….
The day was dying. The last rays of Valdyr's sun bled through the open arches of the frost temple's training hall, staining the marble floors with fading gold. The cold air nipped against sweat-slick skin.
Chauncey knelt at the center of the hall, motionless but trembling, his fists pressed to the stone. His breathing was ragged — every inhale drawn through grit teeth, every exhale carrying frustration. His lips were cracked, his muscles stiff as cables pulled too tight. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples and dripped from his chin, marking dark stains on the cold floor.
It was already six in the evening. He had been at it since dawn.
Flokki stood at a distance, arms crossed, a shadow in the dying light. For the first time that day, concern flickered behind the old warrior's single, weary eye.
The only sounds in the vast room were Chauncey's slow, shallow breaths and the faint hum of the wind outside.
Flokki finally stepped forward, his boots echoing across the floor. His hand — calloused, heavy, steady — came to rest on Chauncey's shoulder.
"Come, Chauncey,"
He said quietly.
"We'll try again tomorrow."
The hand remained there for a moment, but the boy didn't move. His body was stiff — a statue carved from stubborn resolve.
Flokki sighed, a deep exhale of experience and patience. He left the hall in silence.
By now, the torches were lit. The others had long since eaten. The scent of roasted meat and warm bread wafted faintly through the halls — a cruel taunt to the starving warrior who refused to give up.
A plate of food sat in front of him, steam long gone, left by his sister hours earlier. He hadn't touched it.
From the doorway, Zayn stood watching. Jasmijn was beside him, her arms folded. Both wore the same expression — half concern, half disbelief.
"What do we do?"
Zayn asked quietly. His voice was barely above a whisper, afraid that even sound might break Chauncey's concentration.
"We can't just let him starve himself to death."
Jasmijn shook her head. Her tone was soft but steady.
"He's stubborn. Let's just… hope he finds what Flokki was asking for before he passes out."
Footsteps broke the silence behind them — confident, deliberate. Kael strode past, his usual smirk plastered across his face. He didn't even bother to hide his disdain.
"Incompetent fool,"
He muttered, loud enough for them to hear.
Zayn's jaw tensed. Jasmijn's glare followed Kael until he disappeared down the corridor.
He was dressed strangely — his armor half off, his coat slung lazily over one shoulder. He looked too ready, too purposeful, for someone who should've been winding down for the night.
No one questioned him. No one cared enough to.
None except Erik.
From across the courtyard, Erik's sharp emerald eyes caught Kael's retreating figure. There was something off — something that had been off for a while. His instincts twisted like a warning bell in his gut.
He waited until Kael passed through the temple gates, then followed. Quiet as snow falling.
The streets of Valdyr's capital glimmered with torchlight. The rain had stopped, leaving the cobblestone slick and shining. Erik's boots made no sound as he slipped through the alleys, his breath slow, controlled.
Kael walked with purpose, shoulders high, chin tilted just enough to show arrogance. The people adored him. Wherever he went, voices rose:
"Kael the Winter Fang!"
"Valdyr's prodigy!"
Cheers and laughter followed him like a parade. Erik ducked behind a fruit stand, lowering his hood as Kael waved proudly to the crowd. He had to be careful — if anyone recognized Erik, the quiet one of Valdyr's Six, he'd be exposed.
For a moment, Erik began to think maybe Kael was just feeding his ego. Maybe he'd followed for nothing.
But then Kael kept walking. Past the crowded market. Past the warm glow of taverns. Toward the coast.
The air grew colder. The waves crashed louder. Erik's eyes narrowed.
Kael stopped before a small, weather-beaten tent pitched along the rocky shore. The wind whipped his coat as he rapped three times on the fabric.
"Hey, lady,"
He called, his voice low but firm.
"I have your info."
Erik froze, crouched behind a cluster of boulders, barely daring to breathe.
The tent flap opened. A cloaked woman emerged, face hidden but posture unmistakable. Erik's heart sank. He knew that presence — sharp, foreign, dangerous.
Nora.
His blood ran cold.
"They're training at the frost temple for the moment," Kael said, his tone laced with impatience. "Your people better come before any of them learn anything important."
Nora sighed, her voice smooth but venomous.
"Patience. It'll take a few days for the messenger hawk to reach the Plugish Inquisition."
Plugish Inquisition.
Erik's eyes widened. The words struck like a blade to the chest. His breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, he thought he'd made a sound. Both Kael and Nora turned slightly, scanning the shadows.
He pressed himself against the rock, the chill seeping through his palms.
"Are you sure you aren't being followed?"
Nora hissed. "You could ruin everything if this invasion plan gets out."
"Of course not,"
Kael snapped, his voice quiet but edged with something deeper. Guilt.
"I just want those four idiots out of the temple. Look, there's a blind spot on the island — a place the Isle Warden doesn't occupy. You can take that gamble instead of heading straight into its tentacles. It'll be suicide otherwise."
"I already knew and accounted for that,"
Nora replied coldly.
"They'll arrive in about two weeks and a half, maybe a few days more. Until then, sit tight."
She patted his shoulder and disappeared back into the tent.
Kael stood there for a long moment, the weight of his choices visible even through his arrogance. His smirk had faded. His hands trembled slightly at his sides.
Erik's chest tightened. He wanted to believe there was still something good in Kael — but watching him sell out his own kin shattered that hope.
Then Erik made the mistake of stepping on a loose shell. It cracked underfoot.
Kael spun around.
"You're helping the enemy with an invasion plan?"
Erik's voice came out cold, sharp as ice.
Kael's eyes widened — then narrowed into fury.
"Did you seriously follow me all the way here, you freak?" He stormed forward, each step heavy with wrath.
"What, you get a thrill out of stalking people?!"
Kael snapped, shoving Erik once. No response.
"Say something, damn you!"
The second shove came harder — but this time, Erik caught his wrist. His voice was low, shaking with restrained fury.
"Don't push me."
Kael's grin returned — but it was darker now. Mocking.
"Oh, I'll do more than that."
A roar of azure flame erupted around his fist. With one explosive strike, Kael sent Erik flying, his body skidding across the sand. The scent of burnt air filled the night.
Erik staggered to his feet, frost curling from his fingertips. Kael launched forward, palms flaring as twin jets of blue fire propelled him like a comet.
A searing kick — an arc of azure flame — tore through the air toward Erik. He raised a glacial barrier, the fire slamming into it with thunderous impact. The shield cracked, and the force still sent him stumbling back.
Erik countered with a blast of freezing mist. The wave of frost hit Kael square in the chest, hurling him into the sand.
Kael rose slowly, dusting himself off, his grin widening.
"So that's how you wanna play, huh?"
"Don't do this, Kael."
Kael didn't listen. His codex flared alive — a burning sword of pure azure fire forming in his grip.
Erik responded in kind, summoning twin blades of ice that shimmered under the moonlight.
Their duel erupted like a storm.
Kael struck first — a sweeping slash that scorched the air. Erik ducked low, retaliating with twin upward arcs that sent shards of ice flying. Kael twisted, the heat from his blade melting the frost midair.
Blow after blow, strike after strike — flame and frost collided, filling the coast with steam and fury. Sparks rained across the dark sand.
At last, their blades shattered into embers and shards. The two lunged forward, gripping each other's wrists, their hands locked. Fire met ice — hissing, burning, freezing.
Erik's frost crawled up Kael's forearms, but Kael's flames burned hotter, forcing him down. Erik groaned, pain searing his palms.
With a guttural yell, Kael hurled him into a jagged rock. Erik's back hit hard, the impact cracking through the quiet night.
He slumped to the sand, disoriented, vision blurring. Kael's footsteps drew closer. He tried to sit up, but Kael quickly slammed Erik's head back into the sand.
"You tell anyone about this,"
Kael said, crouching low, voice dripping with venom,
"and I won't hesitate to kill you next time."
With that, he turned away, his fiery aura dwindling into the shadows as he disappeared into the night.
Erik lay still for a long while — chest rising, barely. The sea wind howled softly over the shore.
Somewhere back at the frost temple, Chauncey still sat in silence, unmoving — eyes closed, fists clenched — chasing the first flicker of the power he didn't yet understand.
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WORLD INFO>>>
Messenger Hawks of Edacia.
Messenger hawks are among the most trusted and revered creatures across the lands of Edacia — sleek, disciplined birds bred and trained for precision communication between cities, kingdoms, and even warring nations. Their intelligence borders on the uncanny; some say they understand tone and urgency as much as written message.
Centuries ago, during the Era of Fractured Crowns, when empires were scattered and magic was unreliable due to the Shattering, early Edacian kingdoms turned to nature for a solution. The hawks of the CrimsonSpireMountains were known for their remarkable memory and navigational instinct — able to return to a roost from hundreds of leagues away.
Scholars and mages began selectively breeding and training them through enchantments woven into their plumage and eyes. Over generations, these hawks developed an almost supernatural sense of direction — said to be guided by faint ley lines that run beneath the world.
A well-trained messenger hawk can find its destination even through blizzards, sandstorms, or magical interference.