The air in Velthorne was thick with panic.
Tap! Tap!! Tap!!!
Guards stord through the cobblestone streets in frantic clusters, barking orders and pointing toward the rising smoke snaking up from the heart of the city.
Civilians peeked from windows and doors, their voices hushed, confusion etched on their faces. The castle bell rang—low and ominous—summoning soldiers to the royal quarters.
And yet, Damien walked undetected.
He moved like wind between shadows—silent, precise. His cloak shimred faintly with the silver linings woven into it, allowing him to vanish into the space between lamplight and darkness.
Those who caught fleeting glimpses of his silver hair or the glint of a blade were never granted a second look. Damien made sure of it.
Velthorne had no idea it had just been gutted from within.
The death of Lord Raegon would be discovered within minutes or worse, would have been discovered already, but the man responsible for it was already beyond reach—just as planned.
Damien erged from the city's western outskirts just as the horizon began to fade from dusk to darkness.
He took a narrow path out of the dense back alleys and into a stretch of overgrown farmland. The walls of Velthorne rose behind him like a dying titan, the spires of the castle silhouetted by flas licking at the sky.
He kept walking until the ground sloped up gently, forming a small natural hill covered in scattered moss and weeds. From there, he turned to take one last look.
The castle was burning.
Not in full fla, but in isolated segnts. The wing he had destroyed was clearly identifiable, its smoke curling into the night like a serpent.
There was sothing satisfying about the silence up here, away from the chaos. He reached into his side satchel and pulled out a smooth black token. Sothing he'd taken from Raegon.
He considered activating it to figure itd purpose.
But before he could, a tug on his senses froze him in place.
That feeling.
That sa quiet ripple in the air, subtle as a breath, that he'd sensed on his way into Velthorne. He had ignored it then, writing it off as paranoia. But now, standing in open space with no buildings or distractions, he knew better.
Soone was approaching.
Damien turned, hand already resting on the hilt of his dagger, his body lowered and ready to vanish into the shadows. But instead of an enemy, he saw…
A boy.
No more than ten or eleven, sprinting up the hill with shoes that looked a size too big and a tunic dusted in sand and sweat. His arms waved frantically over his head, and between ragged breaths, he called out.
"W-Wait! Please!"
Damien didn't move.
He watched the child close the distance with shocking determination, panting as he stumbled to a halt just a few feet away.
"You…" the boy gasped, bending over and resting hands on his knees. "I finally… found you!"
Damien blinked once. "Do I know you?"
"No… but… I know you," the boy replied, standing upright, eyes wide and filled with an odd mix of awe and urgency. "You flew over my village. Hours ago. I saw you!"
"You must be mistaken."
"No, I swear it! I saw your silver hair—no one else has that! And your beast—the flying one, the one with the black wings and the glowing eyes. Its wings made the trees bend. That's when I knew I had to find you!"
Damien stiffened slightly.
Skylar.
Only those with exceptional vision or a sharp eye could make out Skylar from a distance—especially in motion. But this boy had noticed details.
Too many details.
"…What's your na?" Damien asked.
"Lyone," the boy said instantly, his voice lighter now that he was standing still. "From a village near the riverbend. No one believed when I said I saw a flying shadow… but I knew I had to follow it."
Damien narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
Lyone looked down for a mont, then back up. "Because I need your help."
A chill crept up Damien's spine—not out of fear, but the sheer familiarity of those words.
"I don't have ti for stories," Damien said, turning away. "You need to go ho. It's dangerous here."
"I can't!" Lyone stepped forward, defiant. "I can't go back! My village… it's gone. Dead to . Just like that city. I made a promise never to return as they'd kill sooner than later."
Damien was about to speak up when the boy continued.
"Just like the did to my mother. My father wouldn't mind if they indeed branded a witch like my mother."
That made Damien pause.
He turned again, properly this ti, and saw the glint of sothing faint under Lyone's tunic. A shard of obsidian, strung on a leather cord. It looked familiar. Like the emblem of one of the Fated Families but Damien didn't want to think about it so he dismissed the thought.
Damien's jaw clenched and he sighed.
He looked toward the town. The smoke was still rising, the fires still burning. He couldn't linger. But he couldn't leave Lyone here either.
"Fine. You're coming with . But we move now."
Lyone's face lit up with a mix of excitent and disbelief. "R-Really?!"
"Don't talk. Just climb on. And also, you'll be branded a wizard, not a witch."
Damien exhaled deeply and then gave a ntal command. "Summon Skylar, will you?" Within seconds the air rippled as a blue portal ford overhead and Skylar flew out of it like a ghost, his massive form coalescing from shadow and wind.
The Shadowfang Wyvern landed with a graceful thud, wings folding in tight as his glowing eyes scanned the boy with mild curiosity.
Lyone backed up a step. "He's… so much bigger than I rember."
"You'll get used to him."
Damien grabbed Lyone by the arm and swung him onto the wyvern's back, then mounted just behind him.
With one final glance toward Velthorne, Damien gave the signal.
Skylar roared, spread his massive wings, and launched into the sky, vanishing into the night like a phantom with two riders clinging to his back—one hardened by war, the other touched by fate.
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