Vibrations.
The nearby carriage shivered with each impact.
Trees danced in the wind like a storm had been unleashed. Not just any storm. A personal one. One of intent.
Verek, leader of one of Heilen's most prestigious guilds, staggered back.
Sweat slicked his brow. Dripped into his eyes. His breathing wasn't short—it was trapped. Held hostage by confusion and something uglier: fear.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
The reports said the slave was obedient. Quiet.
They never said this.
No one said this.
He felt like he was standing against certain death , uninvited death as people would say it , but in his case
it was definetly invited..... He didnt understand what was going on... Confusion...
But in all that confusion one question in his mind reigned above the rest....
"How in The Canva's Great World is that monster A SLAVE!?"
The image replayed in his head.
A hand—gentle, too gentle—gripping a relic blade. Then:
Snap.
Steel splintered like porcelain.
Lucian hadn't grabbed the sword. He had dismissed it.
And then came the punch. Not elegant. Not practiced. Just... force. Unnatural, uncompromising force.
Verek didn't remember the impact—only the aftermath. The tree that caught him was no hero;
it snapped and buckled like it too had bowed before something greater.
The Behavioural Ability of Greed
This wasn't the kind of Greed that took gold or territory.
This was the Greed that consumed certainty.
Greed that made the world bend to be devoured.
And the world did bend.
The very air twisted near Lucian's fingers, like the atmosphere itself was auctioned off and he was the highest bidder.
If that thing was a slave...
Then Verek didn't even deserve to be the mice in his world.
Verek rose, dirt clinging to his armor like shame.
His eyes shut. He inhaled. Then thought.
Knowledge.
His Behaviour stirred. Patterns formed. Possibilities collided and coalesced.
And yet—no conclusion made sense.
Lucian's strength wasn't normal. Even factoring in an underestimated Behavioural Ability of Greed… no. It still didn't explain it.
Not the presence. Not the scale. Not the gravity of that boy's existence.
Then, clarity.
His gaze snapped to Rayen. Once. Then again.
The aura—the weightless, glowing attention surrounding Lucian—
"The Behavioural Ability of Admiration?" Verek whispered, eyes wide. His voice climbed in rage and accusation.
"IT'S YOU!" , He lunged. A last attempt at control. A strike born not of strategy but spite.
But Lucian moved first. Of course he did.
A hand intercepted Verek mid-air. Effortless.
"You don't understand, do you?" Lucian's voice was almost pitying.
"I said Lord Blaze's guests are off limits."
Then, the slam.
Verek hit the ground not like a man—like a declaration. The earth took him. Welcomed him. Claimed him.
And for a brief, excruciating moment, Verek became the ground.
Silence.
He didn't rise.
No one else moved.
No soldier drew a blade. No whisper escaped. It was as if the wind itself had agreed—this was over.
A decision passed like vapor among them all: Return to Heilen. The hunt had ended.
Later.
As dust settled behind the retreating procession, a soft voice stirred from the carriage
"Seems they're gone," Arlen said, peering from behind the curtain.
"We should be clear to move on."
The carriage resumed its path—rolling gently through thinning woods and toward the realm of order.
The Kingdom of Heilen.
"What do you think, Arlen? About the boy."
Clarence spoke without turning his head. His eyes remained on the road behind them, as though Lucian's presence still echoed there.
"Three different Behavioural Abilities…"
Arlen leaned back, arms folded.
"Could be a prodigy. Maybe not tied to Liberty. This is Heilen after all."
Clarence nodded slightly. "Could be. But we won't know until we see for ourselves."
The wilderness gave way to purpose.
Brambles surrendered to cobbled roads. Wild trees arched, spaced deliberately. The scent shifted—less raw earth, more incense and cedar smoke.
Then came the walls.
Stone arches jutted from the ground like ancient ribs. Gateways into civilization.
And beyond them, Heilen revealed itself—less a city, more a revelation.
Clarence leaned forward, pulling the curtain back. "...So this is Heilen."
It was not pretty. It was beautiful. But with an edge.
Crafted, not adorned. Earned, not offered.
A river split the city like a divine incision. Twin lakes flanked it, their still surfaces mirroring towers that loomed like watching gods.
Bridges curled across the water, stone and steel intertwined. The Vorderufer hummed with life—markets, homes, painted windows and patched roofs.
Among the familiar Germanic contours, Clarence noted the foreign touches: crescents on merchant domes, geometric spirals etched in pillars. A city braided between empires.
Then, eastward. Hinterufer. The high bank. Different. Quieter. Sharper.
The Solenseele crowned it—its dome vast, shimmering in bronze and gold. Not words, but faith carved into its ribs.
Minarets spiraled upward, solemn and skeletal. Clarence felt it before he saw it fully—a resonance, deep and private. Like a memory not yet lived.
And behind that temple—farther still—the castle.
Wasserkrone Keep.
Spikes and battlements. Blood-red roofs. A castle dressed like a fortress but shaped like something older.
Long corridors. Open courtyards. Eastern breath inside Western stone.
Even Heilen's crown was divided.
Clarence let the curtain fall.
Arlen watched him, eyebrow raised.
"You've got that look again."
"What look?"
"The 'something's about to happen' look."
Clarence didn't answer. His fingers tapped rhythmically on his knee. Three abilities.
One boy. A battlefield cleared like kindling in a storm.
In his chest, something old stirred. A feeling he hadn't had since the day the Crest appeared on his hand.
"He may not be one of us," Clarence said at last, quiet. "But that wasn't ordinary power. That was unclaimed inheritance."
Arlen snorted, folding his arms. "And what? You plan to invite him to dinner?"
"No." Clarence smiled faintly, eyes still fixed on the back of the curtain.
"I plan to see if Heilen still remembers what Liberty looks like."
The carriage rolled onward — toward a city that watched with twin faces, its soul split between God and Crown.
And in its heart, waiting unseen, was the echo of a boy the world had already started whispering about.
As they approached Wasserkrone Keep, its presence swallowed the horizon.
From a distance, Wasserkrone Keep was imposing. But up close… it was divine craftsmanship wrapped in intimidation. The structure sat astride the junction of river and lake like a throne forged from both land and legend.Its main keep rose in cascading tiers, each level banded with dark stone and etched silverwork that shimmered like veins of moonlight. The spires — red-tipped and needle-thin — pierced the sky with a regal hostility, as though daring the heavens to strike first.
The outer walls curved with the terrain, forming a layered defense that seemed to grow organically from the earth itself.Mosaic inlays shimmered on the lower bastions — scenes of kings, prophets, and wars long past — while stained-glass windows from a forgotten era flickered with the hues of late afternoon sun.And at the very heart of it all, behind the final gate, rose the Crescent Courtyard — an open garden framed by arched cloisters and whispering fountains, said to have been planted by the first Queen of Heilen herself, from seeds gifted by foreign lands.
A row of servants stood at attention near the wrought-iron gate, their attire crisp and formal, their expressions composed but alert. The stone beneath their feet gleamed — not just with polish, but with history.
The head servant stepped forward, bowing with impeccable grace as the carriage halted."We've been awaiting your arrival with great care, Lord Clarence."
Clarence stepped down from the carriage, adjusting his cloak with a faint smirk."We didn't keep you waiting too long, I hope?"
The servant allowed himself the barest hint of a smile."Of course not, my lord. After all…" — he straightened, voice resonating with quiet reverence —"You are Heilen's Special Guest."