Alexandre took a pin from the side of the table. He pricked his finger and pressed the blood against the seal. It came alive instantly—a soft, humming pulse rang out, confirming that the right person was reading the letter. If verification failed, the letter would've disintegrated on the spot.
The seal cracked open. Inside was a small parchment.
It read:
To Alexandre Arcturus,
My dearest friend,
Sorry to say this through a letter, but your grandson has been captured—held hostage by the new evil, the Children of Heral.
I tried my best to protect him, but it was all to no avail. I have my men searching the realm, and I'll inform you as soon as we uncover anything more.
Though I wish I could say more, it is far too risky.
Deepest sympathies,
Ronin Eaglefall
Alexandre's hand shook violently. A harsh buzz echoed in his ears—sharp and loud, like a nest of boiling bees. The letter slipped from his grasp, floating like a feather before landing on the ground with a soft thud.
"What does it say? Go on, then—tell us!"
Before Alexandre could answer, Arthur had already grabbed the letter. The words were beginning to fade, each line burning away letter by letter. But he caught enough to understand.
He said nothing—just breathed deeply.
"It would seem Draco has been taken hostage," Alexandre said as he rose from his seat.
"Oh my... It truly is the end," Lady Arcturus whispered. "What of Jasmine? Is she... is she alright?" Her voice cracked.
"There was no mention of her. Clearly, these people are powerful—strong enough to get to Draco while under the protection of Ronin... a mage of the Crown."
Alexandre pulled on his coat and headed for the door.
"Where are you going, Alex?" Lady Arcturus called.
"I'm going to get my granddaughter. The realm is no longer safe." His voice was deep and harsh—not angry at her, but at himself.
Arthur, who had sat in stunned silence, now rose slowly. He looked ten years older in that instant, his face pale and hollow. He said nothing. He just followed.
Lady Arcturus didn't try to stop them. She recognized the look in Arthur's eyes.
He didn't need comfort.
He looked like he was ready to burn the entire world down.
"Get the carriage ready!" Alexandre roared.
The servants moved at once. Within seconds, they had mounted the hippogriffs and hitched them to the family carriage. Hooves sparked against the stone, wings flared—and in a heartbeat, the Arcturus family was airborne, disappearing into the clouds above the manor gates.
As they passed through the gate, Arthur caught a glimpse of another carriage pulling up—drawn by white-feathered horses, clad in silver and ivory. An emblem of an owl flapped its wings proudly atop the roof. But there was no time to ask questions. The carriage vanished from view.
Back at the manor, a servant came running breathless across the courtyard.
"Lady—Lady! The Dewald envoy is here. They say it's urgent—they must speak with the Patriarch!"
Lady Arcturus sighed, gathering her shawl. What now? she thought. It never ends.
"Let them in. I'm coming down." She straightened her spine and descended the stairs, unaware that James had silently followed behind, listening closely.
The grand doors opened. Three figures stepped into the manor, one by one.
The first was an elderly woman with warm brown skin and long, curly hair streaked with grey. She moved with quiet dignity. Behind her came a middle-aged woman—her skin a rich chestnut hue, her eyes a striking sapphire blue, her hair the same deep color cascading in flowing waves. Lastly, a familiar face emerged.
Annie? James blinked. She had grown—just a little—but the change wasn't just physical. Her once-black hair now shimmered with blue at the tips.
"My lady," the middle-aged woman spoke with urgency, "I apologize for arriving unannounced, but this is urgent. My name is Sapphire this is my mother Ruby and my daughter Annie."
Lady Arcturus inhaled slowly, her tone composed yet steely.
"Had it been any other day, I might have welcomed you with tea and conversation. But today is not that day. You must forgive us—we are in no mood to receive guests."
"We understand, my lady," Sapphire said, bowing slightly. "But your Patriarch is in danger. We've come to deliver a warning. Our youngest just had her awakening, and she insisted we tell you what she saw."
She glanced toward Annie, whose eyes lowered to the floor.
"She wept for hours," Sapphire continued. "Said she saw the Patriarch surrounded by shadows—an army of creatures going after him, something not natural. She kept repeating: 'He is longer the same person.'"
"At the first stirring of our gift, a vision comes—bound to one we know. Left unchecked, these visions unfold on their own. Thus, by ancestral decree, we intervene, always. For the sake of the seen." Sapphire spoke these words but it was clear she was leaving some information untold.
The room stilled. Even Lady Arcturus's breath was foggy as it caught the Icey air.
James peeked out from behind a pillar—only to be caught.
"James? Is that you?" Annie called, her voice soft but unmistakably warm.
He stepped out, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating.
"Annie... I missed y—" He stopped himself, lips twitching into a half-smile. The two older women were watching him closely.
"So this is the boy our little Annie spoke of," the elder woman whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.
James turned fully to Annie.
Up close, the changes were undeniable. Her dark hair now shimmered with blue at the tips, catching the light like flame. But it wasn't just her appearance—she stood differently now. Straighter. Stronger. Like someone who had seen something that changed her.
She didn't quite meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes flicked between his face, the floor, and somewhere over his shoulder—never settling, as though afraid of what might happen if they did.
That flutter of uncertainty—it wasn't coldness. It was something else.
Was she nervous? Or remembering something too?
"It's been too long," James said softly.
"Yes," she murmured, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. "It has."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them buzzed with something unspoken—hope, perhaps, or something deeper still.
"I may sound rude," Sapphire said, "but please—tell us where he's gone. His life may depend on it."
Lady Arcturus hesitated. She wanted to question it further—why would strangers bring warnings of such danger? But with everything else that had happened, she could no longer afford doubt.
"Very well," she said. "I'll tell you."
"Thank you for trusting us, my lady," Sapphire said. "But there's one more thing—we've never met the Lord Arcturus in person. We'll need a guide."
"Grandma, maybe I will—"
Before James could finish, he was cut off.
"No, you don't," Lady Arcturus said sharply, her glare like a shard of ice. "I will have one of the servants accompany you."
The words stunned him. He stood there, hand still raised near his mouth, frozen by the force of her gaze. For a heartbeat, he couldn't breathe. That look—it wasn't anger. It was fear disguised as control.
Without another word, Lady Arcturus turned and walked gracefully toward the manor, her footsteps silent against the gravel. Moments later, she returned with Lucy. The maid gave a courteous nod to the three noble ladies before quietly stepping into their carriage. The horses pulled away, and the wheels carried Lucy off with the others.
"James, let us go back to the house," Lady Arcturus said.
"James… James!"
But he was nowhere to be seen.
He had slipped away in the moment she turned, heart pounding like a war drum. Tucked into the boot of one of the carriages trailing behind the Dewald family, James held his breath, his body curled into a tight knot of nerves and resolve.
James's heart pounded as he nestled deeper into the cramped shadows of the carriage's boot. The space was tight, the wood cold against his back, but his mind raced far faster than the wheels below.
His mind raced. If Grandfather's in danger... I have to be there. I won't be left behind like a child—not again.
He clutched the edge of the carriage as it lifted into the sky, determination burning hot in his chest.
The wind whistled past the carriage windows as they took flight. The world below fell away, painted in strokes of amber and crimson by the dying sun. Sea and sky mirrored one another, so perfectly it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The carriage swayed gently, like a cradle between two realms—earth and cloud.
But James didn't notice the beauty.
His breath was shallow. His thoughts buzzed louder than the wind.
This wasn't just disobedience. This was defiance.
And somewhere deep in his chest, buried under all the worry and fear, was a truth he couldn't shake:
Though he didn't know it yet, this decision—this flight—would mark the beginning of the end.