King Hedromus, upset when the Moonatorians warriors failed to bring the boy. His raging aura, a fire element, emanating through his oppression to the Thallerion people.
"All of you, kneel down in our king Hedromus!" The vanguard bellowed, their voices cracking like whips, ordering all slaves to prostrate themselves before their new master. "Kneel!!!!"
"And tell the truth, before the king of Moonatoria, Where exactly the boy was hiding? " The Punisher holding a long, whiptail. Standing in front of the citizens of Thallerion bitterly kneeled down.
"We don't know!" They trembled as they saw the Punisher holding a long whiptail.
WHACK! "Wrong answer!" Every hit turn all in writhes. They suffered by a biting whip.
The king's blood relatives immediately fled, and Xerxez was taken, dragged towards the Wendlock forest, a sacred place untouched by the shadow of Moonatoria's king. Though, the king of Moonatoria, insistently and incessantly, searching the boy. But, the Thallerion people keep their mouth shut.
The people still waited, their gazes fixed on the heavens, praying that one day a valiant Orion would come to reclaim them from the Bear's oppression. But some grew weary of believing in Orion, convinced it was merely an old people's fiction—for if it were true, why had they been abandoned in the midst of war, left to face such horrors alone?
***
In Wendlock, Alexunther and his company finally reached the hidden refuge as dusk bled across the sky. Beneath the colossal trees, veiled in vines and shadows, stood a temple—ancient, yet alive, as though the forest itself had grown to protect it.
The elders of Wendlock came forth, their wrinkled faces lit by the last embers of daylight. They welcomed the weary travelers with solemn kindness. Alexunther's son guided the youngest children toward the camp facilities, ensuring their bellies would be fed and their wounds tended.
Within the temple, a man awaited them. At first glance he seemed aged, yet upon a closer look, his features bore a strange youthfulness, as though time had touched him but had not consumed him. His gaze swept over the children, and lingered upon one—a boy standing like the elder brother of the group, a young warrior already carrying himself with quiet resolve.
"I am a young warrior," he introduced, his voice steady. "My name is Matheros Esqaniel. And this—" he gently drew Xerxez forward—"is Xerxez Herzthroven, son of the monarchs. We are kin, after all."
The man inclined his head. "I am Devein, elder teacher of Wendlock." His eyes glinted, both sharp and kind. Without hesitation, he moved to prioritize the two boys, studying them with an assessing stare. Around them, the children were restless, the hall filled with the murmur of fear and confusion. Devein's chest rose, steady with control.
I know how to master this chaos, he muttered, then seized a rope and struck a small chime. Its clear note silenced the room.
"Order! Sit with order!"
The children obeyed. Matheros and Xerxez found a place together. Xerxez's small frame slumped, his eyes veiled with grief. He had been only a boy behind the safety of Thallerion's walls—but now, too soon, he bore the heavy truth of death.
"Starting tomorrow, I will be your teacher. I will train you into true warriors. But if you believe 'warrior' means only the swing of a sword, you are mistaken." His tone was grave, yet fire stirred within it.
"Believe me, you will learn to stand against the Moonatorian beasts."
The hall grew still, the children listening as though he were a priest in a sacred rite. Devein was not harsh, though he had long guided youth on the path of strength. Yet, as his eyes lingered on Xerxez and the others of tender age, he whispered inwardly, This will be the most difficult trial…
A voice broke the quiet. Matheros had risen, his steady gaze fixed upon the teacher.
"Excuse me, Elder Devein," he said boldly, "but what do you mean by 'true warrior'? How can your teaching turn us into something greater than those who already fell?"
Devein's lips curled with faint approval. He stepped onto the stage, his robe brushing the stone floor as Matheros's stare followed him, unrelenting.
"Tomorrow," Devein declared, "you will learn the first step. And the next. And the next. Until you understand for yourselves what it means." His eyes hardened like iron. "But never forget—each of you must first accept the truth. We are not Thallerion's heirs, nor its soldiers. We are the forsaken children of Orion."
A hush fell upon the hall. Even the fires in the sconces seemed to burn lower, as though the name of Orion itself demanded reverence.
At last, Devein's voice softened.
"For tonight, eat. Rest. Tomorrow begins the path that will shape you into what destiny requires."
....
Later that evening, Elder Devein approached the young prince of Thallerion. His weathered face softened with a smile as he spoke gently.
"Come with me into the temple, young prince. As your mentor, let me give you a lesson in advance."
Before Xerxez could reply, Matheros stepped forward, arms folded with stubborn resolve.
"I'm coming too! As his best friend, there's no reason to split us apart. We're brothers."
Devein chuckled inwardly, shaking his head. This boy… still green, still untempered. His smile widened.
"Why not? A prince in the temple is better with a companion at his side."
"Best friend," Matheros corrected firmly, narrowing his eyes as if the elder were testing him. Devein only smirked at the boy's insistence, amused by his fire.
Meanwhile, Alexunther and the other leaders gathered in the council chamber, their voices heavy with talk of Thallerion's fall. Gasps and solemn silence rippled through the Wendlock elders as the grim reports spread.
"Come on, Xerxez," Matheros urged, tugging at his cousin's sleeve. "Let's follow his command. This might be exciting. I heard the Wendlock elders are wizards." His voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper.
"Wizards?" Xerxez's eyes widened as they trailed after Devein. "Do they… do magic?" Maybe, I could learn that thing, too. He thought.
"I don't know," Matheros said with a shrug. "My father once told me they're like shamans. Careful, or they might turn you into a rat. Or a bat."
"A bat?!" Xerxez stopped dead, horrified and fascinated all at once. "They can do that?"
Devein, walking just ahead, raised his brow as their whispers carried. His voice rumbled, dry with amusement. "Shamans, rats, and bats, is it? Did Alexunther truly teach you such foolish tales?"
They both boys stiffened as teacher Devein stopped. "W-we weren't saying anything… about the elders," Matheros muttered quickly.
"Good," Devein replied, his tone warm but edged with command. "Then stop filling the boy's head with shadows. Fear is easy to sow, but difficult to uproot."
Xerxez frowned. "But aren't you… performing wizardry?"
Devein's gaze turned sharp, though his voice remained calm.
"Elders do not dabble in tricks or curses. We are the Tellers of Orion, keepers of knowledge, not conjurers of smoke and mirrors." Then he grabs a twig on the ground. "What we are capable of." His hand glowed as he grip the twig tightly, then he hammered it against the branch, then, it broke apart, not the small twig but a bigger branch.
"Whoa!!! How did you do that?" His hand has something magic or superpower, even a twig can break a log? Matheros was amazed.
"Well, it's simple. Come with me and learn." He answered, he simply turn away and move forward but the young prince thrown another question.
"Tellers of Orion?" Xerxez leaned forward, curiosity overtaking fear. "Like fortune tellers?"
His small voice trembled with both wonder and defiance as he asked the question that weighed upon his heart: "Then where is Guardian Orion, exactly?"
Elder Devein breathed heavily. The sad truth was we can't determine, where exactly the guardian of Thallerion are? "Let's talk inside of the temple."
---In the temple---
Elder Devein sat cross-legged upon the stone floor before the pavilion, his eyes closed, his breath slow and deliberate. Around him, the pavilion shimmered faintly with the light of hundreds of crystal fragments scattered like fallen stars.
Without opening his eyes, his voice rumbled across the chamber. "Hey, you two—what takes you so long? Come inside."
Matheros hesitated in the doorway. He's testing us… I can feel it. But what for? These crystals—why do they shine so strangely? His gaze darted from shard to shard, each one glowing with its own hue. One in particular caught his attention. Orange… bold, like fire. That's mine.
Beside him, Xerxez reached out almost shyly, his small fingers brushing a flat crystal of deep blue. So smooth… like water turned to stone. But what does it mean?
"Teacher," Xerxez asked, wide-eyed, "what are these stones for?"
Devein finally opened his eyes, their gleam sharp as polished steel. "Press it with your thumb."
TAP! TAP!
The fragments crystal shone brighter like a lamp, as they pressed it, then they both felt the warm sensation on their skin.
The crystals blazed suddenly, brighter than lanterns. Both boys flinched, but soon warmth spread through their hands—gentle at first, then coursing into their skin like liquid fire.
These flat fragment crystals were mysterious stones that grew deep within the caves. Legends claimed they took thousands of years to form — each one slowly shaping itself into the size of a man's fist, infused with the essence of the world. When discovered, they were carefully carved and polished by ancient hands, split into thin, flat fragments so their inner light could be seen — each line within holding a story, a trace of lineage waiting to be awakened.
Devein chuckled softly, the echo of his voice mingling with the faint hum of the crystal. "These fragments… they're more than ancient relics. They are bloodline identifiers — attuned to the essence of entities."
Matheros furrowed his brows, taken aback. "What do you mean by that? Are you saying we're not human? You think we're… aliens or something?" His tone carried both suspicion and curiosity. "Why would you need to identify our bloodline?"
Devein raised a hand, patient and composed. "Listen, Matheros. Since the dawn of creation, countless bloodlines have walked this world — each tied to an ancient entity. Over time, as generations passed, these bloodlines interwove. People married beyond their kind, their children carrying new traits — a fusion of powers, abilities, and destinies. No two heritages remain entirely the same."
"Huh?" Both boys leaned in, eyes wide, the glow of the fragment reflected in their faces — curiosity battling disbelief. The idea of hidden power within their veins both unsettled and fascinated them.
After their fingers brushed against the crystal's surface, a radiant light flared within it. Lines began to crawl and twist inside — crooked, luminous etchings branching like wild roots spreading through glass. Then, at the very heart of it, a single symbol took form — glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Whoa…!" Matheros gasped, taking a step back. "What is this figure? It looks like an emblem!" His eyes widened, reflecting the dancing light.
Devein's expression softened, a faint smile of recognition crossing his face. "You are a pure Orion bloodline, Matheros. This emblem — it represents the Orion Entity, the Hunter's Mark."
Matheros blinked, excitement rippling across his face. "Wait—so my parents… they were both Orion bloodline too?"
"Indeed," Devein replied, his voice steady and thoughtful. "Your father, Alexunther, carried the pure blood of Orion. It flows within you as well."
Matheros's curiosity flared again. "What about my best friend? Xerxez. Does he share the same bloodline as mine? Is he… pure Orion too?"
Devein's gaze shifted back to the glowing fragment. His eyes traced the faint, intertwining lines, reading what only one with his knowledge could understand. After a moment, he inhaled softly. "It appears that… Xerxez Herzthroven…"
"What is it?" Matheros pressed, heart pounding.
Devein's brow furrowed. "He carries a mixture. His lineage is not purely Orion."
"What?" Matheros's voice cracked with disbelief. "But we're relatives… how could he be mixed with other bloodlines?"
"There are times when your father married outside the border of Thallerion women, there are chance to meet a different bloodline that carried significant entity bloodline too. While the case of young prince was different. All the Herzthroven bloodline was not originally came in the Thallerion. As what I remembered, the first Herzthroven king was originally from the land of Cephues bloodline."
" Cephues bloodline?" Xerxez asked with a furrowed face.
" Yes , you are half Orion and half Cephues bloodline " Devein said. " But that bloodline was long forgotten, only the elders could recall that history. " If you can both awaken the two bloodline within you are powerful king in the future."
"What exactly is that Cephues bloodline?" Matheros asked, his lips twisting into a doubtful pout as he looked up at Devein.
Devein's expression turned thoughtful. "A king," he said simply. "The Cephues bloodline was once feared and revered — entire clans bowed before them. Their gift was the power of the mind."
Matheros blinked. "Whoa, mind ability? You mean like fortune tellers? Those people who just guess the future with their brains?"
Devein chuckled. "Not quite. Centuries ago, the Cephues awakened their ultimate gift — telepathy. They could move and command things through will alone. If I carried that bloodline, I could tell these fragments," he gestured to the glowing stones scattered across the pavilion, "to rise into the air and they would obey — without a single touch."
Matheros's eyes sparkled, a grin stretching across his face. "Whoa, that's insane! Imagine my best friend awakening that kind of power — plus his Orion weapon mastery…" He turned, eyes wide, staring at the young prince with wild excitement. "You'd be unstoppable!"
Devein smirked faintly, shaking his head. "Enough dreaming for now. Power is not built on wishing." His voice steadied, a tone of command returning. "Tomorrow, both of you begin your training. No shortcuts. No excuses."
The boys straightened instinctively, their playful awe fading into anticipation. The path ahead was suddenly real.
"Prince of Thallerion," Devein said, his tone gentle yet formal, "we've prepared a special cottage for you. Starting today, it shall serve as your humble shelter. Come — I'll show you the way."
"Speaking of that," Matheros chimed in quickly, puffing out his chest, "I'll go with him. I'm his best friend, his knight, and his guard."
Devein arched a brow but allowed himself a small smile. "Good. Then we won't need to assign a bodyguard to the young prince. But remember your words, Matheros — do your duty well, and spare him your foolish tales."
Matheros grinned, unbothered. "Don't worry, Teacher. My best friend will learn good stuff from me."
Devein shook his head with a soft chuckle. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Together, the two boys followed him through the winding path toward the cottage. The air grew cooler, scented with pine and earth, and faint lanterns lit their way like stars scattered along the ground.
But before they reached their new dwelling, figures emerged from the twilight — elders of Wendlock, gathered in quiet reverence with Alexunther.
"Good evening, young Prince of Thallerion," came a gravelly voice. It belonged to Elder Faidenthor, the oldest among their people. His beard, long and unshaven, spilled down to his chest like silver moss, and his heavy brows nearly shadowed his weary eyes. His hair, streaked with age and wisdom, framed a face carved by time and sorrow. He wore a long, earth-toned garment that brushed against the ground as he bowed.
"We offer our deepest condolences," the elder said solemnly. "For your parents' noble sacrifice… and for the fall of Thallerion. Their memory burns bright in our hearts.
The prince bowed his head slightly, his fingers curling at his side. The words struck deep, stirring memories he'd tried to keep buried — the sound of clashing steel, the cries echoing through the burning halls, and his mother's final touch as she sent him away.
"Thank you, Elder Faidenthor," he said softly, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed the weight behind it.
The elder nodded solemnly, eyes glistening with quiet pride. "Your resolve honors them, young prince. The blood of kings does not bend easily to despair."
From the folds of his robe, Faidenthor drew a small pendant — a shard of crystal wrapped in fine, ancient silver. "This belonged to your grandfather," he said, offering it with both hands. "He entrusted it to us when he still alive."
The prince accepted it reverently, his hands trembling as the cool metal touched his skin. The faint warmth that pulsed from within the shard made his breath hitch — it was as if his grandfather's strength, lingered there still.
"I will keep it close," he whispered.
Matheros shifted beside him, gaze lowered in respect. Even the usually playful spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a quiet understanding.
"Father, tomorrow we begin our training. Will all the elders join us in the fight against the Moonatorians after that?" Matheros asked aloud, his voice echoing across the surroundings. It was clear he wanted everyone to hear — more a declaration than a question.
Alexunther turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "You brat! How many times must I tell you — lower your voice when there are people around!" His tone carried anger restrained by discipline, the rebuke of a father who sought to teach, not shame.
Before the silence grew heavy, Faidenthor spoke, his deep voice steady and calm. "Alexunther, let the boy speak. Since he mentioned the training — it must be said: the elders cannot fight against the Moonatorians."
Alexunther blinked, caught between surprise and understanding. "If that is the case, then… I will respect your decision. Still, I cannot deny — Moonatoria is strong. We could use every hand."
Faidenthor shook his head slowly. "No, my friend. You misunderstand. It is not that we refuse — but that we cannot. Look at us." He gestured to the gathered elders, their faces lined with age, their posture bent yet noble. "Our time on the battlefield has passed. These hands no longer wield swords — but they can still guide, still teach. We will not march to war… but we will prepare those who will."
Matheros stepped forward, eyes shining with fierce resolve. "Excuse me, Elder, but… that's why we're here. I, and the young Prince of Thallerion — we'll train to end the savagery of Moonatoria ourselves!"
Faidenthor smiled faintly, a glimmer of pride cutting through his weary expression.
Alexunther crossed his arms, studying his son. A spark — long dormant — flickered behind his stern eyes. "That's bold talk, boy… and that's exactly what I've been waiting to hear. Perhaps this generation truly carries the flame. After all these years, maybe our purpose returns — to awaken once more the blessings of Orion."
The air around them seemed to hum softly, as if even the ancient stones approved.
"