Yona yanked both short blades free from their sheaths, metal singing as they cleared the scabbards. For a moment, she thought of igniting them with foxfire, but the thought barely formed as she didn't have the time. She never expected to be on the receiving end of the tenth prince's dagger.

His movements were all wrong. Wild, something she'd once observed and dismissed as recklessness. But now, up close, that unpredictability was terrifying.

His body still slumped forward, head hanging, movements jerky. The only thing that seemed alive in him was the white-knuckled grip around his dagger, and the relentless will behind each strike.

Steel flashed.

Yona stepped back, blades raised, her twin short blades crossing to catch the first slash. The impact sent a shiver through her arms. Another swing followed, low, then high, then twisting sideways.

She parried each blow, her movements tight, defensive. She didn't want to hurt him. That hesitation cost her a breath every time their weapons met.

The clash rang in the air, sharp and rapid, until sparks danced between them. The prince lunged again, faster this time.

She barely deflected the thrust, her right blade catching the dagger's edge, her left twisting to divert it off-course. But he adapted again.

The dagger rotated mid-lock, flipping flat and sliding along her sword toward her hand in a move too precise for something mindless. She hissed, snapping her second blade up to block it just in time.

The tip scraped across her sleeve, grazing skin.

Her pulse raced. Even with blood still dripping from both of his hands, even with his leg dragging slightly, the prince's attacks were accelerating, growing sharper, as though it was him.

She parried another downward strike, sparks scattering between them. The sound of steel was relentless, echoing through the trembling undercroft. She could feel the tension coil in her chest.

Yona leapt back just in time, the dagger sliced through the air where she'd been just a second ago. Before she could recover, the blade twisted, turning in the prince's hand, and came slashing back toward her in a vicious return arc. She barely brought her blades up in time to deflect it, sparks flaring as steel screamed against steel.

"How do we get him to snap out of it?!" she shouted over the clash, feet sliding against the cracked floor.

"...Whoa, hold on!" Lenko's voice cut through as he darted in low, completely ignoring her warning hiss of, "What are you doing over here?!"

Yona's eyes widened when she saw him skid beneath Muzio's reach, dirt and debris scattering. The boy reached between the prince's legs and yanked free a small pouch rolling on the ground.

"We need this, right?!" Lenko yelled, stumbling back to his feet. He winced, one arm clutching his ribs as pain lanced through him.

"Lenko!" Yona's grip tightened on her blades. She shifted her stance, ready to throw one the instant Muzio lunged. Every muscle in her body tensed, the air humming with danger.

But the prince didn't move.

The dagger hung motionless mid-raise. His body went rigid, the tension freezing in his shoulders and arms before all strength drained from them. The blade slipped from his fingers, striking the ground with a dull metallic clang.

Silence followed, heavy, uncertain, the kind that made her hesitate to even breathe.

Suddenly, the dragon child shouted, her voice breaking through the silence.

"No! That's not----back off!"

The sound carried a strange weight, enough to make Yona's whole body shiver. The air thickened, heat and pressure swelling at once as mana surged so fiercely it made her breath catch.

Lenko was scrambling to get away, dizzy but alert, his gaze locking onto the blonde mage across the crater. "H-hey! What are you doing to him?!" he shouted, his voice raw with fear and anger.

Aisha didn't even flinch. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, blue irises sharp and gleaming. "Like I'm gonna tell you that easily," she hissed, voice low and sharp.

Lenko took a step forward to her, then stopped.

Because right then, Muzio moved.

It was sudden, jarring. His slumped body straightened in a snap, back rigid, arms falling to his sides. His head tilted upward, eyes wide open, red, gleaming and slitted.

Mana exploded.

The force of it rolled outward, shaking the air, kicking up dust and heat. Yona stumbled back, throwing her arms up to shield her eyes as sparks of raw mana crackled around them.

When she turned back, the dragon child hadn't moved. She stood frozen, her small frame trembling, shoulders drawn tight as her tail coiled close behind her. Her ears were flattened against her head, and her scales glittered faintly, shaking as though reacting to Muzio's outburst.

"What is happening?!" Yona shouted, her voice almost drowned by the low, heavy hum of mana that made her ears ring. She looked around desperately, searching for any answer, any sense.

Someone was shouting back from above the crater, but she could barely make out the words. The noise, the pressure, was too much. The sound warped until it became one endless ringing that burned through her skull.

Still, through the blinding haze, she managed to glimpse movement up on the rim.

Tyron was there, pointing at something. His mouth moved, but his words were lost in the cacophony of noises.

Behind him, she saw two figures leaning over the edge, clutching their heads in pain, Jim and Jill, the old coachmen. For a brief moment, Yona thought she could finally breathe. But they were shouting too, faces twisted as if the same force that filled the air was tearing at their minds.

The old men who had driven the prince and his companions to the capital returned with a new wagon.

It still had that same gleaming wood, polished and sturdy, but Yona barely noticed that. What caught her attention was the look on their faces, the haunted, restless urgency as they asked her and Diego to come with them.

At first, she wanted to refuse. The academy hadn't yet sent a new mage to oversee the reconstruction, and the village of Hinnom was only beginning to feel safe again. But then she saw it, the runes burnt into the sides of the wagon.

Muzio's bloodscript.

Faint, pulsing lines of red traced along the wooden panels and reins, humming with familiar mana. Even from this distance, she could feel that same presence, the same stubborn, burning mana that belonged to tenth prince. The runes were still working, still gleaming, still alive.

Even the horses bore faint markings along their legs, their movements unnaturally swift and tireless. The air around them shimmered slightly as they exhaled.

Yona leaned closer. The runes were small, precise, almost delicate, faint enough that anyone who hadn't seen Muzio's blood carve itself into form might have missed them. But she recognized it immediately.

This wasn't just for protection.

And it wasn't only to make them travel faster than any ordinary carriage could ever hope to.

No, it was meant for something else.

Still, there was no time to question it. They left the village that same evening, entrusting the care of the village to the Guild. The people of Hinnom, those who once looked down on the 'outsiders', had begun to soften. With Wally and the other children taking the lead, even the more stubborn villagers had started to help reinforce the protective wards around the village.

By the time the sun dipped low, the wagon was already rumbling down the path, its wheels marked by faint red trails that vanished as soon as they appeared. It carried them from Hinnom all the way to the capital in one long, breathless stretch.

While on the road, they received a letter.

For Yona, the message was short and strange…

'Follow the pyrebugs, burn roaches.'

She wasn't sure if that was a riddle or an insult.

For old man Diego, it was much clearer…

'Find the girl with copper hair, green eyes, and a bow always in hand.'

By the time they arrived, it was already deep into the night, barely a quarter before midnight. The capital gates had long been closed, and slipping in had been anything but graceful.

Jim and Jill had all but rammed their way through, pushing past the watch knights before anyone could properly question them. Apparently, the capital enforced a strict curfew after sundown, no carriages allowed through the gates until morning. The old men, however, had already learned that the hard way.

They told her, between hurried breaths and frantic glances over their shoulders, how they'd been caught, thrown into the dungeon, and how their previous carriage had been 'accidentally' destroyed by the knights. Yona didn't have to ask what 'accidentally' meant, the tone in Jill's voice made it clear.

So this time, they didn't take the main road.

The old men steered the wagon into the narrow backstreets, following a route that had been written out for them, in Muzio's hand. Each turn seemed too sharp, each alley too tight, the echo of hooves bouncing off the stone walls.

Then Yona saw them.

Her pyre bugs.

Tiny, drifting golden motes scattered through the dark, fluttered towards them, as if waiting for her to follow. They glimmered, bright and gentle, and then moved ahead, weaving through the maze of alleys.

"Follow them," she murmured, and the old men didn't need to be told twice.

The glowing trail led them toward a large building at the end of the winding path, its windows faintly lit from within. The soft light spilled across the cobblestone, meeting the cold steel glint of armor. Knights stood guard at every entrance, their stances too rigid to be mere sentries.

Yona frowned, leaning forward as the carriage slowed. Something about the air felt off, tense, contained.

Those weren't royal guards.

They weren't protecting the people inside.

They were keeping something in.

She exchanged a quick glance with Diego, who seemed to understand without a word. Together, they slipped through the side, shadows beneath the torches.

Before they went in, Jim and Jill, had called after them.

"We've got to pick up the third," Jim had said, almost too casually.

At the time, Yona didn't care. She was too focused on finding Muzio, on getting to him, to worry about anyone else.

Now she almost wished she'd asked.

Yona thought for a moment that she could rest. That she could exhale.

And then the third help came crashing down.

He landed straight on Muzio's still body, the impact jarring enough to make the floor tremble. Before anyone could react, he planted one heavy boot on Muzio's chest, pinning him there with a weight that made Yona's blood run cold.

The man raised a standard-issue kingdom sword, its edge still dripping from some earlier fight. His armor was partial, minimal pauldrons, plated gauntlets, greaves covering his legs. No helmet hid his face.

White hair, disheveled. Golden eyes, sharp and wild.

"You said there's trouble?" the man asked, his voice rough but steady, eyes darting on Muzio. "This kid is the cause of it?"

For a moment, Yona couldn't speak. She just stared at him, at the reckless stance, the grin that was more threat than humor, the familiar madness in his eyes.

It hit her like a slap.

She knew that face.

That was him.

"The third is…" she whispered under her breath, disbelief lacing her tone, "…Mad Dog?"

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