The horizon bled orange — the first light of dawn creeping across the trees.
A single beam of golden light pierced through the treetops —
and Piers' eyes twitched.
Then it hit.
His pupils shrank. Eyes trembled as realization hit like a slap to the face.
Crap. Crap. Crap!
The sun's coming up—
His thoughts spiraled like a collapsing spell array.
Mom's gonna be awake any second!
If she finds out I'm gone—
'Massive eruption' won't even begin to cover it!
He whirled, sprinted to Styx, and grabbed her hand like a lifeline.
"Hold on tight!" he barked.
And then he launched.
Up through the forest canopy — air-walking like a kid possessed. One blink, and they were at the edge of the barrier, morning wind whipping around them.
He spun midair, heart hammering in his chest.
"Mutou! Be safe! Watch the kids! I'll be back tonight — IF I survive!"
Before Mutou could even respond, Piers had vanished in a flash — a streak of panic-powered speed shooting across the dawn sky.
Mutou simply nodded, silent and unshaken.
Styx clung to his back, laughing like a maniac.
"Faster! Faaaaster!!" she squealed, arms flailing in the wind.
Down below, silence.
The kind of awkward, stunned silence that follows something very weird and very fast.
Nobody said anything.
Gyuunyuu blinked.
Thog blinked slower.
Luci just sighed.
Back in the sky, Piers flew.
Not with grace.
Not with poise.
But with raw, primal fear.
His thoughts spun in a death spiral:
Did I leave the window open? What if she already checked??
What if she noticed my clone?! No — I gave it eyebrows. That should've worked!
SHE'S GONNA KILL ME!
He tore through the trees, eyes locked on his house in the distance.
"GO!" he hissed, scooping Styx up in one arm.
"He hurled her through her bedroom window…" like a bundle of laundry.
She rolled across the floor, landed with a giggle and a thumbs-up.
"Wheeeee!" she giggled.
Then, it was his turn.
Silent as a shadow, he slipped through his own window.
Yes! They're still out cold!
Dad's snoring like a beast, and the dummy's still in bed.
He tiptoed forward, reaching to shut the window — closing off any trace of his late-night adventure.
But just as his fingers touched the latch—
His mother stirred.
She let out a long, sleepy yawn.
Piers froze.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no.
He slowly turned.
She sat up halfway, one eye still closed, hand over her mouth as she yawned again.
Then—
"What are you doing, honey?" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Piers' mind exploded with panic.
Think fast!
If she sees the dummy — it's over!
He took a deep breath.
Calm. Smile. Activate Charisma Skill.
His face softened into pure innocent sunshine.
"Mama," voice sweet, eyes wide with fake serenity,
"I was thinking of taking a sunbath from this window."
She blinked. Then her sleepy expression melted into a smile.
"Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, stepping closer and nestling him into her arms.
"You're so young, yet already so mindful of your health!"
She beamed with pride, kissed his cheek, then reached over—
"Let me open the window for you."
NO–! he screamed internally.
"Alright. Let's wake up your dad."
She said softly, turning towards the bed.
Piers' face froze mid-smile.
His eyes widened. His soul screamed.
The dummy!
No, no, no!
If Mom sees that...
I'm doomed.
Thinking lightning-fast, he blurted:
"Mama, I'm starving! I want food!"
His voice cracked with urgency — part panic, part performance.
His mother blinked, turning back to him.
"Oh, you want food?" she cooed, instantly softening.
"Mama will make you lots of delicious food!"
she smiled sweetly.
"But before that, give Mama a kiss~"
As she leaned in — eyes sparkling.
Piers' brain screamed — but his Mana Hand moved.
Invisible. Silent. Swift.
his ethereal hand gently nudged the dummy…
Off to the other side of the bed — out of sight.
Fwump.
The bedding muffled the sound as she turned away — none the wiser.
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
Her face bloomed with joy.
Eyes fluttered closed, lips curved in a dreamy smile, cheeks dusted rose-pink.
In her inner world, she was already in the kitchen — humming happily as she imagined preparing a feast for her beloved son, completely unaware of the crisis that nearly unfolded.
She gave him a final squeeze. "I'll make something special!" she beamed, rising to leave.
Crisis… averted.
Piers dropped to his knees as soon as her back turned, shoulders sagging with relief.
"Phew…" That was too close…
From the bed, a groggy grunt.
Then—
A yawn.
A massive stretch.
His father was waking up.
.
.
.
.
.
The grand hall of the Shield Kingdom of Aegis buzzed with a restrained tension — regal and restrained. High banners swayed gently above the chamber, the air rich with incense and whispers.
At the center, upon an ornate throne of silverwood and sapphire, sat King Oberon, his gaze stern and thoughtful. To his left stood his loyal knight — old, silent, and resolute. On his right sat Princess Aurelia, her posture perfect, her eyes sharp with intelligence… and shadowed by unmistakable arrogance as she watched the assembly below with cool detachment.
Nobles and regional lords lined the perimeter, dressed in ceremonial finery. Their expressions were a collage of curiosity, calculation, and barely veiled anticipation.
Before the throne stood Ronan's party, heads bowed with practiced respect. Ronan himself — the kingdom's celebrated hero, known as much for his strength as his diplomacy — stood at the forefront. At his side were his trusted companions: a soft-spoken healer, a quick-footed spearman, and a stoic spirit-user cloaked in silence. Their names were known across the land. Songs had been sung in their honor.
King Oberon rose slightly, his deep voice cutting through the stillness.
"You have been summoned here today," he began, each word deliberate, "to receive a quest of the utmost importance. We ask that you enter the Forbidden Forest — and lend your strength to the kingdom once more."
A murmur rippled through the nobles — brief, hushed. The Forbidden Forest. A place of ancient power and whispered curses. Few entered willingly. Fewer returned.
Then Ronan stepped forward.
His cloak swayed behind him, expression steady. He bowed once, low and formal.
"Your Majesty," his voice clear and composed, "we are honored by the trust you place in us…But…"
A pause.
"…we must respectfully decline."
A collective gasp filled the hall. King Oberon's carefully maintained composure cracked, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his face.
"Beside him, Princess Aurelia's brow furrowed slightly, her keen gaze narrowing as she studied Ronan."
Explain yourselves," the king commanded, his voice hardening.
Ronan didn't flinch.
"We have already accepted a quest from the Empire," he explained calmly. "It is a matter of grave urgency, and we cannot, in good conscience, turn down their request."
He met the king's gaze directly.
"Our obligations to the Empire, unfortunately, take precedence."
A heavy silence followed — thick and suffocating. The weight of Ronan's words pressed into the hall like a gathering storm.
A tense silence fell.
The court stilled — even the guards standing along the walls stood a little straighter, watching the exchange with wary eyes.
King Oberon's jaw clenched. A shadow passed over his face — a flash of frustration, expertly smothered beneath the mask of royalty. He did not like being refused. Especially not in public. Especially not by heroes.
However, he also knew the delicate balance of power between the Shield Kingdom and the Empire. He couldn't afford to provoke them by holding the heroes against their will.
Still, Oberon tried one last time.
"Surely," forcing a thin smile, "you could undertake this task after your mission for the Empire? That couldn't possibly take long... could it?"
Ronan continued: "Yes, we can. However, this mission takes us to the Demon Realm. "Such ventures are unpredictable. Travel alone could take months... or even years. It is difficult to say exactly when we will return."
The king's expression twisted — frustration blooming just beneath the surface. But he caught it quickly, cloaking it with a tight, practiced smile.
"I see," he intoned, his voice thin… strained.
"In that case… you are dismissed."
As the heroes bowed once more and turned to leave,
Princess Aurelia's voice rang out, her voice calculated to wound.
"Such a pity," she remarked, loud enough for all to hear, "that such renowned heroes lack the foresight to recognize a truly important quest when it is offered to them."
A heavy silence followed.
No one dared respond.
The insult lingered in the air — deliberate, public, and poisonous.
King Oberon's gaze tracked the departing heroes, his expression frozen in a mask of regal calm.
But his knuckles whitened on the armrest.
Once the throne room doors shut behind them, the mask cracked.
SLAM.
He brought his fist down hard on the throne.
"Silence!" he snapped— his voice echoing through the hall. He turned to the aged knight at his side,
"Gideon," he growled, low and sharp, "can we not send the paybloods into the forest alone?"
Gideon stepped forward, face unreadable but tone measured.
"Your Majesty," he began, calm as stone, "while the paybloods are… capable, their success in the Forbidden Forest is improbable at best."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
The Forbidden Forest is a place of ancient power and unpredictable dangers. Ultimately, we must still await the time of the heroes' return
The king's face contorted in a silent snarl.
Finally, he waved a dismissive hand toward his advisor.
"Inform the Oracle of the Four Grand Hierophants," his voice dripping with displeasure, "that there will be a slight delay in our response."
Outside the castle walls, the fresh air was a welcome change after the tense atmosphere within.
Ronan exhaled, a mix of relief and lingering frustration in his expression.
"That went as well as it could," Vanya said gently. Her kind eyes held understanding.
"Don't doubt your decision, Ronan-sama. You made the right choice. The Empire's quest is important… and we gave our words."
Jareth clapped Ronan on the back.
"Besides, who would want to miss out on a trip to the Demon Realm? Think of all the exciting new places we'll see... and the even more exciting dangers we'll face!" He grinned, his enthusiasm infectious.
Ysarael leaned against a nearby tree, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Oh, Jareth, you're such a child," she teased, her voice playful but affectionate. "Always eager to jump headfirst into trouble. You'd probably try to befriend a demon if it had shiny teeth."
"Hey, danger is my middle name!" Jareth puffed out his chest in mock pride.
Ysarael rolled her eyes.
"If danger is your middle name, then your first name is idiot, and your last is magnet for monsters."
"Oof. Burn." Jareth clutched his heart in mock pain. "Your words cut deeper than any blade! At least I don't take strategic advice from squirrels."
Ronan chuckled, their banter lightening his mood. "Now, you two," he said with a smile. "Let's focus. We need to talk about this 'dungeon core' we're supposed to retrieve."
Vanya's smile faded into seriousness.
"The Demon Realm is unlike anything we've faced before. It's a land of chaos and powerful entities. A dungeon core, especially one deep within their territory, will be heavily guarded.
The journey there will take at least a year, if not more
She reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a sealed letter bearing the Empire's crest, along with a rolled parchment edged in gold.
"This is the official directive," her hands holding up the letter. "And this—" she unrolled the map with care, revealing sprawling dark lands inked in red and black, "—is our path into the Demon Realm. The safest known route, at least on paper."
She pointed to a shadowy region near the southern edge of the Demon Realm — a place where the map grew jagged and chaotic, the terrain etched in warped, curling lines.
"Here. The dungeon core is believed to be buried somewhere deep in the southern frontier. The Empire calls this stretch 'Ashvale Verge' — no clear settlements, just cursed land and old, forgotten names."
The others leaned in, tension rising as they traced the twisted paths that led toward it.
It's not a trip that can be taken lightly or quickly."
Then, after a pause, she added quietly —
"We're stepping into legend."
"So… not exactly a walk in the park," Jareth muttered, scratching his head.
"Definitely not," Ronan confirmed.
"But we've faced worse before — and we'll face this together."
He turned to Vanya.
"Can you dig into the archives? Anything about Demon Realm lore or dungeon core legends — find it."
Vanya nodded, already thinking through ancient texts and sealed tomes.
"I'll check the oldest texts. If there's even a whisper of a clue, I'll find it."
"Ysarael," Ronan continued, "your bond with the spirits lets you feel shifts in the world around us. I'll need you to sense anything—disturbances, anomalies, anything unnatural near where we're headed."
Ysarael gave a quiet nod, her expression unreadable.
"The spirits will answer when we get closer. I'll be listening."
In the end he turned to Jareth, his tone firm but trusting.
"Jareth — your mobility and long-range communication are going to be critical," Ronan said.
"I want eyes ahead. Not just terrain and monster activity — but intel we can't get from maps."
He crossed his arms, gaze sharpening.
"Political control, local factions, potential… bribery routes, even. Anything that helps us pass through their land without setting off alarms."
Jareth tilted his head, mildly surprised. "Wait… am I going solo tonight?"
Ronan shook his head.
"No. We stick together. No solo runs unless absolutely necessary. Just gather what you can — talk to people, listen, watch. Quiet recon."
He added firmly, "We leave at first light. I want fresh intel by then — safe routes, border tensions, and anyone we need to watch out for. Even tavern whispers might help."
Jareth gave a short, two-fingered salute.
"You got it, Captain. I'll have the goods waiting by breakfast."
Ronan clapped him on the shoulder with a small smile.
"I know you were. Just… try to stay out of trouble, okay? We've got a long road ahead."
"No promises!" Jareth winked, already bouncing on his feet — energy practically buzzing off him — before dashing a few steps ahead with his usual reckless spirit.
Ronan watched him go, then turned to Vanya and Ysarael.
The map still fluttered lightly in the breeze between them.
"We have a long and dangerous road ahead," voice low but resolute.
"A road that may take years — not months. But whatever we face... we face it together."
The others nodded silently — no bravado, no jokes this time.
Just the quiet understanding of those who had survived fire… and were ready to walk through it again.
* * *