The sky bled crimson above the Wishe Forest.
I watched it drain away—that final, desperate glow—as Father and I marched south into the waiting dark. The air pressed against my lungs like a living thing, thick with the scent of wet earth and something else. Something wrong.
A monster party. That's what the report had claimed. Appearing from nowhere, slaughtering a patrol of five seasoned rangers before vanishing back into the tree line like they'd never existed.
But that wasn't what made my skin crawl.
It was the whispers.
Traitor among the ranks.
Someone smuggling the filth from within.
They knew we were coming.
I glanced at Father's back, broad and unyielding as iron. His silence was absolute. He hadn't spoken a word since we passed the boundary stones—not to me, not to his captains, not to anyone. Just that grim set to his jaw that I'd learned to recognize over seventeen years of life.
The kind that meant I know something you don't.
And he wasn't going to share.
'There is indeed someone are hating our family.'
"Whatever happens," Elowen said now, her voice like cut crystal shattering the forest's oppressive quiet, "you must maintain a close distance."
Elowen a middle age look woman with blonde and darken blue eyes on her hand a magic staff with green crystal.
I bit back a sigh.
Third time in an hour. I was counting.
"I'll hold it in my mind, Elowen." I offered a placating smile, the kind that usually made Laffey roll her eyes and Mother's servants' scurry. "No worries."
Her expression didn't change. It never did.
'She still not forget that incident for me being careless once.'
Two months ago, during a training session that went sideways. A spell that backfired, sending a wave of force that would have crushed me against the manor's stone walls if she hadn't thrown herself between us.
She'd taken the blow instead.
Elowen perfect composure shattered into a mask of raw, unadulterated terror—not for herself, but for me.
The look in her eyes had haunted my dreams for weeks.
Because it wasn't the fear of a guard failing her charge.
It was the fear of a woman who had something to lose.
"What will we even find?" I tried to change the heavy atmosphere.
"Most likely a kobold and Goblin, but their ambushed can killed any careless one."
My mind wandered, trying to pierce the deepening gloom between the ancient trees. The canopy above swallowed the last traces of twilight, plunging us into a darkness that felt alive. Hungry.
'Walked in a forest at night always creep me out.'
The forest grew denser with every step. The air thickened, heavy with something that made the hair on my arms stand on end. Our formation tightened instinctively—scouts flitting through shadows like ghosts, their whispered reports tracing a path through the dark.
Father and I held the center. The flanking guards moved with practiced precision, their weapons already half-drawn. Every crunch of leaves underfoot felt like a scream.
Then a howl split the night.
It wasn't just sound. It was a physical wave of cold that slammed into us, rattling bones and chilling blood. My cloak snapped in an invisible wind. Around me, hardened soldiers shuddered—a ripple of naked fear that I'd never seen in their eyes before.
"High Lord." Reva's voice was a bowstring pulled taut. "They're closing in."
Father and I stood our ground in the clearing—a fragile island of grass in a sea of ancient, judging trees. The wind carried the reek of wet dog and old blood, a promise of violence already made.
"Good." Father's voice wasn't just calm. It was forged from absolute steel. "Oberon, the spell. Elowen, bind them on my mark."
"UNDERSTOOD!"
Elowen and I barked in unison, our voices a single weapon.
I caught her sideways glance—a hunter's gaze, usually so still, now wide with a flicker of something unexpected.
Not fear. Shock.
Because while everyone else was bracing, hearts hammering against their ribs, mine was... humming.
A low, steady thrum of anticipation. It felt less like fear and more like the moment the curtain rises before a play.
Five minutes passed.
Seven.
The tension stretched, a wire about to snap.
Then—
MOVEMENT.
The tree line EXPLODED.
Not a charge. A tidal wave.
Twisted, snarling flesh and rusted metal. Nightmares given form. They hit the ground so hard the earth trembled under our boots—a tide of claws and teeth and eyes that burned with something ancient and hungry.
Too many.
The thought cut through my anticipation like a blade. There were dozens. More. The scouts had said a dozen, maybe fifteen. This was a small army.
Then Elowen's voice sliced through the chaos, a battle-chant sharper than any blade:
"Mother of earth, give birth to life—drag my enemies to the ground! DRUAGA BIND! "
Crack!
The earth tore open.
Thick, coiling vines erupted from the soil like the limbs of some slumbering god, wood splintering and bones snapping as they wrapped around the horde's legs. The charge became a struggling, writhing mess—monsters snarling and thrashing as they were dragged down into the earth's hungry embrace.
Perfect.
My turn.
I raised my hands, the familiar cold gathering in my core. I drew a breath, ready to shape it, to chant the syllables that would give it form—
But before the first word could touch my lips—
WHOOSH!
A blazing, electric-blue magic circle flared to life above us, scorching the air with its intensity. It didn't just crackle. It SCREAMED—a sound of tearing reality. Dozens of jagged ice javelins materialized from the void, hovering like the fangs of a frozen god.
SWOOSH!
They flew. Not slowly. Not gracefully. They SCREAMED through the air, a blizzard of death moving faster than sound, faster than thought.
THUNK.
THUNK.
THUNK-CRACK!
Every single monster froze mid-roar. Their snarls locked in ice. Their bodies encased in crystal—
Then SHATTERED.
A million glittering pieces of ice-dust filled the air, catching the moonlight like a macabre snow globe. The sound of shattering death echoed through the clearing.
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence.
Broken only by the ringing in my ears.
'What the hell just happen?'
My hands were still raised.
The cold in my veins wasn't from my spell. It was the shock of what had just happened.
"Father," I heard someone whisper. It might have been me. "That wasn't... I didn't..."
"That was Hrim-Javelin," Father muttered. For the first time in my life, I heard his unshakable calm fracture. He was staring at me—really seeing me—as if I were a stranger wearing his son's face. "But... how did you do it, Oberon without incantation?"
I stared at my own palms.
They were still tingling. Not with the familiar burn of spirit magic channeled through careful ritual and controlled prayer. This was different. This was...
"I... thought it..." The words came out hollow, distant. "And it just... HAPPENED."
No incantation. No build-up. No sweat.
Just... will.
Made. Real.
Father's jaw tightened so hard I heard the grind of his teeth. "We will discuss this. Later." His voice was low, a controlled avalanche. "Reva—scout the perimeter. The rest of you, secure the area and set up camp. Now."
As the others scrambled, I knelt.
My fingers brushed against a rusted sword dropped by the dust-that-once-was-a-monster. Some poor soul's final possession. A reminder that this world was brutal, unforgiving, and utterly indifferent to my small dramas.
But my mind was a whirlwind.
HOW?!
My mother's teachings were gospel: spirit magic required focus, ritual, control. You channel power. You don't just WILL it into existence. It was a dance with the universe, not a command.
Yet I'd just bent reality with a stray thought.
A casual. Almost bored. Impulse.
Unless...
Was Mother wrong?
The thought was heresy. A chill that had nothing to do with ice. Our family's knowledge was second only to the Alf themselves! This didn't happen before, so what changed?
The Grimoire from Sindarin?
That weird, silvery contract I'd signed in my own blood and starlight?
I shook my head, a cold thrill—equal parts terror and ecstasy—shooting down my spine.
====x====
The journey home was a blur as the sun back after chilling night.
My thoughts were a tangled thicket, so consuming that I barely registered the carriage wheels clattering on familiar cobblestones until we rolled through the city gate. A small crowd had gathered, their faces bright with welcome—the noble's son returning from his first real hunt, already blooded, already proven.
"Welcome back, Young Master!"
"Thank you for your hard work!"
I summoned a weary smile, raising a hand in a gesture that felt too heavy for my arm.
"The Madam and Lord haven't returned yet," a servant added.
'Mother need to find how a monster can get inside undetected… It will take time I suppose.'
I gave a tight nod. Of course they hadn't. Duty was a siren song that always pulled them away from this empty manor, leaving me with only echoes and dust for company.
Before I could protest, Elowen's firm arms scooped me up, cradling me like an infant despite my squirming.
"Put me down," I grumbled, my dignity fraying at the edges. "I'm going to the library."
Her grip was unyielding as ironwood. "If the Young Master insists on burying himself in books, perhaps a more practical lesson is in order. Barrier magic."
"What? No!" I widened my eyes, deploying the puppy-dog gaze that could usually bend Mother's will and make Laffey sneak me extra sweets. "Can't we just... rest today?"
'I need to research the magic crystal I found.'
Elowen's expression remained carved from granite.
"No."
"Tch." I crossed my arms, defeat sour in my mouth. So much for that.
"Master Oberon's offensive spells are already formidable," she continued, her tone leaving no room for debate, "but your defenses are a threadbare cloak. We begin after lunch."
A groan escaped me, but I bit back any argument.
====x====
Orario
The western skies above Orario burned crimson.
Festival lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, casting dancing shadows across packed streets. The city throbbed with life—roaring crowds throwing flowers at the procession below. At its center marched the united might of Zeus and Hera Familia, their armor gleaming, their banners held high.
The heroes of the age.
The fools who dared the impossible.
From a shadowed balcony overlooking the chaos, two goddesses watched with predator's eyes.
"Well, there they go." Loki's voice dripped with disinterest as she leaned against the railing, her red hair spilling over her shoulders like a river of blood. "Think they'll actually pull it off?"
Freya didn't glance at the procession. Instead, she swirled her wineglass, watching the liquid catch the light like blood. "They felled Leviathan. They crushed Behemoth. The city believes them invincible."
She spoke with uncaring ease, then narrowed her gaze toward Loki. "And you?"
Loki's grin was sharp as a dagger. "My gut says they'll fail."
She paused, letting the words hang.
"Spectacularly."
A hunch. A throwaway thought—except when it came from Loki. Freya's fingers stilled around her glass.
"...If you're right," Freya murmured, "I'll prepare the stage. But you and your child will be the ones dancing on it."
"Deal." Loki's laugh was a fox's snicker, sharp and knowing. "I've been waiting for my turn."
Below, the elven princess Riveria stood apart from the cheering masses, her gaze locked on a silver-haired woman vanishing into the crowd. Freya's eyes followed the unspoken tension with feline amusement.
"Oh, by the way," she purred, "I heard something interesting from the Wishe Forest."
Loki's playful smirk froze.
"The Crimson Elf. Levos. Viska. And their... son." Freya let the words hang like a guillotine's blade. "Something changed out there. Something that shouldn't be possible."
The air between them turned to ice.
Loki's voice dropped to a whisper. "I told you not to snoop."
Freya merely stood, her smile a silent threat as she turned to leave.
The unspoken message was clear: I know more than you think.
And I'm not done with you yet.
As her footsteps faded, Loki exhaled through clenched teeth.
"That witch."
++++++++++++++
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