Present Day in Thallerion.
At the Mintaka District Academy of Thallerion, morning light spilled through the crystalline windows, scattering golden rays across rows of students. The soft rustle of scrolls, parchments, and turning pages filled the air as the instructor began her lecture.
"Listen closely, everyone."
Her voice was calm yet carried quiet authority. "Today, we will study the history of Thallerion—the story of who we are."
With a flick of her hand, a long azure staff shimmered into existence. She stepped forward, into the beam of sunlight. Her robe gleamed faintly, etched with ancient runes that seemed to hum with memory. Behind her circular glasses, her sharp eyes surveyed her students.
"Imagine our world," she began, her tone almost reverent, "where every human carries a unique bloodline—a sacred heritage blessed by the souls of Celestial Entities."
She lightly tapped her staff against his palm.
"One of these divine beings was Orion, our ancient guardian. It was his spirit that bestowed upon us the sacred power flowing through our veins to this very day."
The students listened… though not all were equally interested.
At the back of the room, a boy leaned closer to his friend and whispered, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Hey, after class, come with me. Let's go hunting near Cirtax River, by Mount Lyria."
His friend hesitated.
"I... I can't go today. You remember what happened last Sunday, right?"
"That?" The boy waved a hand dismissively. "Forget about it."
The friend sighed. "Fine then... go by yourself."
A grin tugged at the boy's lips. "I will. Don't worry."
"But isn't that place dangerous?"
"I'm not afraid of those little monster," he said with a smirk.
Their conversation was abruptly cut short when they noticed the teacher staring straight at them—eyes sharp, knowing exactly what they were whispering about.
Both boys straightened immediately, pretending to focus. The teacher adjusted his glasses, then continued as though nothing had happened.
"The Hunter," he said, voice echoing through the hall, "is not merely a warrior. He is an eternal guardian. The nation of Thallerion was chosen by Orion himself—gifted with unmatched skill in weaponry, intellect far beyond ordinary humans, and the instinct to perceive the weaknesses of ferocious beasts."
He gestured toward the crest carved into the stone wall behind him—an emblem shaped like a star entwined with wings.
"From the name of our guardian Orion, our ancestors once called this land Tele'Rion, meaning The Mind of Orion. But over time, the name changed—to what we now call Thallerion."
His tone softened.
"Many once believed that the people of Thallerion were Orion's chosen prophets—those destined to carry his visions into the ages."
The classroom fell silent. Dust motes drifted gently in the sunlight, sparkling like tiny stars suspended in air.
"If the world was blessed by divine beings," the teacher continued quietly, "then surely... it was also cursed. For where there is light—shadows always follow."
The boy in the back yawned quietly.
"During the Paleozoic Era," she went on, "it is said that a malignant being—the Anti-Life Entity—summoned a portal to the Abyssal World. It infected the creatures of the land, sea, and sky, twisting them into abominations."
She turned. "But then came the Guardians—not knights in shining armor, but souls, transcendent and radiant, who descended to merge with humankind. Their essence became the spark of our evolution—the bloodlines that shaped civilization."
Her voice deepened as if telling an ancient myth.
"The Abyssal Portal shattered—but its poison lingered. From its ruin crawled horrors beyond imagination, spreading terror across the surface of the mortal realm."
"Argh, this history is so boring!" the same boy groaned under his breath.
A few students stifled giggles. The teacher turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
But instead of scolding him, she smiled faintly.
"In those dark ages," she said, "every civilization survived only by the strength of their bloodlines. Magic, power, and sacred arts were the only walls standing between life and extinction."
"Some bloodlines could transform—into eagles that soared above storms, or fish that glided through ocean trenches. But our bloodline…" She paused, her hand pressing to her chest. "The Thallerion bloodline was different. We wielded the rarest of gifts— the power to weave raw spirit into living weapons. Blades of light. Bows of flame. Shields forged from the very mind."
The boy leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded.
"Blah, blah, blah…" he muttered under his breath.
"Some even bore supernal suits of power, armor wrought of their own spirit energy, amplifying their combat might to face the endless tide."
Crinnnnngghhh!!!!
The bell rang.
" The class dismissed. Tomorrow we will have a quiz...just read the book in advance."
***
"Xerxez," the teacher's voice cut through the chatter like a blade of calm authority. "Where do you think you're going this time? Planning to escape again?"
"Ah—teacher… well…" Xerxez rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a sheepish smile.
"After recess," the teacher continued, "our lesson will be on bloodlines—and why? Beyond the walls of Thallerion, you must never take form or name for granted. Out there, the people you meet may not even remain human."
"Hehe… teacher, it's bad to accuse your student of escaping," Xerxez said with a nervous laugh.
"I heard you whispering," the teacher said, arching an eyebrow. "You were planning to hunt in the forest alone. Weren't you?"
"Who said that?" Xerxez gasped, pretending shock so exaggerated it was almost comical. Did he heard it all?
"Don't act surprised," the teacher replied, his tone sharpening just slightly. I know he is lying. "If you're not lying, then answer me this—do you know why our bloodline struggles to awaken Orion's gift?"
"My grandpa said…" Xerxez straightened a little. "He said the Draco Entity defeated our mighty Guardian."
"Well said," the teacher nodded. "But your answer isn't from the archives—that's your grandfather's tale."
"Anyway," Xerxez muttered, gaze drifting toward the window, "what's the point of reading all those books if we still can't awaken the Thallerion bloodline? Knowledge won't change what's sealed inside us."
The teacher's eyes softened, then grew solemn. "Then listen—listen well to these verses."
"The verse of Thallerion."
Argh, History again...
[The bloodline of Thallerion lived with honor, sworn to shield the innocent from the ravening spawn of the Abyss. With the gift of Orion flowing in our veins, our ancestors stood unshaken, daring even to face the abyssal creatures that crawled from the deepest pits of night.]
[Yet while Thallerion held fast to their sacred charge, the world beyond fell to strife. Other bloodlines, blinded by pride, turned their powers not upon the monsters of the Abyss but upon one another. Kingdoms rose and fell as the strong colonized the weak, seeking to dominate rival bloodlines. Among them were the Draconian nation—descendants of the Dragon Constellar—who bore the dread gift of transformation, taking the form of scaled dragon-hybrids or soaring wyrms of fire and fang. Their ambition rivaled even their power, and in their shadow, countless realms trembled.]
[After countless centuries, Orion vanished without a trace. Some kings in Thallerion centuries ago claimed he had forsaken his sacred vow to guard the people of Thallerion, while other bloodlines whispered that he had been swallowed in a battle against the Draco Entity—a foe whose darkness could eclipse even his radiant might.]
[In his absence, Orion's chosen bloodline faltered. His heirs strayed from the path, their gifts dimmed, their once-pure legacy fractured. Yet within them, the ember of Orion's blessing endured, faint but unbroken, waiting to awaken.]
[Twenty years ago, came the Cyprioxians. A people draped in faith and fanaticism, they were not merely rulers—they were zealots who bound the unseen forces of the world to their will. Through their rituals, they bent magic, suppressed natural talent, and shackled the very essence of ability itself. They believed Crux entity is a god, thus their doctrine was law, their prayers was weapons, their temples fortresses of power.]
[Where Orion's blessing sought to uplift, the Cyprioxian creed sought to chain. They declared themselves chosen, proclaiming that no gift, no spark, no light could flourish unless sanctified by their god. And so, under their rule, the descendants of Thallerion were silenced, their inherited strength suppressed, their souls caged in a lattice of divine tyranny.]
[Even the last traces of Orion's promise lay dormant, smothered beneath the weight of Cyprioxian dominion—a people whose religion made them masters not only of flesh, but of spirit itself.]
[The blessing of Orion still ran in the veins of Thallerion, yet the people had forgotten how to awaken it. Once hunters, fearless and unyielding, they had grown complacent. Behind their towering walls they cowered, convincing themselves that safety was strength, and that silence was peace. It was, in truth, a coward's life.]
****
"And so, I—Xerxez Herzthroven, young prince of Thallerion—will not accept such chains! Goodbye!"
"Hey! Where do you think you're going? We're not done talking yet!" the teacher shouted.
"It's recess!" Xerxez called back, already sprinting for the door. "My dream to be a hunter begins now!"
The teacher froze, exasperated. "That prince! He's escaping again!" She slumped against her desk, half-crying, half-laughing. "My king, forgive me… I tried my best to keep him still—huhu…"
***
Somewhere outside of Thallerion's border, near the river of Cirtax.
Today, he slipped beyond the palace gates, marching alone beneath the verdant canopy of ancient oaks. The colossal trunks rose like watchful knights, and the emerald leaves whispered in a tongue older than kingdoms.
"Beasts, abyssal creatures, entities, sorceries, guardians... what other mysteries did Grandpa leave untold?"
Yet even the vivid tales of abyssal horrors told by his grandfather could not quench the fire of his adventurous spirit. That's right!
"I am the only begotten son of the Monarch of Thallerion. I was born in the Betelgeuse District. Mother said my name was passed down through our lineage — from my grandfather, Zerceux, to my father, Cerceux, and now to me — Xerxez. That's our family's naming tradition."
His mother, Queen Xurien Wrez Herzthroven, often caught him sneaking away. She would scold him with furrowed brows and stern words, yet her reprimands always softened into song. Music bound them—mother and son—voices weaving together in secret chambers, their melodies carrying both laughter and lament.
"I'm sure my mom will scold me again if she found out I'm escaping again.. I'm sure teacher Lynzyer will report it to my parents."
While his father, King Cerceux Herzthroven, looked upon Xerxez with a different eye. Where the Queen sought to guard, the King sought to sharpen.
Sometimes, in the quiet palace yard, amidst the statues of their ancestors, he trained the boy's hands to steady and his breath to still.
Apples balanced atop stone heads became their quarry, a glowing blue arrows loosed with steady aim. Each strike was a promise—the promise that Thallerion's blood had not run dry.
"But this escape... it isn't rebellion — it's a test. I'll prove to my father that I am truly of Orion's blood — a hunter born. His training will not be in vain."
His steps fell soft against the moss-clad earth, muted as though the forest itself wished to keep his presence a secret.
Overhead, robins trilled their bright songs, their voices echoing like a choir woven into the canopy of ancient oaks. Chirp!!!
Every crunch of fallen leaves beneath his leather shoes marked his passage deeper into the green cathedral, where the air was damp with bark, soil, and the faint sweetness of blooming ivy.
Across his back lay a bow, its polished curve. At his hip rested a quiver of arrows, their fletching like feathers dipped in, whispering of flight and purpose. Yet the true weight he bore was not of weapon or quiver, but of destiny hidden beneath his royal-blue jacket and the simple white tunic of a boy still caught between dreams and the burden of a forgotten crown.
He traced the knotted branches above with eager eyes, as if the forest had laid out a map just for him.
Then he saw it: a faint shimmer, soft as dawnlight. Perched high in the crook of an ancient oak rested an ancient robin's nest, its threads glinting blue in the dappled sun. His pulse quickened, a thrill coursing through him—this was the treasure he had come for.
But beneath the stillness, the forest watched him back. From a stagnant pool at the tree's roots, something stirred. Murky water rippled as unseen eyes blinked open, glinting faintly gold in the shadow.
The creature slid forward, soundless, then sank back into the mud whenever the boy glanced its way. Patient. Watching. Waiting.
"Hmm?" he mumbled to himself, trying to shake a strange feeling of being watched. Just a tiny creature, toying with me?
With nimble determination, he seized the trunk, his fingers finding purchase in the ridges of bark. His feet pressed against the rough surface, clinging as brittle twigs snapped away under his weight and fell like frail bones to the earth below. Higher and higher he climbed, the air growing cooler, the light breaking into shards of gold between the leaves.
Soon the forest stretched far beneath him, a vast and heaving sea of green. The trees swayed with the wind like rolling waves, and for a fleeting moment he felt as though he were sailing atop a living ocean, captain of his own daring voyage.
At last, his hand found the branch where the faint shimmer glowed. Carefully, he pulled himself up, his chest pressing against the wood, and he leaned forward. Slowly, his head rose above the rim of the nest like a dawning sun cresting the horizon.
Inside lay three tiny eggs, glowing faintly with a bluish sheen, as though each carried a secret spark of the sky within its fragile shell.
"Hehe," a wide smile stretched across his face as he saw the three shiny blue eggs.
"Got it!" He whispered a sound of triumph, a feeling of pure happiness that was better than any royal decree.
He stood in the tree, sightseeing the paradise below, taking a deep breath of the fresh forest air.
"Grahh-grahh-grahh!"
"Hehe," he laughed, spotting more black blue feathers nearby. That's a piece of cake! Nothing to fear here.
The joyful squawks of Cassowary parents filled the air as Xerxez crept through the thick bushes, waiting for his opportunity.
I'm sure I can snatch their eggs. I am a child of Thallerion! He thought to himself, a swell of pride filling his chest.
With a final, joyful cry, the Cassowary seemed to celebrate something, but Xerxez was already moving.
He snatched several of the green eggs from their nests as if they were the most valuable treasure in his young life. The male Cassowary, caught off guard, turned aggressive. Oh no!
"Hrrrnkkk, hrrrnnkkk!!!"
This—this was what Xerxez proudly called hunting. Not demons, not abyssal beasts, not the nightmares that haunted old legends… no, he was a hunter of eggs. A title no less daring in his own mind.
The children of Thallerion often laughed at him for it. They mocked his strange passion, refusing to join him in his escapades.
"Bah, they don't know the thrill. They don't understand the rush, the taste of victory when you've outwitted the birds themselves."
But today, victory almost had teeth.
He bolted through the thicket, a storm of furious wings on his heels. The male birds transform into a size of ostrich, it's feather become blade flightless, shrieked and lunged, their sharp beaks snapping dangerously close—one nearly caught him square on
Xerxez stifled a laugh and peeked through the branches. "I was prepared for that beast transformation."
His heart was hammering, but his grin stretched wide, wild and proud. In his hands gleamed the prize—eggs tinted green, smooth as river stones.
"Mother once told me she tasted a green egg," he whispered to himself, holding one up to the fading light. "Said it was the most delicious thing she'd ever eaten. Maybe… this is what she meant."
Then his gaze shifted. Beyond the underbrush, prowling with deliberate steps, the cassowaries themselves lurked—towering, watchful, their ember eyes glinting like guardians of some ancient treasure. Their beast form become normal into normal Cassowaries.
"I know, I know…" he thought, smirking. The males guard their nests for nearly fifty days, never leaving. "Everyone says stealing from them is dangerous, they transform into a beast."
His fingers tightened around the eggs. The thrill sparked in his chest.
"But to snatch them, to outwit a beast twice my size… that's the moment I feel alive. That's when I'm no mere boy—I am a real hunter."
He slipped the green eggs into his pouch basket with care, the shells knocking softly against one another like hidden jewels. His eyes darted back to the cassowaries, still pacing and agitated, their long talons carving shallow furrows into the mud.
Then—ripples.
Something stirred beneath the swamp's murky veil. A shadow, massive and fish-like, glided just beneath the surface.
It moved with a strange, deliberate grace, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Xerxez leaned forward, squinting.
"What was that? Another beast? Or some spirit of the marsh?"
The thought thrilled him. Fear never struck—only fascination. His young heart burned with curiosity, the same spark that made him climb trees and steal eggs no other dared touch.
He lingered there, watching the water vigilantly, as though the surface itself might confess its secret.
Then, from not far away—where the cassowaries often bathed—came another sound. Not the guttural croak of swamp birds, nor the shrill cry of beasts. This sound rose like a note of glass, a clear and haunting pitch that shimmered in the air as though the wind itself had sung.
Xerxez's ears twitched, his whole body still.
"SQUAWK! … SWAAAWK!"
His chest leapt, a grin breaking across his face. That sound… no mistake about it… His breath caught with boyish excitement. The Crane. The mysterious Crane of the swamps…
"Is it possible, that was a crane entity? Or a human, transforming into a crane?"
The tales spoke of it—an otherworldly bird with feathers like moonlight, a creature said to appear only to chosen eyes. Children whispered about it in bedtime stories; elders dismissed it as an entity of Crane, they said it was just a bird.
But here it was, its cry echoing through the trees, calling to him like destiny itself.
Xerxez pushed deeper toward the towering trees, his ears straining for the echo of that haunting cry. His heart thudded with a reckless wish.
"If I could snatch even one of their eggs, it would be the greatest hunt of my life. A treasure no other child could boast."
He longed to find their nest—he had waited for this moment for so long. His grandfather had told him stories of the mysterious cranes, their silver feathers gleaming like fallen stars. Xerxez had promised that one day he would bring him an egg. But that promise was now a whisper to the dead; his grandfather had passed away a year ago.
"Don't worry, Grandpa," he murmured softly, his breath dissolving into the humid air. "Wherever you are, I'll bring you the egg of that mysterious bird… and leave it at your tomb."
The vow steeled him, even as the swamp grew eerily alive around him. Every step carried new risks. Cassowaries prowled the underbrush, their claws ready to strike should he trespass too near their nests again.
And in the mangroves… something stirred. A shape, half-seen, shifting in the shadowed water—its presence heavy, as though it were watching him.
Xerxez paused, his pulse quickening. Just a fish, he told himself, brushing off the unease with a grin. His thoughts returned stubbornly to the sound that had started it all: the mysterious cranes. The real challenge of this hunt had only just begun.
"Pssst!"
Xerxez froze. That wasn't a birdcall, nor the cry of a crane. It was sharp, deliberate—like a whistle meant only for him.
Curiosity tugged him forward. He waded into the knee-deep swamp, the murky water rippling around his legs. Something glimmered at his feet, half-buried in silt, its surface winking faintly in the dim light.
"Whoa… what's this? A shell?" He crouched, brushing away the muck.
At first glance, it seemed no more than a stone or a seashell. But then, the dull surface broke into brilliance—veins of jewel-like shards ran across it, embedded in a strange, ornate design. His breath caught.
"My mother would love this. It looks like… a treasure."
He tugged harder, and the muck released it with a wet squelch. Not a shell. A dagger.
Its blade shimmered with a pale glow beneath the grime, the hilt crowned with gemstones. He turned in a slow circle, suddenly uneasy.
"Who would leave a thing like this here?"
The swamp answered with violence. From the mangroves, water surged, thrashing as though a massive fish—or something worse—was charging straight at him.
Then the dagger jerked in his grip.
Xerxez nearly dropped it. "What—?! It's… shaking?" The weapon quivered like a living creature, humming with strange energy.
And then he heard it.
A voice.
A sharp, nasal cry, more goblin than man, rasped from the blade: "Yeak! Look out!"
Xerxez's stomach flipped. His skin prickled with gooseflesh. "What—who said that?! Was that… you?"
The dagger wailed again, its voice cracking with panic. "There's a monster! Right behind you!"
"GRAWRR!!! That treasure is mine!!!"
The roar ripped through the swamp as a shadow lunged. Xerxez's eyes widened—what he heard next was bizarre, like the furious croak of a frog: "Crokcrokklock!"
"Whaaaaaa!! A monster!?" His voice cracked in terror.
From the reeds burst a swamp lizard, hulking as large as a wild boar. Its hide glistened with muck, claws curved like scythes, eyes burning yellow. With one bound it was upon him.
Xerxez stumbled back, but the beast's muscular tail whipped out, coiling tight around his ankle.
"Wheeeere ya goin'!!! Groock!" the creature snarled, its words garbled and guttural in Xerxez's ears.
"What… what did it say!?"
The dagger screeched back, its shrill voice cutting through his panic.
"It said—'Don't you dare hand me over to him!' That's what he wants!"
"That's what he said!?" Xerxez shouted, lifting the blade high as the lizard's claws slashed closer.
"That's for sure!"
"Hey—let me go!!!" His foot burned; blood slicked his shoe where teeth had torn flesh. It felt like fire ants gnawed him from the inside out. "Oww—hoo! You bit me again!?"
"You are a hunter, right? Use me! Strike him!" the dagger commanded.
" Well, I'm just bird's egg Hunter!"
Xerxez wrestled against the tail's crushing grip. It was like iron shackles clamped to his leg like a thousand ants biting at him. Gritting his teeth, he thrust the dagger forward—fzzzzzz!!!!
The blade blazed with a searing brilliance, its edge alive with sparks. A piercing cry rang through the air—not steel, not boy, but the shriek of a celestial bird.
"What's—what's happening!?" Xerxez gasped, his hand guided by a force beyond him. Every motion precise, every strike certain. I have to trust it… I have to trust this dagger.
The lizard recoiled, eyes wide. "Drrr—wh-what's this…? That blade… it's sparkin'—lightnin'?! Crok! Crokk!! I gotta tell the master—aaaagh!!"
The beast convulsed as crackling energy surged through its body. Sparks leapt across its slimy hide; its limbs flailed in chaos.
With a desperate scream, it bolted, skittering across the swamp's surface in wild strides—its claws paddling madly, as if it ran upon glass. The sight was grotesque, almost comical, but terror fueled its retreat.
"You'll pay for this, brat!" it howled, voice trailing into the mangroves, until only ripples remained.
"Wh-what's happening… did you kill it?" Xerxez panted, whipping his head left and right, searching the swamp. The lizard was gone—only ripples lingered where it had vanished.
Then relief burst from him in a wild laugh. "Hahahaha! The lizard ran away!"
He hadn't seen the moment the lightning struck its hide—his vision was still spotted from the blinding flash. But the result was enough. "Thank you, talking dagger!" he said, clutching it like a prize.
"Yeaaaksss!" the dagger squealed, its pitch wobbling between triumph and complaint.
Xerxez puffed out his chest, grinning into the shadows of the swamp.
"You coward!!! Such a nuisance! Don't show your ugly face again—or I'll toast you next time!" His voice echoed through the trees, scattering a family of frogs back into the water with startled plops.
For a moment, silence settled again. He caught himself staring at the reeds, where the monster had disappeared.
"So it wasn't just stories. Grandpa was right—there really are creatures beyond the Thallerion walls." His heart skipped. " I've seen it with my own eyes."
A little shiver ran through him, but he masked it with bravado, pointing the dagger skyward. "What kind of magic are you, huh?" he muttered, eyes glittering.
The blade pulsed faintly, then spoke with a smug squeak. "Just call me… a super dagger!"
"Fantastic!" Xerxez cheered, his grin widening. "From now on, you'll be my sidekick—Super Dagger!"
The dagger trembled as if embarrassed, but didn't protest.
"Anyway…" Xerxez swung his pouch back over his shoulder, brushing leaves from his jacket. "That was just a rare encounter with a wild lizard.
Nothing I can't handle." His voice was still shaky with leftover excitement, but he forced it into confidence. He winced, shifting weight off his bitten foot, though the numbness had already spread up his calf.
Still, he pressed on. The forest air felt charged now, alive with danger. His ears strained for that mysterious Crane's cry.
Then—Shfff!
The pouch at his side jolted violently, trembling as if alive. Xerxez froze, wide-eyed. "Ohhh…" His lips curled into a knowing grin. "Now I get it. Every time you shake—there's a threat nearby."
...
Meanwhile, the wounded lizard limped through the muck, its breaths ragged, its scales smoking faintly from the burn. At last, it stumbled before its leader, a hulking swamp beast with eyes like molten copper.
"The… the nasty boy…" it hissed, its tongue flicking weakly. "He carries a powerful treasure. He's in the stream—near the swamp. If not for the lightning, I would've brought his body back for lunch!"
The flocks hissed with hunger upon hearing a bad news.
The leader's jaw stretched into a cruel smile, serrated teeth flashing. "Treasure…?" His voice rumbled low, dripping with hunger and greed.
"He dares to wander into my swamp with such a thing?" His tail lashed the water. "Then let's hunt. Hunt for the treasure!"
At his command, the swamp stirred alive. Lizard after lizard slithered from the reeds, their scales scraping like chains, their hisses blending into a chilling chorus. The very water darkened, clouded by the sickly green ooze that seeped from their bodies, turning the swamp foul.
The wounded one croaked again, bowing low. "Be wary, Leader. The dagger—it spits lightning. I felt it burn through my scales." Its eyes narrowed. "But in your claws, surely nothing can resist."
The leader's grin deepened, a scar across his cheek tugging with the motion. "Lightning or no lightning… there is no weapon I cannot claim."
***
On the other side of the swamp, Xerxez stiffened. A ripple of sound crawled across the surface of the water—low, guttural, rhythmic, like iron grinding against iron. His pouch quivered madly at his side.
"Whoa…" he whispered, crouching low, heart pounding. "Why are there so many…?"
Then came the voice. A deep, rasping growl that seemed to rise from the earth itself.
"Ohhh… so this is the little brat," the lizard leader mocked, his amber eyes locking on Xerxez. "A prince in royal dress, alone in my swamp. How curious…"
The smaller lizards hissed and snickered, circling like vultures.
One leaned close to the leader, its tone serious. "He reeks of Thallerion, Master. Did you know? Your father once fell to the blades of Thallerion hunters."
For a moment, silence. Then the leader chuckled, the sound wet and cruel. "Thallerion…" His gaze sharpened, hungry. "So the bloodline still walks. And carries treasure." His eyes slid to Xerxez's pouch, unblinking. "Tell me, you name boy."
"Whoa—you can speak?" Xerxez blinked in shock, his voice cracking with disbelief. No need for the dagger's translations anymore—their threat was clear.
"I—i am Xerxez." His ears filled with hissed.
"Well, Xerxez....We command you," hissed the leader, his jaws stretching wide. "Give us the dagger… or else."
"Who… who are you, lizards?" Xerxez clutched his pouch to his chest. The air felt heavy, his skin prickled.
"We?" The leader slithered closer, his voice like grinding stones. "Young boy… beyond Thallerion's wall, you are no longer safe. Here, flesh as tender as yours is hunted. Give me the dagger, and perhaps I will let you live."
Lie! the dagger whispered sharply in Xerxez's mind.
"Hah!" The leader barked out a guttural laugh. "What a blessing from the swamp gods! And not just any brat… but a prince of Thallerion!" His many eyes gleamed greedily as he muttered to his underlings in reptilian tongue. Imagine the ransom we could fetch. "We can use him for a ransom." He whispered to his fellow lizard.
The dagger hissed in Xerxez's ear: Do not trust them.
"I know," Xerxez muttered under his breath, his chest tightening.
He tried to bolt—but the shadows moved first.
Slender figures unfurled from the rocks and roots, twisting like smoke, sealing every path of escape. His breath hitched, shallow and ragged.
A hiss sliced through the stillness.
"Where do you think you're going, little boy?"
Shapes closed in, eyes glinting like wet stones. "Hand over that dagger… if you wish to leave with your life."
"Why… why are you all so obsessed with my dagger?"
The leader stepped forward, grin spreading wide enough to bare a row of serrated teeth.
"Because, child," he said, voice slick with hunger, "that is no mere blade. Within it lies a weapon of ancient magic. Its essence helps us—" his tongue flicked the air, "—evolve."
"Evolve?"
He dragged his claws along a boulder, stone shrieking under the scrape.
"Not long ago, my trainees devoured a herd of bison. Flesh torn, bones cracked, blood soaking the ground. Yet it was only meat—no essence, no power." His grin turned feral. "But you… your bloodline forges weapons from spirit itself. You carry what we crave."
He leaned closer, voice thick with malice.
"But you are still a child. Your essence alone won't be enough for our evolution."
The shadows trembled with his laughter.
"So… give me the treasure dagger—and perhaps, I'll let you live."
" Perhaps?" Xerxez's throat tightened, his voice nearly a squeak. The dagger's command rang fierce: Fight if you must—but never let me go.
The lizard leader spread all four of his scaled arms wide, his fan-shaped jaws quivering. "After years of emptiness, treasure finally falls into my swamp." The boy has eggs… and a dagger of lightning. "Tell me, how did such a weakling snatch Cassowary eggs? You must be more than you seem."
" Don't underestimate me!" Xerxez's trembling hand balled into a fist. "I'm the one who found it—not you!" he snapped, forcing bravado into his voice.
The leader only sneered. "Blah, blah… brave words for a little prince."
Xerxez swallowed hard, whispering back, "I never thought lizards would be so obsessed with treasure for their crazy evolution's idea. Grandpa was right. I shouldn't have crossed the border alone."
The lizard's violet tongue flickered, savoring his fear. "Mmm… your fear as sweet as rodent blood," it rasped. Around him, the lizards gnashed their teeth in eerie rhythm, the sound like a swarm of swamp crickets.
Then—the pouch trembled. Xerxez froze. Yeak! Yeak!
TREMBLE!!!!!
The pouch jolted violently. Xerxez's heart skipped. "Are… are you incubating them? Or is this another warning?"
Yeak! the dagger vibrated furiously. " Something's coming."
"What do you mean something's coming?" But the dagger voice in his mind muted.
The lizards stiffened, their eyes narrowing. Even they seemed uneasy. They'd heard tales of this dagger's lightning.
Xerxez fumbled, pulling it free. The hilt pulsed with cold fire in his hand. "Yeak, you're glowing again… what are you doing? They'll notice you!"
"No," the dagger whispered, calm but fierce. "Just ready yourself."
"Hah?"
The lizards hissed, wary now. "Careful, boy," their leader growled. "That dagger doesn't belong to you. Hand it over, and leave while you still have legs to walk." But in his mind, he thought: Could that brat command its power?
"Tongue him!" the leader suddenly barked.
The lizards lashed out, tongues snapping like whips.
"Yeak! Help me!" Xerxez cried, clutching the dagger as the first tongue wrapped around his wrist. "Please, save me....Now!"
The blade pulsed. Sparks crackled. And then—Electic him! fzzzzzzzzz!!!
"Engkkkk!!!!" Xerxez gasped as the dagger's energy bite into his palm. Energy seared through his veins, his vision going white. His body shuddered, then fell limp.
The last thing he heard was the dagger's shrill cry: Yeak! Yeak!
When he opened his eyes again, time was still. Clouds stretched endlessly around him, swirling in a colorless sky.
He blinked, then blinked again. "Where… where am I?" His voice trembled. "Am I… dead?"
He rubbed his eyes, but the world was the same: a weightless sea of clouds, endless and silent.
THUD!
He heard a voice calling his name as if a man was expected him.