As Prince Xander and Dragon, now the vice-captain of the Xargian Guard, strolled through the streets, an orange cat sauntered lazily across their path. Dragon crouched down, clicking her tongue and calling out a soft “pspspsps.” The cat meowed, demanding attention, and Dragon obliged. She slipped off her armored gloves, running her fingers gently over its head and behind its ears. The feline purred, rubbing affectionately against her legs before continuing on its evening roam. Xander watched in silence, allowing the moment to unfold without interruption.

  “It’s been many years,” Dragon finally said. “But to tell you the long story short—”

  Xander cut in with a small smile. “If possible, I’d prefer the long version.”

  Dragon turned to face him. For a moment, she studied him, then let out a warm chuckle. “Fine.”

  They continued walking, the quiet hum of the city around them.

  “When I was younger,” Dragon began, her voice tinged with nostalgia, “I spent a lot of time in the castle. My father, a vassal to the crown, served your father directly. He often brought me along on his journeys.” Her gaze drifted, lost in memories. “That’s how I was introduced to you, Xhiva, and Xemena.” A small sigh escaped her lips. “Since Xemena and I were the same age and both girls, I suppose our fathers thought it was only natural for us to become friends.” She hesitated, then admitted, “But I was terrified.”

  Xander raised an eyebrow. “Because of the color of our eyes?”

  Dragon met his gaze. “Not specifically that. But still, your eyes—yours, Xhiva’s, Xemena’s. They were cold, lifeless… like an abandoned cottage in the dead of winter.” She paused. “Once, Xemena invited me to her room for a tea party, but when we arrived, we found Xhiva there… twisting the heads off all the dolls.” Her tone darkened. “Xemena beat him up after that. Which only made me more scared.”

  Xander remained silent, absorbing her words. Dragon pressed on.

  “King Xerxes had already used the Holy Crystal on me. He saw potential—said my skill would be well-suited for battle. He asked my father’s opinion but made it clear the decision was ours. After all, my house was well-respected in Xandria.” She exhaled. “My father declined the offer politely. And that was the end of it… or so he thought.”

  Her posture stiffened. The easy warmth in her voice faded. “One day, while Xemena and I were playing outside, I heard a sound.” She paused, her ears almost twitching at the memory. “Like a damp cloth being stretched… then slapped against something solid.”

  Xander studied her expression, but she wasn’t looking at him.

  “Xemena told me not to think about it,” Dragon continued, her voice quieter now. “So I didn’t.”

  She reached a bench and sat down. Xander followed suit.

  “But the sound never stopped.” Her hands clenched in her lap. “Every day, I heard it. My father and I stayed in the capital for weeks, and finally, I asked Xemena what it was.”

  Dragon exhaled. “One day, she took me to see for myself.”

  Her fingers tightened. “She led me to the Xargian Guard’s barracks. There’s a stairwell that descends into the training hall.” Her voice grew distant, like she was standing at the threshold of the past. “It was dark. Lit only by torches.”

  She took a slow breath. “But I remember it clearly.”

  She looked up at the sky, as if searching for a memory that had never faded.

  “A boy,” she murmured, her voice distant. “A few years older than us. His body was covered in scars, bleeding from wounds old and new. He had two tattoos on his chin, shaped like spears. He was chained like an animal… yet he was smiling. That kind of smile you give when you’re trying to comfort someone else, even when you’re the one suffering.”

  She exhaled. “In front of him stood a child. Young. Too young for being part of any branch of the military. A scar ran from his throat down to his chest.”

  The memories painted a picture while Dragon described it. There was a flicker of torchlight, a metallic gleam. Behind the chained boy, a man loomed—his helmet shaped like a mongoose. He raised his whip. And then it struck.

  Dragon’s fingers curled into fists. “I screamed,” she said, her voice taut with memory. “I screamed with everything I had, begging them to stop.”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands, as if she could still feel the moment in her bones. “Xemena clamped a hand over my mouth, hissing at me to stay silent.”

  She took a slow breath before continuing. “We were escorted out of the facility… but I wasn’t done.”

  Her voice hardened. “I ran straight to my father, burst into a meeting with the king. I told him what I saw. I demanded answers.” Her gaze met Xander’s scarlet eyes. “But your father—he only told me that this was how the Xargian Guard disciplines its members.”

  A cold silence stretched between them. Then Dragon spoke again.

  “That’s when I made my decision. I told King Xerxes I would join the Xargian Guard—on one condition.” Her expression didn’t waver. “That I would become their leader.”

  She didn’t smile. There was nothing to smile about. “Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Even though the king wanted me in the guard, taking command wasn’t something he could just hand me. I had to train. I had to fight. And in the end, I had to defeat the current leader in a duel.”

  She sighed, her shoulders easing slightly. “My father protested. He begged me to reconsider. But my mind was already set.”

  A pause.

  “Xemena shouted at me, too.” Her voice softened, almost wistful. “She was kind. She told me she didn’t want to lose her only friend.” Dragon exhaled. “She never forgave me for that.”

  Xander finally spoke. “How long did it take?”

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  Dragon considered the question. “More years than I’d wished for.”

  Her fingers traced the edge of her gloves. “I trained in secret with master after master. The king spared no expense—resources, weapons, training. And I gained experience points by…” She hesitated. “Executing prisoners of war.”

  A deep breath.

  “In the end, I won the duel. After many attempts.” Her gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Without my skill, it would’ve been impossible.”

  And then, a simple conclusion.

  “And here we are today.”

  Xander took a deep breath. “Your resilience is inspiring. It must have been difficult.”

  Dragon met his gaze, her voice steady. “It was. But I could say the same about you.” She exhaled. “All that time, people compared me to the ‘prodigy prince.’ But I never saw you as a genius, Xander. What I saw was a lonely boy, trying to carry the weight of the realm on his shoulders.”

  They walked in silence for a moment before Dragon continued. “And even now, I still see that lonesome boy—hiding in the shadows.” Her tone softened. “But lately, I’ve changed my mind. I saw how you flourished with Niles’s friendship. People can think whatever they want about that man, but at least he never seemed to care about your title or status.”

  They reached a point where the ocean stretched before them, waves rolling gently against the shore. Dragon glanced toward the horizon. “If you ever get the chance, you should cross the ocean and visit him.”

  Xander didn’t respond. He only stared out at the endless blue before they turned back toward the castle.

  Then, finally, he spoke. “He killed some of your friends.” His tone was careful, treading the subject lightly.

  Dragon’s response was immediate. “We’re fighting different battles.” She didn’t elaborate. “For now, I face the shift in leadership within the Guard. And you—” she glanced at him, “—face the burdens of the throne.”

  Xander considered that. “Want to switch places?”

  Dragon chuckled. “Not for all the gold in the world, dear prince.” She took a deep breath. “But I propose a pact.”

  Xander blinked, intrigued. “Go on.”

  “I’m convinced Mongoose is scheming to reshape the Guard—whether by fear or force, I don’t know. But he’s already spoken about reviving the Duel of the Dragon.”

  Xander’s eyes widened. “That ritual belongs in history.”

  Dragon nodded. “I’m glad you agree.”

  Xander raised a hand before she could say more. “I’ll speak with my father.”

  “Thank you,” she said. But then she added, “Speaking of Niles… your brother, Xhiva, has a plan to eradicate him using Roy’s skill.”

  Xander barely reacted, only shrugging. “Roy’s bombardment is so unpredictable, I’m more worried about it hitting Xhiva than Niles.”

  Dragon smirked. “That’s possible. But still, I thought you should know. They leave tomorrow.”

  Xander gave a slow nod. “Thank you, Dragon.”

  They continued their walk back toward the castle.

  By the time they arrived, murmurs filled the courtyard. A ripple of voices spread through the soldiers—whispers of the Xargian Guard returning without their helmets. Regular troops lingered, eager for a glimpse.

  And then, at last, the Guard returned.

  They walked across the bridge, waving and greeting the soldiers as they passed.

  Rose stood among the gathered soldiers in the courtyard, pressing forward, trying to catch a glimpse of something—or someone. Her eyes darted over the sea of faces until, in the flow of bodies, she spotted him.

  A man with short pink hair, smiling as he walked with the others toward the Xargian Guard barracks.

  For a moment, their eyes met. He held her gaze, gave a small nod, and said nothing.

  But he didn’t have to.

  Rose felt it deep in her bones—this was her brother, taken from her long ago. A wave of relief surged through her. “Thank the heavens,” she whispered, her heart pounding as she watched him disappear with the others into the barracks.

  Meanwhile. Inside the throne room, Mongoose, the newly appointed captain of the Xargian Guard, finally had a moment to speak with King Xerxes amidst his packed schedule.

  “The Guard won’t follow orders,” Mongoose grumbled. “They even dared to speak out against me!”

  King Xerxes exhaled slowly, already weary. “Then force them into line.”

  “I tried, my liege, but they just removed their helmets and left the barracks.” Mongoose’s tone was edged with frustration. “They act like free men and women,” he scoffed. “And that Elephant is the worst of them. If we made an example out of him, I’m certain the rest would fall in line.”

  The king pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes… they would follow him—straight into an uprising against you.” He sighed. “Headache after headache.”

  Prince Xhiva, lounging nearby, straightened. “Father, I have an idea. About the Elephant in the room…” He paused, expecting a reaction to his pun. None came. He cleared his throat and continued. “Let’s isolate him. I can take him with me on my journey to Niceland.”

  King Xerxes stared at him.

  Xhiva quickly corrected himself. “I mean, Monster Island.”

  He leaned forward, his voice more confident now. “A group of soldiers is only as strong as its weakest link. If we break him down and rebuild him in the image we want, the rest might fall in line.”

  Mongoose gave a nod. “That could work, my king.”

  Xerxes remained unconvinced. “It won’t. If anything happens to Elephant during this journey—”

  Xhiva cut in eagerly. “We can blame it on Niles!”

  The king ignored him, continuing, “—the remaining Guard will believe we set him up. And then the entire operation collapses.”

  He tapped his fingers against the back of Xhiva’s chair, thinking. “We need a just cause. A reason that even they can’t argue against…”

  Then, suddenly, he straightened, his eyes sharp. “Lion.”

  He stepped away from his throne, his hands resting on the back of Xhiva’s chair as he spoke. “The missing Xargian Guard.” His voice was measured, deliberate. “Let’s consider the possibility that Niles never took the holy crystal… but that Lion did. He vanished at the same time, didn’t he?”

  A slow nod followed.

  “Mongoose,” Xerxes commanded, “have the Xargian Guard split into small teams. Search far and wide. Brand Lion as a traitor and bring him back for questioning.”

  He turned, the glint of strategy in his eyes. “To make things easier for you, Dragon will serve as my personal bodyguard during this period.”

  His decision was final. The hunt for Lion had begun.

  Mongoose knelt before the throne. “Thank you, Your Highness. Your wisdom in these times is invaluable. I will begin preparations at once.”

  King Xerxes rose, ascended the steps, and settled back onto his throne. His gaze flicked to his son. “Xhiva, you should prepare for your journey tomorrow as well. Remember, I won’t tolerate another failure.”

  Xhiva grinned, unbothered. “Of course, Father!”

  The king exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Tomorrow will be… eventful.” His voice lowered, as if speaking more to himself than to those present. “The Golden Bank will be visiting. An opportunity to demand compensation for their role in the attack on the ball—and to negotiate a reduction in our interest rates.” His fingers curled into a victorious fist. “From this point forward, everything will go according to plan. With financial backing from the Golden Bank and the development of our summoned champion, Roy, we are close to beginning our invasion.”

  His scarlet eyes shifted toward his daughter. “Xemena.”

  She straightened.

  “How is the progress with your summoned champion? What was his name—Gravel?”

  Xemena sighed. “Gustavus,” she corrected. “Though, honestly, ‘Gravel’ fits. He’s always rolling in the dirt.” She shrugged. “No progress. Nothing but complaints. He trains with the infantry during the day, and at night, he ‘helps’ women in labor.” She scoffed. “It’s temporary pain relief—until the pain returns worse than before. Then the women either try to hunt him down or throw things at him. People are calling him ‘the worst healer in the world.’”

  King Xerxes chuckled. “A pathetic excuse for a man.”

  Xemena smirked. “Yes, but he works for free and hasn’t been given clean clothes, so at least he’s cheap labor.”

  The king’s amusement faded. “Pity that summoning him cost a fortune.” He leaned back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “At least he’ll spend the rest of his life here working off his debt.”

  Gustavus wasn’t around to hear any of it.

  He was sprinting down the streets, panting, his filthy clothes clinging to his sweat-soaked skin. Behind him, a furious man was in pursuit, shouting accusations of witchcraft.

  “Her pain is worse than before, you fraud!”

  Gustavus gasped for air, pushing his exhausted legs forward. His body ached, his mind screamed for an escape. Over and over, like a mantra, he muttered between ragged breaths—

  “I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life.”

  But no hidden button would send him back to Earth.

  So he kept running.