been my secret benefactor. He's provided me with the equipment, funding, and yes—the potions—I've used throughout the past year."

It's a well-crafted lie, close enough to the truth to withstand scrutiny and easy for both of us to remember without tripping over the details.

"Do they…?" Maribel asks quietly, her gaze shifting to Shadow. There's a faint hurt in her voice, like the thought of him sharing his secret with someone else before her cuts her deep.

"Yes," Shadow says calmly. "Ren and Willow are the only other two who know what I am. Ren's kindness and generosity are what enabled me to live the life of an adventurer." He pauses briefly, then adds, "And I've been working with him in secret since the beginning."

"Not that I had a choice," I hear Shadow mutter inside my head.

Maribel turns back to look at Willow and me, searching our faces for confirmation. Her expression softens—not with suspicion, but disappointment.

Looking once more to Shadow, she asks quietly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry, Maribel," Shadow says, his tone sincere. "Just as I entrusted my secret to you, Prince Ren entrusted me with his. It wasn't mine to reveal."

Her brow furrows. "What do you mean, working with him? And why would that need to be a secret?"

I sigh, letting my shoulders sag with false reluctance. "I'll explain everything," I say. "But first, I need you to promise—you'll keep what I'm about to say as closely guarded as you have Shadow's secret."

This moment came sooner than I'd planned—and not exactly how I intended—but the outcome aligns with my goals. I meant to draw her in eventually. This is simply the next step.

Maribel thinks for a moment before finally nodding. "If you're Shadow's ally—if he trusts you—then I guess I can keep your secret."

"As long as Lord Griswald doesn't activate that intimidation aura around her again," I think to Shadow, catching a flicker of amusement from him in response.

"Alright then," I begin, exhaling slowly. "The truth is, my father and his allies among the nobility are plotting to kill me in secret. They fear me because I oppose their corruption and cruelty. My father is terrified that I'll grow strong enough to challenge his throne."

Maribel's eyes widen. Her mouth opens, then closes again, like she wants to say something but can't quite decide how. The look on her face is a mix of disbelief and reluctant understanding.

"And he's right to be afraid," I add, voice lowering. "I've seen too much suffering—too much injustice at his hands—to sit by and do nothing. When I'm strong enough, I will challenge him."

She stares at me, stunned. "So… you're planning a coup?" Her voice is cautious, unsure whether to be impressed or horrified. "But what does that have to do with Shadow?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Right now, I'm too young to challenge him."

"And far too weak," Maribel interjects, raising a skeptical brow. "The king is a famous war hero. You're… well, you."

I hear Shadow laughing in my mind, and even I can't help a faint smirk.

"You're not wrong," I say. "That's why I'm building my strength—and gathering allies."

Maribel whirls toward Shadow, exasperated. "So what, you got recruited into toppling the king? Are you serious?"

"I support the world that Prince Ren wants to create," Shadow says firmly.

Maribel turns back to me, eyes narrowing. "I mean, I also hate the king. And nobles… mostly. But trying to overthrow them with just you and a half-baked rebel prince? That's suicide."

"I'm not asking you to fight to overthrow the king," I say, my voice quieter now. I glance down at my hands, the weight of what I'm saying settling heavily on my shoulders. "If I'm ever to be the legitimate ruler of this country, I'll need to defeat him with my own strength. That's not something anyone else can do for me. I want to be seen as the rightful king—because I earned it."

Maribel watches me closely, but says nothing.

"What I do need," I continue, "is help protecting the people of this kingdom. I'm gathering allies—people like Lord Griswald and Master Shadow. People who stand against slavery. People willing to oppose the corrupt nobles who exploit the weak. Shadow and I are working with Griswald to make his domain prosperous, so he can afford to free more slaves and care for more citizens."

"But why the secrecy?" Maribel presses, brows furrowing. "If all Shadow's doing is running quests in Stonebrook, why hide that he's working with you?"

"Well… that's not entirely accurate," Shadow cuts in smoothly. "Yes, taking quests lets me help people—but not always in legal ways."

Maribel tilts her head. "You mean like…?"

"Do you remember the quest I accepted from Lord Cromwell?" Shadow asks. "The one where I was supposed to return his runaway daughter?"

"Yeah…" Maribel replies slowly. "You said you faked her death and helped her escape to Hyperion."

"Exactly," Shadow nods. "Sometimes doing the right thing means breaking the law."

"And that's why I need allies," I say firmly. "People who will do what's right, not just what's legal. But if I do those things myself, I expose myself—and give my father's men the chance they're looking for to eliminate me."

"That's why it's so important they don't know Shadow is working with me," I explain. "If they found out he was my ally, they'd try to eliminate him too. Anyone close to me becomes a target. Their goal is to isolate me, cut off my support, and leave me vulnerable."

"Griswald and his domain have already suffered because of their support," Shadow adds grimly. "There've been multiple attempts to undermine him—attacks, political sabotage, even threats against his people—all because he's one of the few nobles openly opposing the king."

"And you saw what happened to Diana and the others," I say darkly, meeting Maribel's eyes. "They were taken because of their connection to Griswald. Because Griswald is connected to me. I have no doubt my father was behind that attack."

"The king was behind that? How can he get away with it?" Maribel snaps, her eyes narrowing with fury.

"He gets away with it because he's powerful—and surrounded by allies who are just as corrupt," I explain. "The only way I can stop him is to grow stronger. I need more power, and I need the support of good people… people like you."

"You want me to join you too?" she asks, wary.

"Yes," I say, meeting her gaze. "Please help me make this country a better place."

Maribel pauses, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the potion bottle in her hand. "This all just sounds like the same power play bullshit you nobles are always scheming against each other. The kind of games that get us common folk killed." She paused for a moment, catching her breath after the outburst, while I held mine. "But," she continued, "You don't have to convince me to hate the king. I'd do anything to see the current ruling class brought down."

She looks up, her expression steady, unwavering. "And I'll keep your secret—because I trust Shadow."

But then her tone sharpens. "You? I just met you. I don't have any reason to trust you yet." She slips the potion bottle back into her bag. "You'll have to earn that. But if you turn out to be just like them... then I won't hesitate to stand against you too."

It's that conviction, that fire—that's exactly why she'll be the perfect ally for what I have planned.

"That's fair," I reply with a resigned smile. "It's a start."

"Are you angry I didn't tell you?" Shadow asks carefully.

"No. I get it, Shadow." Maribel offers him a small smile. At that, Shadow rises and returns to the driver's bench, giving the reins a flick to start the wagon rolling again.

Maribel stretches across the crates in front of me, her arms behind her head.

Truthfully, I hadn't expected to gain her loyalty today. I hadn't even planned to have this conversation until I'd had more time to prove myself. But this went better than I could have hoped. She's willing to work with me—if only because Shadow is.

As for her personal loyalty, that will take time. Willow once told me that loyalty is a matter of meeting people's needs. When you fill someone's needs, they start to feel like they owe you… and eventually, they come to depend on you.

All I need is patience.

Wait a second…

"Are you going to give that potion back?" I ask, deadpan.

"Heh, right. Sorry about that," Maribel chuckles, pulling the pilfered potion from her bag and casually dropping it back into the crate she's resting her head on.

The wagon ride toward Hyperion is a long one, cutting through the wide, open grasslands of the northern plains. The road stretches straight ahead, and the repetitive scenery—endless brown and gold swaying under a pale winter sky—quickly grows dull. Add to that the wagon's rhythmic rattling and the biting chill that insists I stay bundled up, and it isn't long before I curl beneath my cloak, resting my head in Lady Willow's lap.

At some point, sleep claims me unnoticed. I blink awake with a yawn, only realizing I'd dozed off as I sit up and see our wagon passing through the large gates of Carcuv.

I rub the grogginess from my eyes and take in the dense, towering stone structures flanking the narrow street. The buildings, all packed so tightly together, appear almost like segments of a single colossal structure, their dark shapes looming above the cobblestones. I've heard stories about Carcuv—it's a fortress city built on the northern border, and now I see why it's earned its reputation. Its high, titanic walls are designed for defense, and the cramped layout inside is clearly the price of that protection.

Efficiency, not beauty, guided its architecture. The buildings are stacked close, roads broken into short stretches by sharp right-angle turns—a defensive layout meant to deny invaders clear lines of sight and create choke points for ambushes. It may be excellent for war, but it's frustrating for anyone just passing through.

Despite its gritty appearance, Carcuv isn't riddled with beggars or starving families like the slums of Arcadia's capital. Most of the people here work—soldiers stationed at the border, merchants dealing in cross-border trade, or locals offering services to both. The poverty here is quieter, more practical. The working poor survive, but only just.

As the wagon creaks through the winding streets, I glance across from me—only to find the space Maribel had occupied now empty. Looking around, I spot her curled beneath a blanket, resting peacefully with her head against Shadow's side. One of his arms is draped protectively around her shoulders. Her shoulders rise and fall in a slow rhythm, somehow managing to sleep soundly despite the wagon's constant jostling and the noise of city life bustling around us.

The whole city carries a lingering stench—typical of places where far too many people are crammed together with inadequate waste disposal. It's not nearly as foul as the worst parts of the capital, but still unpleasant enough to curb any interest I might have had in stopping to browse the merchant stalls we pass. What I do glimpse from the wagon reveals many strange tools, unfamiliar styles of clothing, and goods I've never seen before, no doubt imported from across the border.

Despite the twisting, circuitous path through Carcuv, we reach its northern gate in just under half an hour. Before we can exit, a guard stationed at the gate flags Shadow down. He slows the wagon to a stop beside the armored man.

"If you're heading north to Hyperion, please be cautious," the guard warns. "Plenty of travelers have gone missing lately. The local lords are advising all merchants to travel in caravans with proper armed escort."

Judging by his tone, the guard assumes we're a small band of traders—four people in a single wagon loaded with crates of cargo. He clearly doesn't sense just how dangerous our little group truly is, and his concern seems genuine.

"Thank you for the warning, sir. We'll be careful," Shadow replies with polite reassurance.

With that, he gives the reins a flick and sets the wagon moving again. I glance back one last time, watching the towering walls of Carcuv recede into the distance. For all its fortified grandeur, it really is a relatively small city.

Just as the last glimpse of the fortress fades from view, my stomach growls in protest.

"I guess we should eat," Shadow says, responding to the audible complaint from my gut. He gently nudges Maribel awake. "Up. Time to eat."

With a loud, exaggerated yawn, Maribel crawls toward the back of the wagon as Willow begins unwrapping the bundle Mira had packed for us. Maribel's eyes linger on the sandwiches Willow pulls from the box and hands to me, her expression growing increasingly forlorn as she pulls a small cloth bundle from her own bag.

"That looks good," Maribel mutters bitterly, gnawing on a strip of dried meat.

"I have plenty to share," I offer, extending my sandwich to her on a napkin as Willow retrieves another for me. Maribel blinks in surprise, then grins and sets aside her jerky to accept my offering with visible delight.

"Thank you!" Maribel says, lifting the top slice of bread to inspect the sandwich's contents.

I raise an eyebrow and take a bite of mine. "It's not poisoned."

"You've probably never bitten into something only to find it full of maggots, have you, Prince?" she smirks, placing the bread back in place and taking a hearty bite.

"No... I can't say I have." The image makes me grimace.

"Well, if you had, you'd check your food too," Maribel chuckles. "You must've had a pretty easy life, huh?"

"You mean aside from my father disowning me and trying to have me killed?" I reply flatly.

"Well, yeah. Other than all that," she says, speaking through a mouthful of sandwich. Then, after swallowing, she adds, "I guess we've all got our own struggles."

We fall into a comfortable silence, quietly enjoying Mira's sandwiches while watching the scenery change. The flat grasslands of the Arcadian valley gradually give way to the dense, hilly forest of Erwin. Tall, ancient trees crowd closer to the road, casting long shadows across our path. The well-maintained road becomes uneven—its cobblestones cracked or missing in places—as it twists, climbs, and dips through the thick woodland.

"You know," Maribel says, glancing around like I have been, eyes scanning the forest, "this would be a great place for an ambush."

"I pity the fool who tries," Willow says, her voice light and dreamy as she gazes into the distance with an airy smile that doesn't quite match the violent intent behind her words.

Maribel gives her a puzzled side glance before turning her attention outward, scanning the trees around us. "I appreciate your confidence, but I think I'll keep Predator Sight active, just in case."

"We're coming up on a group ahead, moving toward us," Shadow calls back from the front. He spots them first—likely because he's been actively scanning for threats—but when I focus on my own detection spell, I see them too: a single wagon, reinforced with a cage built into the frame. Five armed men accompany it—one driving, two on each side walking alongside.

"Five armed men, one prisoner in a cage," I murmur, concentrating on the distant figures. "They all have very low mana reserves. Probably not a threat."

"Looks like Arcadian mercenaries escorting an elf slave," Shadow adds calmly. It's a common enough sight. Many Arcadians, especially former soldiers, turn to mercenary work. And slave transport is a routine part of the economy. There's nothing illegal—or even out of the ordinary—about what we're seeing.

And that bothers me.

"Hey, Maribel," I say darkly, "does it bother you that this elf is about to be sold like livestock? That she'll likely spend the rest of her life being worked to death, only to be replaced when she breaks?"

Maribel frowns. "Of course it bothers me. But what can we do? Thanks to your family, it's all completely legal."

I sit up straighter as the wagon crests the hill ahead of us, finally coming into full view.

"Yeah, it's legal," I murmur. "But is it right?"

"It's wrong," Maribel says without hesitation, her gaze fixed on the wagon as it draws closer.

Shadow and Willow exchange polite nods with the guards as we pass. They wear the blue and white uniforms of Arcadian service—similar to mine—but with steel breastplates and phoenix-embossed shoulder guards, likely the insignia of their mercenary company.

Then I see her.

A silver-haired elf woman sits in the cage, pressed back against the bars in a plain grey tunic. A heavy iron collar shackled around her neck. Her eyes—brilliant silver, piercing—lock with mine. Bruises mar her face and arms, but none of it dulls the fire in her gaze. There's defiance in her, a burning rage that pain hasn't quenched.

And I know, without a doubt, what I have to do.

Maribel and I both turn to watch as the wagon passes. With the mercenaries facing forward, unaware of us, I cast two silent spells—one to unlock the cage's rear gate, and the other to unfasten the collar around the elf's neck.

From the corner of my eye, I see Maribel's expression twist in shock. Her wide eyes dart to me, then back to the cage. Inside, the elf stiffens as she feels the collar loosen. With hesitant fingers, she lifts it from her neck and stares down at it as though she doesn't believe what's just happened.

My hope—my plan—is simple. With the gate unlatched and the collar gone, she should quietly slip out the back, drop from the wagon, and vanish into the forest while her captors remain oblivious. It's risky, yes—but it offers a chance at freedom. A better fate than being sold and worked to death. If she makes it deep enough into the woods, I could always send Shadow to retrieve her, ensure her safety.

But she has other ideas.

Carefully, she creeps to the gate and eases it open just wide enough to slip through. She drops from the wagon with the silence of a falling feather, landing in a graceful crouch.

Then, instead of bolting into the forest as I expected, she moves behind the wagon—her body low, her eyes sharp—stalking the rearmost guard like a predator sizing up prey.

What is she doing?

This is her chance to be free, why isn't she running?

Does she have a death wish?

She closes in on the guard without a sound. I watch tensely, certain she'll be spotted any second—one glance over the shoulder, one misstep, and the opportunity I gave her will be wasted.

But then, to my astonishment, she raises her hand a foot from the man's back and—ZAP—a blinding flash explodes in the darkness. A bolt of lightning erupts from her palm, striking the guard squarely between the shoulders. His body seizes violently, limbs jerking as though yanked by invisible strings, before collapsing face-first with a heavy thud.

He twitches on the ground, black blood bubbling from his mouth, nose, and eyes as tendrils of smoke curl from his ears.

"What the—" the next guard starts, jerking around as the crack of thunder echoes through the trees. The others turn with him, startled by the flash and the sudden violence.

But the elf is already in motion.

She snatches the sword from the twitching corpse at her feet. In the same breath, she vanishes in a blur of light—another flash, another crack—and reappears in front of the second guard. Before he can finish his curse, her blade arcs clean through his neck. His head tumbles free, blood spraying in a gruesome fan across the wagon, the driver, and her already stained tunic.

The driver releases the reins in a panic, stumbling backward as he frantically wipes his friend's blood from his face. "She's out!" he shouts, voice cracking with terror as he fumbles for his sword.

But another blinding flash cuts him off.

The elf appears on the driver's bench in a streak of lightning. A deafening crack accompanies the arc of her blade as it severs the man's forearm mid-draw. Bright arterial blood spurts from the stump, splashing across her like war paint. He topples backward with a shriek—part agony, part terror—his armored body landing with a wet crunch and a clang of steel beside the wagon, at the feet of the remaining two guards.

Both men stare, frozen. I do too.

There she stands atop the bloodied wagon, sword raised, her silver hair streaked red, smiling—a terrible, wild grin that says plainly: She is enjoying this.

"How did she—" one guard begins, voice cracking.

"It doesn't matter, kill her!" the other snarls, drawing his weapon with a shaky hand.

Another flash. Another crack of thunder.

She's gone from the wagon.

Then she's behind them.

Shunk! Her blade punches up through the back of the fourth guard, slipping beneath his breastplate and into his spine. He collapses with a cry, twitching as blood pools beneath him.

The final guard swings wide in a panic. She knocks his strike aside, redirects her sword—and drives it up through the underside of his jaw. The tip bursts through his skull, and his body goes rigid, spasming once before he crumples in a heap at her feet.

Now, with all five guards either dead or dying, the elf straightens and turns to face me.

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and unblinking.

Only then do I realize: our own wagon has stopped. Shadow and Willow now stand silently behind Maribel and me, watching the aftermath unfold

What the ruddy hell just happened…

The sight of the blood-soaked elf striding toward me—sword still slick and crimson at her side—sends a jolt of fear down my spine. My breath catches. My skin prickles. The air feels colder.

She's breathing hard, sweat mingling with the blood streaking her face and arms. Despite her overwhelming display of skill, it's clear the exertion—and her time in chains—has taken its toll. Her steps falter slightly with fatigue, but her stare never wavers. That unwavering fire burns behind her silver eyes.

When she's only two meters away, she stops and finally speaks, her tone sharp with suspicion.

"Why did you do that, human?"

"I—I'm Prince Ren Drakemore," I answer, stumbling slightly over my words.

"I didn't ask your name," she snaps. "I asked why a human would help me."

I swallow, then draw in a breath and steady myself. "What my people have done to yours—taking your homes, enslaving your kin—it's wrong. Freeing you was the least I could do. One day, I will be king of this land… and when that day comes, your people will be free."

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Quite the fantasy."

Still, after a pause, she adds, "In any case... thank you." She turns to leave.

"Wait," I call after her. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

She stops. Sighs. Looks back over her shoulder. "It's Mia."

"Lady Mia," I say quickly, "would you like to come with us? We can protect you."

She glances toward the wagon, then back at the carnage behind her—the bodies, the blood, the shattered stillness of the road. Her eyes settle on mine again.

"Does it look like I need protection?"

Then she turns fully, vanishing into the underbrush beside the road without another word.

"I don't trust humans," her voice drifts back to us. "No thank you."

The four of us stand there in stunned silence, watching the trees slowly swallow her up.

Shadow breaks the quiet first. "We need to get away from this mess."

He returns to the driver's bench. In moments, the wagon is moving again, wheels rattling over stone and root as we put distance between us and the massacre. Across from me, Maribel watches with a faint, thoughtful smile tugging at her lips.

"I can't believe you did that," Maribel says, her voice tinged more with admiration than horror. "You just freed a slave and got a bunch of mid-tier nobles killed." She says it like it's a compliment—but that's not what I intended to happen.

I didn't want them dead.

How was I supposed to know she'd do that?

"Didn't you think it was strange they were transporting her alone?"

I grit my teeth. I was asking myself, not you, Shadow!

"Okay, Prince," Maribel says, leaning back with an approving smile. "I believe you're the real deal now. You picked the perfect spot, the perfect target, and pulled it off so clean there's no way it'll get traced back to you. That was badass."

I sigh and glance out at the trees rushing past.

Well… I guess all's well that ends well.

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