The moon hung high like a silver medallion upon the velvet tapestry of night, its soft glow spilling through the latticed windows of Miracheneous Academy. A hush blanketed the girl's dormitory, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of nocturnal winds whispering against the walls, and the distant hoot of an owl standing sentinel upon the rooftops.
Inside her dimly lit chamber, Shi Zhao Mei lay sprawled upon her bed, her arm draped over her forehead, as if shielding herself from thoughts too troublesome to bear. The echoes of Aleeman's words reverberated in her mind like the toll of a solemn bell.
"After I knew you were once the prince of Ji-Gong, I felt… sympathy for you."
Her jaw clenched. Sympathy?
"You've been cast aside by your own people. Betrayed by your father. Hunted by those who once swore loyalty to you."
Her heart clenched.
"I don't pity you, Shi Zhao Mei. But I understand you."
She exhaled sharply, a breath laden with the weight of things left unspoken.
"Understand me?" she murmured to the ceiling, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against the silk sheets beneath her. "I don't even understand myself."
She turned onto her side, her eyes tracing the patterns on the wooden ceiling beams.
To be a prince turned into a woman, forced to navigate an existence that was neither entirely hers nor entirely foreign—what cruel trick of fate was this? And yet, here she was, lying in a girl's dormitory, dressed in fine night robes like some pampered young lady, while deep within, the remnants of Wei Yang Hong, the exiled prince, still roared for vengeance.
Then.
A knock.
Her brows furrowed.
Who could it be at such an hour?
She pushed herself upright, straightened her robe, and padded barefoot across the cool marble floor to the door. When she unlatched it, her breath hitched.
Aleeman.
Standing in the dim hallway, bathed in the silver glow of the moon, the commander of Abjannas stood before her, arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on her with unreadable intent.
"What… are you doing here?" she asked, whispering instinctively.
Aleeman glanced left, then right, as if ensuring no eavesdroppers lurked in the shadows. "It's not exactly proper for me to be here, but I need to speak with you. Privately."
Shi Zhao Mei narrowed her eyes but stepped aside nonetheless. "Fine. But make it quick."
Aleeman stepped in, shutting the door behind him with a quiet but decisive thud.
"Lock it," he instructed.
She raised an eyebrow but complied.
"Close the balcony too," he added.
Shi Zhao Mei crossed her arms. "Are we discussing battle tactics or plotting a coup?"
Aleeman exhaled sharply. "Just do it."
Rolling her eyes, she closed the balcony doors, shutting out the nocturnal breeze that had danced through her chamber. When she turned back, Aleeman stood by her desk, his fingers idly grazing the wooden surface.
"Alright," she said, folding her arms. "Explain yourself. What could possibly be so urgent that you'd risk sneaking into the girl's dormitory at this hour?"
Aleeman lifted his gaze, meeting hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.
"I don't think you'll accept what I have to say," he admitted.
Shi Zhao Mei tilted her head. "Try me."
He took a deep inhale, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides before he finally spoke.
"Prince Wei Yang Hong… or should I say, Lady Shi Zhao Mei?"
She flinched at hearing her true name, the name she had tried to leave behind.
Aleeman continued, his voice calm—not angered, not accusatory, but laced with something else. Disappointment? Resignation?
"If you had told me earlier that you were cursed, that your father wanted you dead, we—no, I—would have found a way to help you. But you hid it from us. You hid it from me. And because of that secrecy, Emperor Weng Jin Shun ambushed my people, slaughtered the innocent, and nearly brought war to my homeland."
The words sliced through her like a blade dipped in ice.
Her fists clenched at her sides. "What would you have done if I told you?" she shot back, her voice rising in frustration. "Would you have helped me? Protected me? Or would you have feared me?"
Aleeman remained silent.
"Do you know what it's like to wake up in a body that isn't yours?" she demanded, her voice trembling, her eyes glistening with something she refused to acknowledge. "To be hunted by your own people? To be told that your existence is a curse? To have your name, your title, your entire identity ripped from you?"
A single tear slipped down her cheek, but she brushed it away before it could betray her further.
Aleeman moved then.
A step forward.
Then another.
She instinctively backed up, her spine hitting the cold stone wall behind her.
Aleeman pressed a bare hand against the wall, beside her head, caging her in without touching her. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
"As long as I live," he murmured, voice low, dangerous, "no one will lay a finger on you."
Shi Zhao Mei's heartbeat hammered against her ribs, each beat drumming an erratic rhythm of bewilderment and something else—something unfamiliar, something unwanted. Her face, usually schooled into indifference, burned a soft shade of pink.
Was he threatening her? Was he reassuring her?
Or was this something else entirely?
Aleeman pulled back just slightly, his dark eyes searching hers, before his lips quirked into something infuriatingly smug.
"But," he added, "if you're going to stay here, you better start behaving like a girl."
Shi Zhao Mei's brain short-circuited.
"Excuse me?"
Aleeman smirked. "You heard me. No more sitting like a man. No more brooding like a tragic warlord. And for the love of all things holy, stop glaring at people like you're about to decapitate them. Try acting… civilised."
She gawked at him, momentarily speechless. "Civilised?! You arrogant—!"
Aleeman patted her head lightly, the way one would with an unruly pet, and turned towards the door. "Good night, Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker."
Her eye twitched.
"You—!"
She grabbed the nearest object—a pencil holder—and hurled it at him.
Aleeman ducked, laughing as the holder smashed against the wall instead. He threw open the door and stepped out just as another object—a book this time—came hurtling his way. He dodged it with ease, closing the door behind him with a thud.
Shi Zhao Mei stood there, fuming, her cheeks still warm, her breath still unsteady.
A strange, reluctant smile ghosted her lips.
"Weird brute," she muttered, shaking her head as she flopped back onto her bed.
The moon hung like a solitary sentinel over Ji-Gong Palace, its cold silver glow casting long, spectral shadows across the imperial halls. The midnight air carried an eerie stillness, a silence so deep it seemed to press upon the very bones of the palace itself.
Inside, Emperor Weng Jin Shun sat rigidly in his chamber, hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles blanched. The flickering candlelight reflected off his storm-dark eyes, where rage simmered beneath the surface like a dormant volcano awaiting eruption. His breath was steady, but beneath his calm exterior, humiliation festered like an untreated wound.
The insufferable wolf of Abjannas had defiled his domain, had infiltrated his palace, had humiliated his court, and had dared—dared—to walk away unscathed.
Across the room, Lady Mei Lian stood near the silk-draped bed, her long ebony hair cascading over her shoulders like ink spilled upon moonlight. Her gaze, ever serene, carried the quiet wisdom of a woman who had weathered too many storms.
"My lord, it is late," she said softly, her voice like a gentle current against the jagged rocks of his fury. "You should rest."
Emperor Weng Jin Shun did not turn to her. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching ever so slightly before he finally exhaled through his nose.
"How does a man sleep," he murmured, voice low and taut, "when his honour has been dragged through the dirt?"
Lady Mei Lian approached him, resting a delicate hand upon his shoulder, but the moment her fingers made contact, his body tensed like a coiled serpent.
"He came to save Wei Yang Hong," she said gently. "That boy—"
"Do not say his name."
The words sliced through the air like a guillotine.
Lady Mei Lian stilled, her expression unreadable, yet her fingers curled subtly against the fabric of her robe.
"I will not warn you again," Weng Jin Shun continued, his voice now laced with venom. "Utter that name once more, and I will see to it that you join the traitors in the dungeons."
A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken grievances, before Lady Mei Lian finally withdrew her hand. Her eyes, though tranquil, now carried a sadness that did not escape the emperor's notice.
Yet, his mind was too occupied to dwell on it.
His thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea, and with them came the echo of Pan Zhihaou's prophecy:
"So long as Shi Zhao Mei draws breath, the Ji-Gong Clan will be shackled by misfortune. The heavens have cursed us, and the Wolf of Abjannas shields the harbinger of our doom."
A scoff left his lips—low, bitter.
"The wolf has bared his fangs in my domain," he muttered to himself. "Now, I shall crush him beneath my heel."
His eyes flickered towards the open window, where the wind carried the distant cries of the night-watch crows. With a subtle movement, he raised his hand and made a single sharp gesture into the darkness.
The shadows stirred.
From the depths of the night, a figure materialised—a phantom clad in obsidian silk, his presence so silent that even the flickering flames did not acknowledge his arrival. His mask, shaped like the face of a midnight specter, concealed everything but his piercing, hawk-like eyes.
The Ying Wei.
The Emperor's blade in the dark.
Weng Jin Shun tilted his head ever so slightly. "The wolf of Abjannas… and the cursed child," he intoned. "Erase them from existence."
Ying Wei did not speak. Words were unnecessary between predator and master. Instead, he inclined his head in a slow, deliberate nod.
Then, as swiftly as he had come, he melted back into the shadows, vanishing into the moonlit abyss.
A cold smirk ghosted over Emperor Weng Jin Shun's lips.
"Let us see if the wolf can outrun the hunter."
The morning sun unfurled its golden fingers across the grand city of Abjannas, illuminating the labyrinthine streets that thrived with life and a ceaseless hum of activity. Merchants hawked their wares beneath intricately carved archways, the scent of exotic spices twirling through the air like an unseen melody. Artisans hammered away in their forges, shaping steel into masterpieces, while scholars debated philosophy over steaming cups of saffron-infused tea in shaded courtyards.
At the heart of this bustling metropolis, a rather reluctant group of students stood at the base of the academy steps, their orders from Headmaster Falani clear—report to the Janissaries' Guild.
Or at least, that was what they were supposed to do.
"Before we head to the guild," Aleeman declared, stretching his arms behind his head with an air of complete nonchalance, "why don't we take a little detour? Roam the city. Take in the sights. Maybe indulge in some honeyed baklava. I hear the best ones are made in the Grand Bazaar."
His suggestion was met with mixed reactions.
"Now that is a commander's thinking," Wang Ji-Pang grinned, slapping Aleeman's back approvingly. "A tactical retreat into leisure before the battlefield!"
"I like the way you think," Finn agreed, nodding sagely. "Strengthening morale before duty. That's leadership."
"Aren't we just… avoiding responsibility?" Mika Yamana arched a skeptical brow.
"Semantics," Finn waved her off.
"I think it's a splendid idea," Elizabeth Feng chimed in, twirling a lock of her hair. "The Grand Bazaar is a marvel, after all. Besides, how can we serve the guild effectively if we haven't fully appreciated the cultural richness of Abjannas?"
"Exactly!" Aleeman snapped his fingers. "See, Elizabeth gets it!"
Shi Zhao Mei, who had been standing silently with arms crossed, finally sighed.
"So, let me get this straight." She looked at Aleeman, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Instead of heading directly to the Janissaries' Guild as instructed, you propose that we prance around the city, stuffing our faces and sightseeing like tourists?"
"Prance is a strong word," Aleeman countered, "but… yes."
Shi Zhao Mei pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something about 'utter buffoonery' under her breath.
But before she could offer a sharper retort, a far more exasperated voice cut through.
"Absolutely not!"
All eyes turned to Hua-Jing, who had her arms folded so tightly across her chest she looked ready to explode.
"Need I remind you all that this task is mandatory?" she scolded, her voice rising. "Headmaster Falani specifically instructed us to go to the Janissaries' Guild without distraction! Not gallivant through the city like undisciplined children!"
Aleeman shrugged carelessly.
"As long as I'm with you all, nothing can happen," he said with a smirk.
A dangerous glint flashed in Hua-Jing's eyes.
"Famous last words," she deadpanned.
Aleeman paused.
He felt something stir in his chest. Not pride. Not defiance. Something far darker. A shudder of… corruption?
He glanced at his sister, the pure embodiment of righteous indignation, and for the first time, he questioned whether he had created an enemy far worse than any battlefield adversary.
Before he could counter, a new voice entered the fray.
"Ah, my sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting."
The group turned to see Alenka stepping gracefully towards them.
Alenka Anastasios von Eridani
(Headmaster Falani's Assistant—A Walking Enigma)
She was a vision of composed efficiency, her pristine ivory robes embroidered with gilded sigils that shimmered in the sunlight. Her piercing emerald eyes held the weight of unspoken knowledge, and her flowing platinum hair, neatly braided over one shoulder, gleamed like liquid moonlight.
But beneath that refined exterior lurked an aura of quiet menace—the kind that suggested she had an entire library's worth of blackmail material on everyone in her vicinity.
Aleeman immediately straightened, sensing the presence of a formidable foe.
Alenka's lips curled into a polite but knowing smile.
"It seems," she observed, "that there was some… disagreement on your course of action?"
Aleeman grinned sheepishly. "I wouldn't call it a disagreement per se. More of a… strategic diversion."
Alenka tilted her head ever so slightly. "Ah. A 'strategic diversion.' How fascinating. Shall I inform Headmaster Falani of this most intriguing approach to duty?"
Aleeman cleared his throat.
"On second thought," he said smoothly, "perhaps duty does call. To the Janissaries' Guild we go!"
Hua-Jing huffed triumphantly, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Good," she declared. "At least someone here has a sense of responsibility."
Aleeman muttered something under his breath about 'betrayal from one's own kin' as the group reluctantly followed Alenka towards their intended destination.
Shi Zhao Mei stifled a smirk.
"What?" Aleeman asked, catching her expression.
She shrugged, casting him a sidelong glance. "Nothing. Just enjoying your downfall."
Aleeman groaned.
"By the heavens, I really should have left you in Ji-Gong."
Shi Zhao Mei mock gasped. "Such cruelty from my dear commander! You wound me!"
Aleeman rolled his eyes as they continued down the grand streets of Abjannas, the towering spires of the Janissaries' Guild looming in the distance.
The rising sun stretched its golden fingers over Nur-Al-Sanjak, bathing the twin-layered skyline in an ethereal glow. Here, the past and future entwined like lovers in an endless dance—where grand domes kissed the sky beside sleek cybernetic towers, and ancient minarets stood shoulder to shoulder with holographic prayer screens.
The streets pulsed with life, a symphony of voices, traders shouting their wares, and the soft hum of automated carriages gliding over cobblestone paths. Hoverbikes whizzed past pedestrians, and floating neon banners bearing the crescent and stars of Abjannas shimmered in the high morning light.
For a city that prided itself on war, its heart beat strongest in its Grand Marketplace—the chaotic, sprawling labyrinth where merchants peddled everything from Damascus steel scimitars to plasma-weaved armor. The aroma of sizzling kebabs, honey-drizzled baklava, and saffron-laced tea wove through the air like an irresistible enchantment, drawing even the most disciplined warriors off course.
And, of course, one such warrior had already succumbed.
"By the ancestors, I must have that kebab," Wang Ji-Pang declared, eyes glistening with the same reverence one might have for an ancient relic.
His gaze was locked onto a stall where a grizzled merchant twirled skewers over an open flame, the sizzling fat dripping onto smoldering coals, sending curls of aromatic smoke into the air. The scent alone had Wang's soul ascending to celestial realms.
Finn sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "By the ancestors, you need intervention."
"You don't understand, Finn," Wang countered dramatically, "that kebab… it's calling to me. It knows my name. It knows my struggles."
Aleeman chuckled, shaking his head. "If a stick of grilled meat knows your name, we have bigger problems, brother."
Shi Zhao Mei, who had been quietly admiring the intricate calligraphy lining the archways of the bazaar, smirked. "Let the man have his moment. If he wishes to be spiritually bonded to a kebab, who are we to interfere?"
Wang clutched his chest as if struck by divine understanding. "Exactly, Mei! You, of all people, understand. Unlike these soulless heathens."
"Oi," Finn retorted, "we're not soulless, we just have—what's the word?—restraint."
Hua-Jing, arms crossed, rolled her eyes. "Restraint? Finn, you bought a high-tech self-cleaning rifle stand just because it 'looked cool.'"
Finn bristled. "That was an investment in the future of tactical efficiency!"
Aleeman snorted. "It was an investment in vanity, mate."
Elizabeth Feng, who had been eyeing a display of enchanted jewelry, turned to Shi Zhao Mei. "What about you, Mei? Anything catching your eye?"
Shi Zhao Mei paused, glancing at an exquisite silk scarf woven with golden dragon motifs. She reached out, fingers brushing the delicate fabric, before she shook her head and pulled her hand back. "No need. I have everything I require."
Aleeman, noticing the hesitation, picked up the scarf himself. He examined it for a brief moment before handing it to the merchant. "We'll take this."
Shi Zhao Mei blinked in surprise. "What are you—?"
Aleeman shrugged. "Consider it an apology for, you know… calling you a 'Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker' in public."
Shi Zhao Mei's cheeks warmed, but she quickly masked it with a scoff. "You should be apologizing for that! Do you know how many students have started whispering that behind my back?"
Aleeman grinned. "I do know, actually. I quite enjoy it."
Shi Zhao Mei narrowed her eyes. "You are insufferable."
Finn leaned toward Wang and whispered, "They're flirting."
Wang nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. The sacred art of bickering courtship."
Mei-Xi-Li snorted. "Idiots, both of them."
As they moved further down the bazaar, their arms grew heavier with purchases—exotic spices, enchanted trinkets, and a suspiciously high number of kebabs (all belonging to Wang). But before they could indulge further, a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Ah, finally. There you all are."
Alenka Anastasios von Eridani stood before them, arms crossed, looking every bit the poised assistant to Headmaster Falani.
"I assume your… 'strategic detour' has now been completed?" she said smoothly, eyebrow arched.
Aleeman cleared his throat. "We were merely, um… immersing ourselves in cultural enrichment before our assignment."
Alenka's smile did not waver. "And the twelve kebabs you're hiding behind your back?"
Aleeman did not hesitate. "For the Janissaries. A token of goodwill."
Wang whispered, "Bey, that's my lunch—"
Aleeman elbowed him sharply. "Shh, Wang, let me work."
Alenka sighed. "You're all lucky that Headmaster Falani predicted this and gave me extra time to ensure you actually made it to the Janissaries' Guild. Now, enough stalling. Move along."
Finn groaned. "You know, for someone who looks like an angelic scholar, you have the soul of a tax collector."
Alenka smiled sweetly. "Why, thank you, Finn. Now, march."
As they made their way towards the Janissaries' Guild, the laughter and lighthearted banter continued, even as duty loomed ahead.
The golden sun bathed the city of Nur-Al-Sanjak in its warm embrace, casting shimmering reflections upon the sleek steel minarets and gilded domes of the Janissaries Guild. The sound of mechanical gears whirring within the towering clockwork gates blended seamlessly with the rhythmic chants of soldiers training in the distance.
As Aleeman and his comrades strode towards the grand entrance, the scent of spiced meat and freshly baked flatbreads curled through the air, an enticing aroma that made stomachs grumble in anticipation.
Yet, amidst the laughter and camaraderie, something felt amiss.
A strange prickle ran down Aleeman's spine.
The kind that whispered of unseen eyes, lurking in the corners of reality.
He slowed his pace ever so slightly, his sharp gaze flickering over his shoulder.
Nothing. Just the shifting of shadows against the towering structures, the murmur of the city's bustling life.
Still, the feeling gnawed at him, like an itch just out of reach.
"What is it?"
Shi Zhao Mei's soft, yet cautious voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was watching him carefully, her keen eyes narrowing in curiosity.
"Nothing," Aleeman muttered, but his brows knitted ever so slightly. "Just thought I saw something."
Shi Zhao Mei didn't press further, but her gaze lingered upon him as if studying the unreadable script of his expressions.
Unbeknownst to them, Ying Wei lurked within the veil of shadows, moving like a ghost, his form blending seamlessly with the folds of the city's architecture. Every step was calculated, every breath silent, watching, waiting—stalking.
As they arrived at the Janissaries Guild, a raucous cheer erupted. The grand gates, adorned with intricate engravings of past wars and victories, swung open, revealing Aleeman's most trusted comrades.
Standing at the forefront were Mehmet Arslan, his arms folded with a grin plastered across his face, Tariq Al Khattab with his usual composed air, and Zayd ibn Malik, exuding an effortless confidence as they stepped forward to greet their commander.
The Janissary soldiers, clad in their striking uniforms—a fusion of traditional imperial robes and cyber-enhanced battle armor—stood in disciplined rows, their fists pressed to their chests in a salute of unwavering loyalty.
"Welcome back, Commander!" Mehmet bellowed, his voice brimming with pride. "We've kept your fortress standing, though we can't say the same for Rüstem Bey's breakfast rations."
Aleeman's smirk faltered.
"Rüstem Bey is still eating?"
Mehmet grinned, rubbing the back of his head. "Aye, he's locked himself in his quarters—says he won't surface until he's devoured an entire lamb."
Aleeman exhaled sharply, shaking his head in feigned exasperation.
Then, with a fluid motion, he reached into his cloak and—
Brought out twelve glistening, perfectly grilled kebabs.
The effect was instantaneous.
Wang Ji-Pang's jaw nearly unhinged from his skull. His eyes dilated like those of a starved beast, hands twitching as if possessed by an unseen force.
Finn mournfully clutched his chest as though he had just witnessed the betrayal of the century.
"No… not the kebabs…" he whispered, his voice hoarse with unspoken grief.
Shi Zhao Mei stood frozen, her brows slightly furrowed as she tried to decipher the strange ritual that was unfolding before her.
Aleeman turned to Mehmet and, without missing a beat, pressed a hefty bag of Silver Dirhams into his hands.
"Distribute these twelve kebabs to twelve Janissary soldiers," he ordered, his voice as firm as a king passing judgment. "Then, take this money and buy more for the rest. We feast together, or not at all."
Mehmet blinked.
"Commander, this is far too much—"
"Nonsense." Aleeman waved a dismissive hand. "If I let you distribute only twelve kebabs, the rest of the men will sit and watch them eat. Do you want them to gnaw on their scabbards instead?"
Mehmet sighed in surrender, shaking his head as he turned towards the marketplace. "As you wish, my Bey."
Meanwhile, Wang had collapsed to his knees.
"The kebabs… my kebabs… gone…" he whispered in absolute devastation.
Finn patted his back solemnly.
"We live in a cruel, unjust world, my friend."
Hua-Jing rolled her eyes, arms folded as she scoffed. "You two are acting like someone died."
Shi Zhao Mei tilted her head, utterly bewildered. "All of this… over skewered meat?"
"Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker, you wouldn't understand," Wang lamented, shaking his head.
Shi Zhao Mei snapped her head towards him. "What did you just call me?!"
Wang cleared his throat, suddenly developing an intense interest in the clouds.
As Mehmet departed to secure the feast, Aleeman turned back to his soldiers, surveying their eager faces before raising his voice once more.
"Today, we eat like kings. A feast for the Janissaries, from me to you!"
A thunderous cheer erupted.
But even in the midst of laughter and camaraderie, in the far reaches of the shadows, unseen and unheard, Ying Wei watched.
The hunt was far from over.
The morning sun had barely kissed the rooftops of Miracheneous Academy, yet inside the grand headmaster's office, a storm brewed in the form of an anxious Alenka Anastasios von Eridani. Her sleek, silver hair shimmered under the soft glow of the arcane lanterns, her brows furrowed as she read from a digital slate.
"Headmaster," she began, standing before the massive mahogany desk where Headmaster Falani sat, fingers steepled. "Aleeman and his comrades have been spotted buying supplies from the market before heading to the Janissaries Guild."
Falani gave a tired sigh, rubbing his temples as though the very name 'Aleeman' caused him physical pain.
"Let me guess…" he muttered darkly. "Not just supplies. What else did he do this time?"
Alenka cleared her throat. "He… also bought twelve kebabs for the Janissary soldiers."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Professor Galadriel, who had been seated nearby, raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Well, at least he's generous. That's an admirable trait, Headmaster."
Falani exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair.
"Generous? That brat is a walking catastrophe. First, he infiltrates a foreign imperial palace, then he fights off knights in Justilia Forest, then he drags a cursed royal into our academy, and now he's out there feeding an entire army like he's the Sultan of Abjannas himself."
He stroked his beard in frustration. "I fear if he continues like this… What am I even going to tell his father, Orhan Bey?"
As if the universe itself delighted in his suffering, the telephone on his desk rang.
Professor Galadriel, sensing divine irony, smirked as she picked up the receiver. After a moment, she turned to Falani, her golden eyes glinting mischievously.
"It's Orhan Bey."
Headmaster Falani's soul momentarily left his body.
His nightmare had materialized in broad daylight.
With the grace of a man about to face execution, he slowly took the phone from Professor Galadriel.
"Orhan Bey… ah, what an unexpected pleasure," he said, voice teetering between forced warmth and absolute dread.
On the other end, Orhan Bey's deep, authoritative voice hummed through the receiver. "Headmaster Falani, how is my son? I trust he is behaving?"
Falani swallowed.
His instinct was to lie—to say that Aleeman was diligently studying, excelling in politics, and absolutely not gallivanting across war-torn territories.
But Orhan Bey was no fool.
So, with great reluctance and a lifetime's worth of regret, Falani spilled every single offense Aleeman had committed since entering the academy.
From infiltrating Ji-Gong Palace, to fighting knights, to fight against the Knight Divin Warrior Lenotes, to single-handedly feeding an army.
On the other end, silence.
A silence so potent it could have shattered the heavens.
Then, in a voice as cold as a winter gale, Orhan Bey simply said:
"…I see."
And hung up.
Falani stared at the receiver, as though it had personally betrayed him.
Professor Galadriel, watching with clear amusement, shook her head. "Well, that went better than expected."
Alenka looked uncertain. "You think so?"
Falani groaned, rubbing his face. "No, Orhan Bey just entered his quiet rage. The type where he doesn't shout—he simply makes decisions."
Alenka shifted uneasily. "Should we be worried?"
Falani scoffed. "Not us. Aleeman should."
Across the vast sands of Abjannas, inside the grand council hall of Abhammuddin Obasi, Orhan Bey sat upon his throne, his expression unreadable.
His elder son, Samiyoshi Hakiman, stood before him, sensing the weight of an unspoken command.
"Father," Samiyoshi said cautiously. "You called for me."
Orhan nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against the armrest.
"I want you to bring Aleeman back."
Samiyoshi's brows furrowed. "Is he in trouble?"
The aromatic tendrils of slow-cooked Nihari wafted through the room, thick with the scent of braised meat and saffron-infused gravy. The golden glow of the lanterns flickered against the bronze plates, reflecting off the deep, rich crimson of the dish. At the center of this culinary delight sat Rüstem Bey, cross-legged on the floor, his sleeves rolled up, fingers already dripping with the spiced delicacy as he tore into the naan with the enthusiasm of a man who had just returned from battle.
With a sigh of utter bliss, he closed his eyes and muttered, "By the heavens, if this is not the taste of paradise, then I refuse to die until I find it."
Just as he scooped another piece of naan, soaking it in the thick, velvety Nihari, a firm knock rattled his door.
He froze.
Then, like a startled thief caught mid-act, he hastily wiped his mouth, straightened his back, and cleared his throat in an attempt to appear dignified.
"Who dares disturb my sacred moment with the Almighty Nihari?" he grumbled, his voice muffled by the mouthful he had just taken.
The door creaked open, and in stepped Aleeman, arms folded, an eyebrow quirked at the sight before him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Aleeman's eyes drifted from Rüstem's sauce-covered fingers to the nearly decimated plate of naan, to the guilty expression of a man who had been caught hoarding treasure.
Rüstem Bey swallowed audibly.
"…Bey," he greeted, feigning casualness, but the speed at which he tucked the last piece of naan behind his cup of tea betrayed him.
Aleeman sighed, stepping further inside and closing the door behind him. "You didn't come out all morning. What were you doing?"
Rüstem straightened his posture, as if preparing to defend his honor. "Training."
Aleeman glanced at the half-eaten Nihari.
"…Training?"
Rüstem nodded solemnly. "Training… my patience. The battle against hunger is a war that never ends."
Aleeman dragged a hand down his face. "Rüstem."
"Yes, Bey?"
"You're eating breakfast at noon."
"And?"
Aleeman sighed again, shaking his head before dropping down onto the carpet beside him. "Give me your plate."
Rüstem Bey blinked, shielding his meal with an arm. "You've already had breakfast. Don't be a tyrant."
Without another word, Aleeman reached over, pinched off a piece of naan, scooped up a generous portion of Nihari, and held it up to Rüstem's mouth.
"Open," Aleeman ordered.
Rüstem instinctively obeyed, but realization struck too late. His eyes widened as Aleeman—grinning like a man indulging in wicked amusement—shoved the entire bite into his mouth with a victorious smirk.
As Rüstem struggled to chew, eyes watering at the sheer overload of flavors, Aleeman clapped him on the back.
"You're always fighting for me, my friend. Today, let me fight for you—against your own greed."
Rüstem finally swallowed, coughing slightly, and wiped his mouth before glaring at Aleeman.
Then, with all the dramatic flourish of a man confessing his undying loyalty, he placed a hand over his heart and declared,
"Bey, it is my honor to serve you… and my deepest sorrow to share my Nihari with you."
Aleeman laughed, shaking his head. "Come, eat properly. If you die from gluttony, who will guard my back?"
Rüstem Bey grinned, tearing another piece of naan. "Then I shall eat in your name, Bey."
The two warriors sat there, sharing laughter, sharing a meal—not as commander and soldier, but as brothers forged in battle, bound by trust.
The evening sun sank beneath the horizon, bleeding hues of crimson and gold across the sky like an artist's final stroke upon an unfinished canvas. The grand domes and towering minarets of the Janissaries' Guild cast elongated silhouettes upon the marble streets, their golden inlays catching the last remnants of dying daylight. The air thrummed with the distant sound of warriors sharpening blades, the rhythmic clash of steel against steel echoing like a forgotten battle hymn.
But beyond the grand structures, beyond the gilded halls of Abjannas' finest warriors, a shadow slithered through the periphery of the Guild's outer walls.
Ying Wei—the unseen dagger of Ji-Gong. The blade that struck without warning, the phantom that left no trace.
Cloaked in the umbral silk of the Shadow Guards, his form was nothing more than a ripple against the wind, a whisper in the dimming light. Hidden amidst the tiled rooftops, he perched like a vulture watching its prey, his piercing gaze locked upon the figures below.
He lifted his wrist, tapping a small jade sigil embedded within his vambrace. A soft chime resonated—a connection forged across miles, reaching the ears of one who dwelled in imperial might.
From the other end, a low, authoritative voice rumbled through the unseen link.
"What news?"
Ying Wei's voice was as smooth as the midnight tide, yet as sharp as a dagger's edge.
"The fallen prince of Ji-Gong… or should I say, the Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker," he murmured.
Silence.
Then, a deep, resounding laugh.
The very walls of the Ji-Gong palace seemed to tremble under the weight of Emperor Weng Jin Shun's amusement. His laughter—rich and cruel—resounded like an old song of triumph.
"Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker? Hah! The heavens mock my child even further."
Ying Wei remained impassive, his keen eyes tracking every movement within the Janissaries' training grounds.
"And the wolf of Abjannas?" the emperor asked, his tone darkening.
Ying Wei narrowed his eyes, watching the so-called wolf below.
Beneath the twilight sky, Aleeman Hakiman stood at the center of the training courtyard, his usual confident smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Clad in the regalia of his station, his sabre—Wolf Claw—rested lazily in his grasp, its silver sheen catching the flickering light of nearby torches.
Surrounding him, a circle of Janissaries, their breath steady, their grips firm upon their weapons. Tonight was not a mere display of prowess—it was a test of skill, of wit, of the sheer determination that separated warriors from men who simply held swords.
With a single, languid motion, Aleeman raised his weapon, his voice smooth as velvet yet edged with challenge.
"Well?" he drawled, "Are we fighting, or shall I take my leave and let you all boast of how you 'almost' sparred with me?"
The Janissaries exchanged glances—until one stepped forward.
Tariq Al-Khattab, a warrior with eyes like molten bronze and a blade that spoke only in victories. He smirked, unsheathing his scimitar in a flash of silver.
"Shall we dance, my Bey?"
Aleeman's smirk deepened.
"Try not to lose your footing, Tariq."
And in a heartbeat—steel met steel.
On the opposite side of the courtyard, Shi Zhao Mei stood beneath the open sky, her silhouette framed by the glow of flickering torches.
She twirled her dao, 'Asina Wo Do Blood' between her fingers, the crimson blade humming with latent energy.
Across from her, Elizabeth Feng stood poised, twin daggers glinting under the pale moonlight.
Elizabeth's stance was lithe and fluid, like a serpent waiting to strike, but Shi Zhao Mei?
Shi Zhao Mei stood with the presence of an empress, her smirk coy, her crimson eyes glinting like burning rubies.
"Don't go easy on me, gemstone belly," Elizabeth teased, twirling her daggers.
Shi Zhao Mei flushed instantly. "Don't call me that!"
With a mischievous chuckle, Elizabeth lunged.
Their weapons clashed—dagger against dao—sparks igniting like fireflies in the night.
Watching from the sidelines, Wang Ji-Pang shook his head, turning to Finn.
"Tell me, Finn. Do you think that one day she'll embrace her new title?"
Finn smirked, arms crossed. "Not while she's still trying to stab everyone who says it."
Ying Wei watched it all unfold. His gaze flickered between Aleeman and Shi Zhao Mei—the wolf and the fallen prince-turned-troublemaker.
He tapped his sigil again.
"Your Majesty, they grow stronger."
A pause.
Then, the emperor's voice slithered through the darkness.
"Then we must strike before their fangs are too sharp to break."
And in the quiet abyss of the night, Ying Wei smirked beneath his mask.
"As you command."
The imperial hall of Ji-Gong Palace stood as an unshaken monument of tradition and tyranny, its golden pillars casting elongated shadows beneath the flickering light of hanging lanterns. Incense curled in languid wisps through the air, blending the sweet aroma of lotus blossoms with the cloying scent of burning sandalwood, a fragrance as heavy as the silence that had settled upon the chamber.
And at the heart of it all, seated upon a grandiose throne adorned with dragon-carved armrests, Emperor Weng Jin Shun exhaled a deep, calculated breath before the corner of his lips curled into a sinister smirk.
Monk Pan Zhihaou, cloaked in flowing amber robes, arched a brow at the sudden shift in his emperor's countenance. His gaze, sharp as a vulture's, narrowed with intrigue.
"Your Majesty," he intoned, his voice a weathered whisper against the hushed chamber, "what thought lingers upon your mind that has summoned such a… sinister amusement?"
The emperor let out a low, rasping chuckle before speaking, his words laced with contempt.
"My wretched son… the once-mighty Wei Yang Hong, who dared to defy his own lineage, who brought shame to my name, now bears a title most fitting." His fingers drummed lazily upon the gilded armrest. "The Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker."
A silence.
Then—laughter.
It began as a choked snicker from Minister Cai Sheng, but within moments, Monk Pan Zhihaou, Minister Lu Zheng, and Minister Guo Jianhong erupted into peals of mocking mirth, their voices bouncing off the high-vaulted ceiling.
Minister Cai Sheng, a man whose veins carried more pettiness than blood, wheezed between fits of laughter, clutching his throat instinctively. The phantom sensation of cold steel—Aleeman's dao pressed against his vulnerable flesh—haunted him still.
"Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker!" Minister Lu Zheng scoffed, his round belly trembling with mirth. "Oh, what poetic justice the heavens have delivered! A prince of Ji-Gong, reduced to a mere trinket to be mocked by the world."
Minister Guo Jianhong stroked his wispy beard, his lips curled into a sneer. "And let us not forget the wolf that lurks beside her… Aleeman Hakiman, the audacious pest who dared to invade our palace, who humiliated us with his barbaric defiance."
Pan Zhihaou's mirth dimmed, his laughter fading into an ominous hum as he folded his hands within his sleeves. "Two mongrels, bound by fate's cruelty." His gaze flickered toward the emperor, his tone shifting to one of contemplation. "A pest and a dishonoured whelp… yet both continue to elude the grasp of death. Their existence alone is an insult to your reign, Your Majesty."
Weng Jin Shun exhaled through his nose, his smirk deepening. "And an insult that shall be remedied."
He lifted a single hand and snapped his fingers. The sound was soft—barely more than a whisper—but its meaning carried the weight of death.
From the shadowed edges of the chamber, a figure materialized like a phantom summoned from the depths of the abyss.
Ying Wei.
The emperor's handpicked executioner.
The very air seemed to tighten as the assassin lowered himself into a deep bow, his presence devoid of warmth, a mere extension of the emperor's will.
"Your Majesty," Ying Wei's voice slithered through the dimly lit chamber like the hiss of a blade unsheathed.
Weng Jin Shun leaned forward, resting his chin upon his knuckles, his smirk widening.
"Eliminate them both."
The command was final. Absolute.
Aleeman Hakiman. The Wolf of Abjannas.
Shi Zhao Mei. The Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker.
Two thorns in the emperor's side, soon to be uprooted.
Ying Wei bowed his head in compliance. "As you command."
From her silent post at the periphery of the chamber, General Xuè Lián stood rigid as stone, her sharp features carefully schooled into neutrality. Yet beneath her composed exterior, her heart coiled with unease.
Shi Zhao Mei.
She had been born Wei Yang Hong, the prodigal son of Ji-Gong. A warrior once fated for glory, now condemned by the curse of Yuán Nǚ Wáng. A prince who had defied fate, who had chosen exile over blind loyalty, who had become something else entirely.
And now… a target.
Xuè Lián's fingers twitched by her sides, her grip tightening against the embroidered silk of her sleeves. Her inner monologue whispered like a ghost against the walls of her mind.
This is wrong.
She had witnessed Shi Zhao Mei fight. She had seen the fire in her eyes, the tenacity in her blade, the way she carried herself—not as a coward fleeing her past, but as a warrior still standing despite the weight of a shattered destiny.
And yet, the court of Ji-Gong demanded her elimination.
Her gaze flickered to Emperor Weng Jin Shun. To the man who once called her his own blood.
You would murder your own child…?
Her stomach twisted, the bitter taste of realisation settling upon her tongue.
She could not save Shi Zhao Mei. Not openly. Not without risking her own life.
But perhaps… perhaps she could warn her.
Silently, she stepped back into the shadows, her mind already weaving a plan, one that would either be her salvation or her undoing.
The hunt had begun.
And she was no longer certain she was standing on the right side.
The dusken hues of the Nur-Al-Sanjak skyline stretched across the horizon, bathing the city's golden domes and cyber-spires in streaks of molten amber and violet. The group, weary yet invigorated by their time at the Janissaries' Guild, walked at a steady pace towards Miracheneous Academy, the chatter among them a mix of idle banter and lighthearted teasing.
"You're saying, Wang," Finn drawled, adjusting the strap of his rifle, "that you once outran a desert tiger in Abhammuddin with only a loaf of bread and sheer will?"
Wang Ji-Pang huffed indignantly, adjusting the sleeves of his robe. "It was not just a loaf of bread! It was infused with sacred spices! You wouldn't understand."
Elizabeth Feng snorted. "Yes, because the tiger clearly stopped mid-chase to appreciate the 'sacred spices' before deciding you weren't worth eating."
Laughter rippled through the group, but Aleeman did not join in.
His eyes, like tempered steel beneath the twilight, flickered sideways. Something was off.
A sound.
A footstep—light, deliberate, yet unfamiliar.
Aleeman stopped.
And the sound ceased instantly.
Shi Zhao Mei, walking beside him, noticed the shift in his body language—the tension in his jaw, the way his hand had subtly drifted towards the hilt of his sabre.
Finn and Wang caught his glance—a warning glance, sharp as a dagger drawn in silence.
They understood.
Their postures changed ever so slightly—Finn's fingers ghosted over his rifle strap, Wang adjusted his gauntlets.
Hua-Jing, oblivious to the sudden tension, frowned at her brother. "Aleeman? What's wrong?"
Aleeman's lips pressed into a thin line. "Nothing."
He turned his head slightly, voice calm but firm. "Finn. Wang. Take them back to the academy."
Wang frowned. "What about you?"
"I'll join you shortly."
Shi Zhao Mei, standing close enough to catch the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, crossed her arms. "No. If you're staying, I'm staying."
Before Aleeman could retort, a second whisper of movement.
A string tightening.
Aleeman's hand snapped up just as an arrow hissed through the air, its steel tip embedding itself into his raised palm.
A sharp gasp erupted from the group as Aleeman staggered back slightly, his brow furrowing at the sight of the arrow buried in his flesh.
Shi Zhao Mei reacted immediately, stepping closer, her eyes flickering with worry. "Aleeman, are you—"
He nodded, gritting his teeth as he snapped the shaft in two and tossed it aside.
Finn swore. Wang tensed. Mika and Elizabeth reached for their weapons. Hua-Jing's breath hitched.
Another movement in the shadows.
More coming.
Aleeman's decision was instant.
"Finn, Wang, take them."
Hua-Jing's eyes widened. "No! I can't let you—"
Aleeman didn't give her time to argue.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her along as he ran into the alleyway, Shi Zhao Mei following close behind.
Shi Zhao Mei glanced sideways at him as they ran, his grip firm but controlled.
"Whoever is hunting us," she murmured, her voice sharp with awareness, "it's not just you they want."
Aleeman gave her a knowing glance. "They want you dead."
Shi Zhao Mei's lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
Instead, she focused on his expression.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't even panicked. He was calculating.
Then—his grip on her wrist loosened, and he veered into another narrow street.
"Follow me."
The doors of Miracheneous Academy swung open as Finn and Wang half-dragged, half-led the others inside.
Hua-Jing immediately turned, fury burning in her chest.
"We have to go back for them!"
Finn, still catching his breath, shook his head. "Aleeman told us to come here for a reason."
"That doesn't mean I'll abandon him!"
The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted their argument.
Alenka Anastasios von Eridani, Headmaster Falani's assistant, approached them swiftly, her robes billowing slightly with her stride.
Her piercing silver eyes scanned them carefully. "What happened?"
Wang, still winded, gestured vaguely. "We were attacked. Arrows. Aleeman sensed someone following us before it happened."
Alenka's brows furrowed. "Attacked?"
Before she could press further, another presence arrived.
Professor Galadriel.
"Attack?" She repeated, her voice sharp with concern. "Who?"
Wang exhaled, recounting the moment.
"Aleeman raised his hand, and then—"
"An arrow."
Silence.
A shadow loomed over them.
Vice Principal Aiguo Wei-Tang.
His presence oozed condescension, his hands clasped behind his back as he slowly approached.
"It is no surprise," he murmured with a smirk, "that wherever Aleeman Hakiman goes, trouble follows."
Finn's jaw clenched. Hua-Jing fumed.
Aiguo continued, his tone silk-laced with venom. "Since the day he entered this academy, he has done nothing but disrupt its peace. Bringing with him a…" His eyes flickered towards Hua-Jing and the others, then towards the empty space where Shi Zhao Mei should have been.
"…a troublesome traveller."
Professor Galadriel's expression darkened. "Vice Principal. Now is not the time for baseless accusations."
Aiguo's smirk did not waver. "And yet, Professor Galadriel, do tell me—was it not Aleeman who caused the first destruction of the auditorium?"
Finn, unable to contain his irritation, scoffed. "That was not his fault."
Aiguo raised a brow. "Of course, of course. He is never at fault, is he?"
He turned, walking past them with a leisurely arrogance. "You will see, soon enough. He will be the undoing of this academy."
As he left, a single venom-laced chuckle trailed behind him.
Hua-Jing's hands curled into fists.
"I hate him."
"Like father, like son," Finn muttered under his breath, his shoulders stiff with frustration.
Wang nodded solemnly, "Aiguo is a miserable bastard, and John is a miserable bastardling."
Despite the tension, a short burst of laughter escaped from Elizabeth.
Mika folded her arms. "They're both like rotten eggs in the sun."
Even Mei-Xi-Li nodded in agreement.
Hua-Jing exhaled heavily, her mind still stuck on one thing.
Aleeman was still out there.
And if trouble had found him…
She feared what would come next.
The moon hung high in the tapestry of the sky, its silver luminescence spilling over the labyrinthine alleyways of Nur-Al-Sanjak. The air was pregnant with silence, save for the distant echoes of the bustling city that never truly slept.
A shadow slithered through the darkness, moving with the precision of a ghost. Ying Wei—The Shadow Guard—a spectre sworn to the will of Emperor Weng Jin Shun, had come for one purpose: to eliminate the two unwanted thorns—Aleeman Hakiman and Shi Zhao Mei.
He perched atop the tiled rooftops, scanning the dimly lit streets below. His keen eyes—sharp as a falcon's gaze—flitted from corner to corner, seeking his prey.
Then—
A whisper in the wind.
The cold rasp of a sabre leaving its scabbard.
His muscles tensed, his instincts flaring in warning. He pivoted sharply, the steel sheen of his dao catching the moonlight.
There they stood.
Aleeman—his stature poised, his gaze like molten iron—his yataghan gleaming in the dark.
Shi Zhao Mei—her long raven tresses catching the soft breeze, her grip firm around the hilt of her blood-stained dao. From her palm, the blade unfurled like a serpent, a manifestation of her very being.
Aleeman tilted his head slightly, smirking.
"The hunter…" his voice carried an edge of dark amusement, "…has become the hunted."
Shi Zhao Mei's eyes narrowed as they examined the insignia embroidered on Ying Wei's dark ensemble—the crest of the Dragon Clan.
"He's one of them," she murmured. "Ying Wei—The Shadow Guard."
Ying Wei's response was wordless—swift as lightning, he lunged.
Steel met steel.
Ying Wei's dao came slicing through the air—a deadly arc, aimed for Aleeman's throat.
But Aleeman was faster.
He sidestepped, his yataghan slicing upward, aiming for Ying Wei's wrist.
A clash of metal. A screech of grinding blades.
Ying Wei spun, his agility almost unnatural, using the momentum to strike from behind.
Aleeman ducked, rolling forward, before pivoting on his heel—his sabre flashing in the dark like a silver fang.
Their duel was a dance of death, each move calculated, each counter merciless.
Ying Wei fought like a spectre of the Dynasty, his strikes fluid yet relentless, each slash imbued with a technique forged in the art of assassination.
But Aleeman fought like a wolf in the storm—untamed, brutal, and unyielding—his sabre slashing through the air with the wrath of a thousand battlefields.
Shi Zhao Mei watched, her fingers twitching around her own dao, prepared to intervene. But Aleeman didn't need her help.
With a sharp turn and a sidestep, Aleeman angled his blade, dodging another strike before slashing sideways—his sabre carving through Ying Wei's arm.
A wet splatter of crimson.
Ying Wei stumbled, his dao clattering to the ground.
But Aleeman wasn't finished.
A savage kick to the chest sent Ying Wei sprawling onto the cobblestone. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body wracked with pain.
Aleeman stepped forward, his expression impassive as he flipped his yataghan in his grip.
Without hesitation—he drove the blade into Ying Wei's shoulder.
A piercing scream echoed through the alley.
Ying Wei's body convulsed, his blood staining the moonlit ground.
"Who sent you?" Aleeman's voice was a low growl, his gaze unwavering.
Ying Wei's lips remained sealed, his pain overshadowed by his loyalty.
Aleeman exhaled sharply. Wrong answer.
He wrenched the yataghan free—then plunged it into Ying Wei's eye.
The assassin's scream was raw, primal—filled with agony.
Shi Zhao Mei stiffened, her hands clenched into fists as she witnessed the sheer brutality before her.
Aleeman's expression remained unreadable, but his next words came out like a final warning.
"Who sent you?"
Ying Wei's chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. The pain had cracked his resolve.
"…It's the Emperor."
A chill settled in the night air.
Shi Zhao Mei froze.
Her own father. Emperor Weng Jin Shun.
Of course.
She shouldn't have been surprised.
Yet, the knowledge tightened around her chest like a vice, pressing against her ribs.
Aleeman exhaled, then released his grip on the yataghan, letting Ying Wei crumple onto the ground, clutching his ruined eye.
"Run back to your master," Aleeman murmured, his voice sharp as winter steel. "Tell him this: if he sends another shadow after her, I'll send them back in pieces."
Ying Wei staggered to his feet, barely holding himself together, before disappearing into the night.
As the assassin's presence faded, Aleeman turned to Shi Zhao Mei.
She hadn't moved.
Her eyes remained distant, her mind caught between who she was and who she had become.
Aleeman watched her carefully. Then, in a voice softer than before, he spoke.
"Are you alright?"
Shi Zhao Mei glanced at him, her usual sharp tongue absent.
She hesitated.
Then—she exhaled, as if releasing something heavy.
"…I'm fine."
Aleeman watched her for another second, before nodding.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."
She followed without question, but as they walked, she found herself stealing a glance at him.
For the first time, she realised something.
He had fought for her.
Not for honour. Not for power.
But for her.
And somehow…
That terrified her more than anything else.