The huntress smiled, her expression calm yet proud. As she stepped forward, her eyes shimmered green, and a soft hum filled the air. She raised her hand, and light gathered around her fingers, swirling like living vines.
Then—fwssh!—the glow solidified into a bow of living wood, its limbs curved with elegant strength. Delicate leaves etched in emerald light spiraled along its frame, each one pulsing faintly as though alive.
She drew an arrow of pure energy, its tip glowing bright as dawn—then released.
Thwip!
The arrow struck the distant target with flawless precision, splitting straight through its center.
Gasps rippled through the children.
"Whoa! She's a wood element!" Matheros exclaimed, eyes wide.
The huntress lowered her bow, the glowing vines fading from her hand. "Wood is not only gentle," she said softly, "but enduring. Every leaf carries the memory of the earth that raised it. Remember that, young ones—the strength of your element lies in how you understand it."
Teacher Devein noticed the small crowd gathering and hurried over, concern etched across his face.
"Master Caldier, what's going on here? Did the boys cause some kind of trouble?"
Caldier turned slightly, his expression calm but intent. "No, nothing of the sort. In fact, you arrived just in time. You're his personal mentor, yes? But I believe…"—his eyes flicked to Xerxez—"the young prince must now be under my watch as well."
Devein folded his arms, cautious. "And may I ask why this sudden interest, Master Caldier? You've many students to oversee. Why single out the prince?"
"Because I am the head instructor," Caldier replied firmly. "And the young prince of Thallerion shows remarkable signs of potential—signs I cannot ignore. His shard revealed something beyond our usual spectrum. That alone demands special attention."
Devein studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "If this will help his growth, then I'll trust your judgment. But do not mistake my words—I remain his mentor. I will walk beside him on this journey."
Caldier's lips curved into a knowing grin. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of it. After all, you were his grandfather's most loyal student, weren't you?"
Xerxez blinked, his curiosity sparking. "Wait—you were my grandpa's student, Teacher Devein?"
Devein smiled faintly, memories flickering behind his eyes. "Yes. When your grandfather stepped down from the throne, he would often travel here in secret. Even after the Cyprioxians cast out the Wendlock dwellers, he never forgot us. He believed the true strength of Thallerion rested not in crowns… but in the spirit of its hunters."
Caldier nodded in agreement. "A wise man, your grandfather. And now, it seems, his legacy breathes again."
Matheros tilted his head, impatient curiosity breaking the solemn air. "Uh… so, Master Caldier—about that 'legacy'—which faction does he belong to then?"
Caldier folded his arms, studying the faint blue shimmer still hovering around Xerxez's hand. "Hmm. For now, place him in whichever faction he chooses. We'll discuss his true alignment later—once we've gathered what we need to confirm his element."
The huntress nodded. "Understood, Master Caldier."
Xerxez stepped forward, eyes still wide with awe. "Teacher Vadylly, can you teach me how to shape my element? Your bow—it's… incredible."
She smiled, "You're welcome to visit the Wood Faction anytime, young prince. Or," she added with a teasing grin, "you could always join us. I'd be glad to guide you myself."
But before Xerxez could answer, Matheros leaned in, his voice rising in protest. "Wait—what about me? You're not gonna leave me behind, right, Xerxez?" His eyes gleamed with a mix of worry and stubbornness. "We've been through all this together. You can't just switch sides now!"
Xerxez chuckled softly, glancing at his friend. "Relax, Matheros. No one's getting left behind."
Elders gathered again within the stone hall, the air heavy with murmurs and unease. The faint glow of the shard—cracked, yet pulsing with restless energy—rested atop the round table. Master Caldier had sent it for scrutiny, its strange hue stirring both wonder and dread.
Many among them speculated that the fragment had simply been burned or broken. Yet Elder Faidenthor, eyes sharp as candleflame, shook his head slowly.
"No… this is no accident. The shard grasped something — a power that does not belong to mere element. It reflected what lies within the boy's soul."
He stepped closer, laying a trembling hand beside it.
"If the shard turned dark violet," Faidenthor's voice quivered, "then we may be standing before a truth we dare not ignore. There is darkness mingled with light inside the young prince. To disregard this omen could bring calamity. But if we confront it — if we understand it — we might help him awaken his true nature before it consumes him."
Caldier nodded thoughtfully.
"I've spoken with the boy. His heart is good, steady. He's not reckless — not defiant. Whatever power lies within, it has not yet tainted him."
The elders exchanged glances, weighing his words. Then, slowly, Faidenthor's gaze turned distant — as if peering back through time.
"Zerceux Herzthroven… Xerxez's grandfather," he murmured. "I remember the day he awakened his Orion ability. The heavens themselves trembled when his Cephues blood stirred. That day, his mind became one with his weapon — he could bend it with mere thought. His will commanded light and steel alike."
He paused, sorrow shadowing his face.
"But even he… could not awaken it in full. The Cephues gift slumbered, incomplete — its true potential sealed away by forces we did not yet understand."
A hush fell across the chamber.
"You mean," Caldier said softly, leaning forward, "that the violet hue may not be a curse… but a sign — the mark of Cephues awakening once again?"
Faidenthor's eyes gleamed beneath the torchlight.
"Yes. The Cephues bloodline — rare, feared, and revered — flows in the young prince's veins. If that is true, then Xerxez carries not only the legacy of Thallerion… but the shadowed gift that once forged heroes and destroyers alike."
Then, came a hunter rushing in the room.
"Master, we spotted a crawling flock near the Wendlock barrier." The hunter said.
"Thavizarus." Elder Faidenthor snorted short. " What are they doing in our barrier? Are they trying to sneak inside?"
" Then, the heavy doors burst open — a young hunter rushed in, breath ragged, cloak still trailing leaves and dust.
"Master!" he cried, bowing hastily. "We've spotted movement beyond the Wendlock barrier — a crawling flock pressing close to the southern ridge."
Caldier's brow tightened. "A flock? Are you certain?"
"Yes, Master. Their scent — their gait — unmistakable."
Elder Faidenthor's eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl.
"Thavizarus." He spat the name like poison. "What business have those serpents so near our border? Do they think they can breach our wards now?"
"Strange…" Caldier muttered, pacing toward the nearest window slit. "For years, our veil hid us — even from their scouts. If they've begun to sense us, then something… has changed."
Faidenthor crossed his arms.
"Even if they've caught our trail, the barrier stands firm. No shadow may trespass its light."
The young hunter nodded quickly. "Yes, Master — none have crossed it yet. But they linger. Watching. Measuring."
Caldier's eyes hardened as he stared at the faint shimmer of the shield in the distance — a dome of pale energy humming against the dusk.
"Complacency is death. If they study our defenses long enough, they'll find the weak points."
He turned sharply.
"Send word to Alexunther. Tell him to ready his people. Training begins at once — the coming days will test us all."
The hunter bowed and fled the chamber.
Faidenthor exhaled, the weight of age pressing in his tone.
"Alexunther's men are loyal, but their strength is still green. Their Orion's light has not yet ripened. If we thrust them into battle too soon, we'll only feed the enemy with their blood."
"I know," Caldier said, still watching the flickering ward. "But hesitation is a sharper blade to the heart. The Thavizarus will not wait — they never do. If war must come, better it finds us standing than sleeping."
Faidenthor's gaze turned toward the shard still pulsing on the table.
"Do you still remember, my son..." Faidenthor's voice trembled like wind over ancient graves. "Those dark times — when the Thavizarus overran our camp. They were no mere beasts, Caldier. They swelled like giants — towering as elephants, their scales harder than obsidian."
Caldier nodded grimly. "I remember their shadows blotting the fires… and the air burning with their screeches."
Faidenthor's eyes narrowed.
"Now, I fear their bloodline has evolved further. If the old chronicles speak true, they do not stop at one transformation. Each cycle, their form ascends — and with it, their hunger. What once towered like a beast may now rise like a Titan."
Caldier's breath caught. "They can still grow? Beyond the strength we once knew?"
"Yes," Faidenthor answered gravely. "The legends say, upon full evolution, their forms reach the size of citadels. Their roar alone can shatter weaker souls."
Caldier frowned, his spirit energy stirring faintly around his hands. "If that's true, how can we stand against them? Our spirit-forged weapons might not pierce their scales!"
Faidenthor turned, the flicker of the barrier light casting deep shadows across his face.
"Perhaps not alone. But remember, our weapons are not bound by iron — they are born from our spirit essence. Their power grows with the strength of our will. And within the young prince… I sense a power yet untamed — something ancient."
"The boy still struggles to mold his Orion's energy," Caldier said. "But if fate grants us time, I'll help him awaken it — to forge his own spirit weapon, one worthy to face such monsters."
Faidenthor nodded, his voice was low with resolve.
""Then do so swiftly. For when the Thavizarus rise again… I fear they will be unstoppable."
"But the question remains," one councilor interjected, his voice sharp with suspicion. "How did the Thavizarus find our hidden campus? Could there be… a blooded lizard disguised as one of the Wendlock dwellers?"
"We don't know yet," Caldier replied gravely. "But rest assured — we will handle this matter."
"This is what I've feared all along," another elder muttered. "We welcomed Alexunther's people inside our walls, but what if… among them hides an outsider's bloodline? A carrier of the lizard's curse?"
Caldier's eyes flashed, his tone rising like a rolling storm. "We should not speak in poison! We are all Thallerion here. Doubt is a venom — it seeps into our trust and kills from within. Stop this talk before it spreads."
"What if," another voice pressed on, "during their escape, a lizard-human saw them… followed them… and now hides in their midst, wearing a Wendlock face?"
A hush fell across the room, broken only by the faint hum of the protective barrier outside.
"Then," Faidenthor said at last, voice heavy, "we must investigate the group — one by one, in private. Let the truth reveal itself through the shard."
"And if we find one tainted… a human bearing the blood of lizards?"
Faidenthor's gaze hardened. "Then we do what must be done. Consider it not cruelty, but duty — for our safety, for our people. A human with the mark of the lizards is not a brother… but a storm waiting to swallow us whole."
***
Alexunther and his people, too, were summoned to face their own training. After the elders' council discussed the growing threat of the Moonatorians, their decision was resolute: every Thallerion refugee must awaken their Orion ability and rise in defiance when the time came.
Yet as whispers spread across Wendlock, a deeper fear began to root — they were not only preparing for the Moonatorians, but for the return of the ancient nuisance… the Lacerta bloodline — the Thavizarus.
Inside the temple, Alexunther sat cross-legged upon the stone floor, his eyes half-open in meditation, yet his spirit restless.
"What are they saying?" he asked, rising slowly, his tone edged with disbelief. "They'll make pawns of us — to defend their shield?"
"Yes, Leader Alexunther," one of his men replied carefully. "The elders said… it's a new threat. We must cooperate, for Wendlock's sake."
Alexunther's jaw tightened. "Those elders — always speaking of patience and paths of light. We came here seeking strength, not riddles and rituals. And now they lock us in this temple, to meditate on energy, as though silence could sharpen a blade."
He turned, his gaze hardening like tempered steel. "Tell me — what will our people say? Those still waiting in Thallerion's ruins — will they call us cowards? Hiding behind mystics while they bleed under the Moonatorian flag?"
The man hesitated. "Leader… we have no choice but to trust their ways."
Alexunther's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying I sound like I'm proclaiming?"
"N-no, I just…" the soldier stammered, glancing around. "Look at us — even if we wanted to fight now, could we? We can't face Moonatoria with bare hands. We need this training, Leader."
Alexunther fell silent, his breath steadying. For a long moment, he stared at the temple's flickering torches — their light dancing like fragile promises against the dark stone.
"How are the children? Has their training begun?"
"Yes, Leader," the man replied, bowing slightly. "The young prince and your son Matheros have both completed their faction selection. Your son—he's a Water Element."
"Water?" Alexunther raised a brow, surprised. "My son? The boy's louder than a storm. How in the heavens did he end up with calm water energy?"
The man chuckled nervously. "It surprised us as well, Leader."
"And the young prince?" Alexunther asked, curiosity stirring.
"That's… the strange part," the man said, his voice lowering. "When I stood behind them in line, I saw the young prince's shard—at first, it glowed dark violet, then slowly turned orange. I heard the instructors whisper it could belong to either the lightning or fire faction. But Master Caldier confiscated it. He said the elders must study it further."
Alexunther crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Dark violet… and orange? Hmph. Strange indeed."
"Yes, Leader. The others were unsettled too."
"Good. Continue observing the training—watch the prince closely. Report everything you see."
"At once, Leader." The man bowed and departed swiftly.
Alone in the temple, Alexunther exhaled, rubbing his chin in thought.
"Lightning or fire…? If he's lightning, he'll move faster than the eye can track. But if he's fire…" He paused, a faint smile breaking through. "He might just melt the Moonatorians' frost."
A sudden voice called from the doorway.
"Excuse me… Leader Alexunther of Thallerion?"
Alexunther turned. A Wendlock hunter stepped forward—his cloak trimmed in red, the faint shimmer of fire energy flickering around his shoulders.
"Yes, that's me," Alexunther said calmly. "What is it?"
"The elders wish to speak with you—immediately."
"If this is about our training progress, then they should know we've made headway. My people are finally connecting to spirit energy—the First Gate at least."
The hunter shook his head firmly. "No, Leader. This matter is far more serious. They request your presence… in private. Please, cooperate."
Alexunther's gaze sharpened. He gave a curt nod. "Very well. Lead the way."
***
The great doors of the council hall groaned open. Inside, the air was heavy—thick with incense and tension. Around the circular table, the elders of Wendlock sat in silence, their eyes fixed on the leader of Thallerion as he entered.
Alexunther stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. "Elders, you summoned me."
Elder Faidenthor leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Yes, Alexunther. There is something we must discuss—privately and without delay."
Caldier's voice followed, calm but edged with unease. "Our sentries spotted movement beyond the Wendlock barrier. Thavizarus scouts—crawling near the border."
Alexunther's brow furrowed. "Thavizarus? Here? How did they even locate this place?"
"That," Faidenthor said gravely, "is what troubles us most. For centuries, our shield has kept us hidden. Yet now… they creep closer. They must have sensed something—someone."
A murmur rippled among the elders. "Someone?" He echoed.
Caldier's tone dropped lower. "There is… another possibility."
Alexunther glanced between them. "Speak your mind."
Faidenthor exhaled deeply. "If the Thavizarus have found our barrier… there may be a traitor among us. A bloodline tainted by the Lacerta."
The words struck like a blade. Alexunther's jaw tightened. "You're suggesting one of mine carries lizard blood?"
No one answered immediately. Only the low crackle of a torch filled the silence.
Finally, Caldier spoke. "We are not here to accuse—but to ensure the safety of all. Your people came from exile, fleeing war. If, during that chaos, one of the Lacerta followed… disguised themselves…"
Alexunther's hands clenched. "My people are loyal Thallerion. We bled for our kingdom—lost everything for it. I would never allow a serpent among my own."
Faidenthor raised a calming hand. "Peace, Alexunther. We will investigate quietly. The shard test will reveal any corruption—if a tainted emblem appears, we will know."
Alexunther's eyes flickered, recalling the strange orange glow of Xerxez's shard. A shadow passed over his face, though he hid it well. "Then may the shard speak truth. I have nothing to hide."
"Good," Faidenthor said. "Then let us proceed with vigilance. If there is one among us who bears the Lacerta mark… we must find them before the Thavizarus breach the veil."
"Speaking of the shard..." Alexunther began, his voice low, his hands clasped as though steadying a storm inside him. "I've heard whispers—about the boy, Xerxez Herzthroven. His shard showed… a strange color, didn't it?"
"Yes," Caldier admitted, the lines of his face drawn with unease. "To my judgment, the shard revealed something rare—significant power dwelling in his blood."
But as his words fell, the council's eyes hardened—piercing, distrustful. Their gazes bit deeper than their silence.
"Tell us plainly," one elder demanded, his voice like gravel on stone. "Is the boy possibly marked by those creatures? Tracked by the Lacerta themselves? Speak no riddles before the council."
Caldier's eyes flashed. "Why must your faces wear masks of paranoia? The Lacerta have nothing to do with the boy's shard. I stake my honor on that."
The chamber fell still. Firelight quivered across their faces—casting doubt and shadow in equal measure. Then came the murmurs: low, restless, cold.
"We've never questioned the young prince's bloodline," said another voice, measured yet sharp. "Devein himself verified it. But bloodline alone does not shield the heart. What we are concerned with… are those who walk beside him."
Alexunther stiffened, his voice cracking like tempered steel. "You're doubting my people?"
"Yes," came the answer—bold, unflinching.
"We should never have opened our gates so wide," another elder muttered bitterly, his eyes narrowing with accusation. "Remorse will not save us if danger already sleeps within our walls."
A second joined in, voice trembling with conviction. "We welcomed them out of mercy—but mercy can cloud reason. What if among the Thallerion refugees… one bears the Lacerta taint?"
Alexunther's jaw clenched. "We came here not as beggars, but as kin. My people bled to escape the Moonatorians' savagery. If suspicion is all you have to offer, then why call us Thallerion at all?"
His words rang through the hall—but silence, colder than before, followed in their wake.
An aged elder leaned upon his staff, voice frail yet heavy with dread. "The shard… dark violet, then orange. It is a sign unseen in our records. If not corruption… then what?"
Another slammed his palm upon the table. "You call it rare. I call it peril! What if that anomaly drew the Thavizarus to our shield? What if he is the beacon they followed?"
Caldier's brow furrowed—his voice cut like thunder. "You doubt my judgment?"
The accuser faltered, stepping back. But Faidenthor raised a calming hand, voice steady as a river stone. "Peace, Caldier. No one doubts your wisdom—but the testing stones read essence, not corruption. If tainted by Lacerta craft, their light could deceive even the keenest eye."
He turned toward the table, where shards still glowed faintly. "Most Lacerta bloodlines wield fire, earth, wood, or water. Violet is not their nature. Nor is orange. There is no proof—only fear."
The room breathed again, though uneasily.
Faidenthor's gaze swept across them. "No doubt lingers in my son's assessment. The shard is strange, yes—but not evil. Let us not condemn a child for what we do not yet understand."
Caldier folded his arms, shoulders tense. "Then we observe—but with open eyes. Should danger come through him, we must be ready."
Faidenthor nodded. "Then let our vigilance be tempered with reason. The boy carries Thallerion's hope—do not let fear poison that flame."
But the tension did not break.
The council's unease hung thick as fog.
At last, one elder spoke again—his tone cautious, but resolute.
"Alexunther… we will be conducting a private testing of your people. Do not mistake this for distrust. It is only a precaution—Wendlock's safety demands it."
Alexunther met their gaze—calm, but heavy with quiet hurt.
"As I said, my people hide nothing. We are pure Orion blood. But if your fear demands proof… then so be it."
****
After the council's uneasy adjournment, Master Caldier made his way toward the training grounds. The air there was alive with youthful energy — the clash of wooden practice blades, bursts of glowing energy, and the rhythmic hum of chants as young trainees sought their inner strength.
He paused at the edge, watching as the hunter-instructors guided the children into their elemental groups.
His eyes scanned the field — until they found him.
Xerxez stood among the Wood Faction, a faint shimmer of green light pulsing around his palms. Nearby, a girl — Vadylly — lifted her hands gracefully, and branches of glowing wood energy twined together, forming a bow that bloomed like living vine. The arrow she drew hummed with quiet power.
Caldier's eyes softened. So the boy chose wood… not lightning, not wind. Interesting.
Across the grounds, Matheros lingered with the Water Faction — though his posture was anything but fluid. His eyes were dim with disappointment, his glance flicking now and then toward Xerxez's group.
The Water Instructor, a tall man robed in flowing blue, addressed the trainees in a calm, measured tone.
"Listen well, Water Hunters. Today begins your journey. The first step — connect your mind to the current of your soul. Within you lies a stillness… and a storm. To awaken your hidden gift, you must learn the calm before the tide."
Matheros yawned, trying to stifle it behind his hand.
He muttered under his breath, "Boring… should've joined Xerxez. I told him water's better. Hmph. He only picked wood 'cause that lady instructor's beautiful. Heh… cunning prince."
"—You there, in the back!"
The instructor's voice snapped like a whip. "Are you muttering while I'm speaking?"
The line of children tried — and failed — to suppress their laughter.
"Wha—what? No, sir! I was just—uh—"
"Not listening," the instructor finished, unimpressed. "Come forward. If you cannot hear wisdom from afar, perhaps you'll hear it up close."
Groaning, Matheros dragged his feet toward the front.
"I hate this faction," he grumbled, though not quietly enough. "Everyone's so… cold, calm, and silent."
"I heard that," said the instructor, one brow raised. His tone wasn't cruel — but it carried the weight of patience wearing thin. "You are… talkative, I see. From this day forward, you must learn to listen — not only to others, but to the voice within."
Matheros blinked. "What do you mean?"
The man's gaze softened. "Water Hunters are calm, but wise. Still waters run deep. I believe you have that wisdom — though it sleeps beneath the noise."
Matheros straightened slightly, pride flickering in his voice. "Well, I am smart — one of Thallerion's finest young warriors."
A faint smile curved the instructor's lips.
"Perhaps so. But remember, young one — this is Wendlock, not Thallerion. Here, wisdom matters more than pride. Show us not what you were born to be… but what you can become."
Matheros fell quiet — for once — as ripples of soft laughter moved through the group.
Meanwhile, in the Wood Faction…
Soft sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling the ground in gentle gold. The air was thick with the scent of moss and soil — calm, cool, alive.
Vadylly stood before her group, the faint shimmer of green aura coiling around her hands. Her voice flowed like wind through leaves — soft, deliberate, patient.
"Our mind," she began, "is the most powerful vessel we possess. With it, we reach outward — learning the shape of the world around us. But tell me," she paused, eyes scanning her pupils, "how often do we listen inward? To the world within us?"
The children stayed quiet, rapt with attention. Even Xerxez, whose mind often wandered, felt her words sink deep.
"Our thoughts are bridges. What we see and what we feel — they are one," she continued. "To draw your spirit energy, you must unite your senses with your heartbeat, your breath, your blood. Every pulse carries your will."
Her eyes glimmered softly. "Now — close your eyes. Listen."
The forest hushed. Only the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of life remained. Vadylly's tone lowered, calm as rainfall.
"Breathe in. Slowly. Exhale. Let the rhythm of the woods guide you. Hear the whisper of branches… the murmur of the roots… the hymn of grass beneath your feet. Let them speak — and you, answer — in silence."
She lifted a delicate lyre and plucked its strings. Notes rippled through the grove, gentle and serene — each chord a thread binding earth and soul.
"Now… open the gate of your mind. Let darkness be your canvas, and light, your guide. When a spark appears — follow it. As if a firefly dances through your thoughts."
One by one, the trainees slipped into their focus. Some trembled; others smiled faintly as faint wisps of green shimmered around them.
Then, a soft voice broke the stillness.
"I… I found an orange light," Xerxez murmured, his tone edged with awe. "It's flying… like a small bug inside my mind."
Vadylly's brows furrowed slightly — but her voice stayed gentle.
"Shh… remain calm. Don't chase it — guide it. Let it grow, let it bloom. Let its warmth fill your vision. The more it shines, the clearer your path."
Xerxez inhaled deeply, feeling the light swell — from a flicker to a flame. The glow deepened, orange folding into violet, as though dusk itself had taken root in his mind.
A strange pulse echoed through his chest — soft, but ancient — as if something other stirred in response.
And though Vadylly's lyre still sang, a faint tremor whispered through the earth.
"Young hunters, open your eyes!" Vadylly's voice rang with joy. "Look beneath your feet — the ground is breathing!"
A chorus of gasps followed. All around, patches of lush moss spread like green fire, weaving over soil and stone. Her lips curved into a proud smile — the first sign her students had awakened their spirit link.
But then — her gaze froze.
Where the young prince stood, the moss hadn't grown — it had vanished. The earth beneath him was fractured, thin trails of smoke curling from glowing cracks.
"Y-Your ground… it's scorched!" Vadylly's eyes widened in awe. "You burned the stone itself…" She stepped closer, studying the faint shimmer that danced around his feet. "No doubt about it — your spirit leans toward lightning. That power is too fierce for the wood's calm breath."
Xerxez blinked, startled. "I… I didn't mean to…"
Vadylly quickly composed herself. "Everyone — listen!" She clapped her hands softly, bringing focus back. "No matter your element, the path of awakening begins the same. Feel your energy, guide it gently, let it answer your will. Whether moss or flame — control is the true lesson."
Then, her tone softened as she turned to Xerxez. "As for you, young prince — you must learn restraint. Your energy is strong… too strong for a beginner's rite."
A voice rose from the back — a girl with a ponytail, her green aura faintly pulsing. "Teacher… why is he even here?" she asked, eyes narrowed. "If he can burn the ground, how can he help us grow moss? His power will only destroy it."
Vadylly smiled, though her glance was thoughtful. "The prince of Thallerion seeks to learn, as all of you do. Sometimes, strength must walk beside gentleness. Perhaps there's something you both can teach each other."
She pointed to the girl's feet. "Look — your moss has grown two inches taller! That's remarkable, young one. Don't let pride cloud what you've achieved."
The girl flushed slightly. "Th-thank you, teacher… but I still don't think we'll get along. He's my opposite."
Xerxez grinned, folding his arms. "Hey, I heard that. You're cute — but I don't like girls who sound so gloomy."
Her brow twitched. "Hmph. And I don't like boys who think everything's a joke."
"Wha— joke? I'm serious!"
"Quiet, both of you." Vadylly raised a hand, though a small smile tugged her lips. "Differences don't divide — they balance. Remember that, young hunters. In the forest, every root and branch has its purpose."
The students quieted, the gentle notes of Vadylly's lyre drifting through the air — though her gaze lingered for a moment on the cracked earth around the prince's feet, a flicker of concern glinting in her eyes.
Beside Xerxez, a girl whispered, "By the way, I'm Zenny Myrtle McGuirre! My family's famous for wind-style hunting… but I got wood element instead. They say I'm one of the most talented in Wendlock."
"Okay, nice to meet you… Zeny—uh, Mere?"
"It's Zenny, or Myrtle!" she corrected, puffing her cheeks.
"Oh, right. Zenny."
She crossed her arms proudly. "You might be a prince, but I'm way smarter than you."
"Wait, really?" Xerxez blinked, then grinned. "I don't think that's something you can prove. I'm a hunter too, you know!"
"Hah! What kind of hunter?" she teased, narrowing her eyes.
"Well…" He smirked a little. "That's a secret."
"Uh-huh, sure." She rolled her eyes. "Just don't mess up this faction. We don't need troublemakers."
"I thought you didn't like me," he said, raising a brow. "Why sit next to me then?"
Zenny huffed. "A smart girl knows her true rival. And I think you're mine. Besides, someone's gotta make sure you learn how things work around here!"
"Hahaha!" Xerxez laughed softly. "You sound like my guardian or something! Don't tell me you're gonna babysit me too?"
"I might if you act like a baby!" she snapped playfully. "Anyway, I have two abilities—wind and wood. Beat that!"
"Two?" he gasped. "That's cheating! I bet mine's stronger anyway."
"Oh yeah? What is it, then?"
He shrugged. "Not sure yet. The elders haven't decided. But it's probably something cool—like fire or lightning."
Zenny smirked. "Tsk, or maybe your shard's confused. Maybe you don't belong to any faction!"
"Shut up!" he blurted, cheeks puffing.
She giggled. "Heh, touched a nerve, huh?"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
Vadylly sighed softly, still playing the lyre. "Ah, children…" she thought, shaking her head with a faint smile.
****
Meanwhile, in the Fire Faction, Caldier approached the instructor with steady steps.
"How is my child, Evenneor Faidenthor? Is his performance well?" Caldier asked, his voice low but expectant.
The instructor gave a respectful bow. "Master Caldier, your son is remarkable. He already produces fireballs stronger than our elite hunters. Honestly, he could be sent into the real field of hunters even now."
Caldier's brows furrowed. "No. He must stay here in the faction. I will train him myself, until I know he is ready."
"But Master," the instructor insisted, "he grows restless. Surrounded by naive trainees, he seems careless… unmotivated. Just today, he destroyed the shooting mark with a single blast. His strength is beyond measure, but his attitude…"
"Enough," Caldier cut in sharply. "I will speak with him."
The instructor stepped back, bowing again. Caldier's eyes scanned the grounds until they landed on his son.
"Evenneor. Come. Follow me."
The young hunter rose without a word, his expression cold, eyes burning faintly like embers. He trailed after his father until they reached behind the training tents, where the noise of the trainees faded.
Caldier stopped and turned, his voice heavy. "Son, how many times have I told you? Do not show your full strength unless it is needed. Your fireball ability must remain hidden until the right moment. Please, as your father… listen to me."
Evenneor scowled, clenching his fists. "Why should I hold back? These new trainees are pathetic—weaklings who ask too many questions. I hate them. They live in soft homes, with no scars, no battles. They don't belong here."
Caldier's gaze softened just a little. "Son… strength is not only for yourself. One day, they will look to you for guidance. Be proud, and let them be inspired by you—not crushed beneath your pride."
Evenneor looked away, his jaw tight. "Inspiration doesn't make me stronger."
"No," Caldier said firmly, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "But it makes you worthy of your strength."
The boy's fire-lit eyes flickered with something unspoken, caught between defiance and the faintest glimmer of respect. His jaw clenched as the heat around his fists shimmered, smoke curling upward.
"But Father… I feel like you underestimate me. You speak of caution, of restraint, yet you've seen my flames. You've seen how far I've surpassed the others. Why hold me back when I can already burn brighter than any of them?" His voice was heavy with both pride and frustration, the ground beneath him darkening where sparks fell.
Caldier met his son's gaze, unwavering. "No, Evenneor. I do not underestimate you. On the contrary, I know the depth of your power better than anyone alive. That is why I speak so firmly. Power without control is a torch in the hands of a child—it may light the way, but it can also consume everything around it. What I do, my son, is not to diminish you… it is to protect you, and to guide your flame until it becomes a fire the world cannot put out."
The boy's lips pressed into a thin line, embers dancing in his eyes. "Then why keep me here? Why leave me surrounded by children who can barely spark kindling, when my fireball could already scorch the battlefield? Why not send me to the real world, to fight with true hunters?"
His words carried both anger and longing, his shoulders trembling as smoke curled from his fists.
Caldier sighed, his gaze softening for the briefest moment before it hardened again.
"Because I chose this path for you. I placed you here not out of doubt, but because destiny winds in ways you do not yet understand. I want you close to the prince of Thallerion. I placed him in this fire faction deliberately, so that you and he might grow together. His abilities are still sealed, waiting to awaken, but once they do… they will rival your own. I want you to learn not only how to burn alone, but how to burn alongside another."
Evenneor scoffed, his flames flaring hotter, yet his eyes betrayed curiosity. "The prince? The boy with the strange shard color? You expect me to play guardian to some pampered child who probably brags about his crown and his wealth? Babysit him while he stumbles over powers he can't even control? I want no part in it, Father. My fire is my own—it does not need to be dimmed for someone else's sake."
Caldier's hand tightened on his son's shoulder, firm and grounding. "You are wrong, Evenneor. He is not what you imagine. He does not flaunt riches, nor does he hide behind titles. He, too, walks with a burden heavier than most can carry. You despise arrogance—so does he. And though you may not see it now, you share more than you realize. This is not about babysitting. This is about forging bonds with those whose strength is different from yours, bonds that will temper your fire instead of smother it."
The boy's flames dimmed slightly, though his body still trembled with suppressed defiance. His breath came harsh, but there was hesitation now in his voice. "And if you're wrong? If he proves to be just another spoiled heir with nothing but his name to lean on?"
Caldier's gaze bore into him, unyielding. "Then you will still learn patience. You will still learn discipline. And in doing so, you will prove that your flame is greater than pride, greater than arrogance. That is the difference between power that destroys and power that leads."
For a long moment, Evenneor said nothing. The smoke around his fists curled upward into the darkening sky, his eyes burning with a storm of emotions—anger, pride, but also something deeper, something unsettled. He finally muttered, "We'll see if your faith is worth the wait, father."
Caldier nodded, silent, his hand still resting heavily on his son's shoulder. The fire between them did not waver—it smoldered, fierce and untamed, awaiting the day it would be tested.
****
In the soft glow of the afternoon sun, the training grounds of Wendlock were alive with quiet murmurs and focused breaths. The air shimmered faintly with residual energy, the scent of earth and moss mixing with the faint tang of spirit essence. Children sat cross-legged in their respective factions — fire, water, wind, and wood — their small faces marked with determination, exhaustion, and awe.
After hours of meditative exercises to connect their minds to their inner power, the time had come for the next step — a simple trial in theory, yet profound in meaning: to summon a flame of spirit energy upon their palms, small and steady, like a candle's flicker.
"Breathe in… focus your will," the instructors whispered, pacing among their groups. "Feel the rhythm of your heart, guide it into your hand — let your spirit glow."
But as minutes passed, tension replaced expectation. Many stared at their hands in frustration — especially the children of Thallerion, whose palms remained dim and lifeless. Even Xerxez, eyes closed and brow furrowed in deep focus, felt only a pulse of warmth, never the flare of light.
Across the grounds, however, faint glimmers began to bloom among the Wendlock dwellers — soft green sparks, blue embers, gold wisps swirling with the wind. Small cheers erupted as some children giggled in triumph, cupping the dancing light like a precious secret.
From the shaded platform, the elders watched closely. Their faces softened with pride for their own pupils, yet sorrow lingered in their eyes as they turned toward the struggling Thallerion youths. "It will take time," murmured one elder, folding his hands. "They are still strangers to this soil. The spirit of Wendlock may not yet recognize their call."
Still, none voiced disappointment — only patience.
When the bell tolled at last, the instructors gathered the children before the stage. Dust swirled gently at their feet as they assembled, sweat-streaked but eager for words of encouragement.
Caldier stepped forward, robes brushing against the stone steps, his presence commanding quiet. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "Children of Thallerion, every ember begins unseen — the flame comes only to those who endure."
A few small heads lifted, hope flickering faintly in their eyes.
"You have more days to train," Caldier continued, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Do not feel hopeless now — growth is not measured in sparks alone."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before his tone brightened with promise. "Tomorrow, your factions shall move to their proper halls. Each of you will have your own rooms — a space to rest, study, and reflect. No longer will you sit upon stone or grass, but under roofs of your own."
A ripple of excitement spread among the children — whispers of "rooms?" and "real beds!" darted through the crowd.
"And tonight," Caldier added with a faint smile, "you will feast. The hunters have returned from the wilds bearing rich bounty — venison, river fish, and fruit from the high groves. You have all earned your meal through effort and courage."
Cheers broke out among the younger ones, laughter mingling with relief. Even the elders shared quiet smiles, their earlier worries softened by the sight.
For now, the struggles of the day faded beneath the warmth of promise — though deep in the crowd, Xerxez clenched his fists, his eyes wandering to the faint sparks still glowing in the Wendlock children's palms. Somewhere within, a vow formed: Tomorrow, I'll find my light.
As the training grounds slowly emptied, laughter and chatter faded into the distant hum of departing factions. The warm orange light of dusk spilled across the clearing, stretching long shadows across the cracked earth. Children hurried along their designated paths — fire faction toward the western hall, water toward the streamside barracks, wood beneath the canopy grove, and wind to the cliffside huts.
But one boy stood still amidst the bustle — Xerxez Herzthroven, arms crossed and expression uncertain, his eyes scanning the thinning crowd.
"Where is he now?" he muttered under his breath. "Did he get mad because I didn't join his faction? Or did he forget me again?"
The wind brushed his cloak as more students passed by, leaving him alone near the central steps. Then, from behind, a calm yet firm voice called out —
"Xerxez."
He turned sharply. "Teacher Devein!"
The elder smiled, hands clasped behind his back. "I've been watching you. You've got potential, young prince — raw, unrefined, but strong. Meet me in the temple courtyard after sundown. I will teach you the method to summon an energy flame properly."
Xerxez's eyes brightened, his earlier frustration melting into delight. "Really?! That's great! I've been trying to puff one up all afternoon — I almost farted from the effort, but still nothing appeared!"
Teacher Devein chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That's a common struggle for new trainees. Don't rush the process — spirit energy isn't born from force, but focus. Once you master it, summoning a flame will be as easy as striking a match."
"Then it's a deal! I'll bring Matheros too — he needs to see this!"
"Very well. See you at the temple, young prince." Devein gave a small nod and walked off, his cloak fluttering lightly in the breeze.
As Xerxez waved him goodbye, a voice suddenly piped up behind him — light but teasing.
"So… you've got a personal mentor now, huh?"
He froze, turning quickly. "Z-Zenny?!"
There she was — Zenny Myrtle McGuirre, arms crossed, chin tilted proudly, a smug grin playing at her lips. "Well, look at you, standing around waiting for someone to notice you. Don't you know everyone's gone already?"
"I was waiting for my friend," Xerxez said, scratching his head. "But what about you? Shouldn't you be heading back with your wood buddies?"
"I stayed behind for one reason," she said, stepping closer. "To let you know... I'm now one point ahead of you."
"One point ahead? What are you talking about?"
"In our challenge!" she declared proudly, placing a hand on her chest. "I managed to form moss around my feet and light up a faint green spark earlier. You, on the other hand, cracked the ground and scared the instructor. So... zero points for you."
"Wait, what?!" Xerxez blinked. "I didn't even know we had a challenge! And besides, maybe you're just jealous that my spirit energy is way stronger than yours."
"Jealous?!" Zenny's brows shot up, her hands balling into fists. "Ha! As if! You wish! Starting today, we're rivals — that's right, rivals! You said you're smart, right? Strong too? Then prove it. From now on, every lesson, every test — I'll beat you fair and square."
Before Xerxez could respond, a familiar voice echoed across the yard.
"Hey!!! What's going on here?!"
Matheros jogged over, waving his hands. His eyes darted between the two of them, confusion spreading across his face. "Opponent? Rival? Who's this girl? Wait— don't tell me... is she your girlfriend?!"
"GIRLFRIEND?!" Zenny yelped, jumping back like a startled cat. "WHAT did you just say?!"
Xerxez's face turned red as he flailed his arms. "No! No! She's not— she's not my girlfriend!"
Zenny pointed at him sharply. "Tell him what we really are!"
"Okay, okay!" Xerxez shouted, stepping back. "She's not my girlfriend — she's my freaky, loud-mouthed opponent! A rival!"
Zenny huffed, flipping her hair. "Exactly!"
Matheros blinked, then grinned mischievously. "Heh. Rival, huh? Sounds a lot like denial to me."
"Shut it, Matheros!" the two barked in unison — then glared at each other again.
The last streaks of sunset were fading, turning the sky to deep violet as the training ground began to quiet. Xerxez and Zenny still traded sharp looks, their earlier banter not yet cooled, when a shadow stretched across the ground beside them.
"Ahem."
The voice cut through the air, smooth but edged like a blade. "So you're the prince of Thallerion, huh? No wonder a kid like you struts around bragging to his friends."
Xerxez turned sharply, brow furrowing. "Who are you?"
Before the stranger could answer, Matheros stepped forward protectively, shifting his stance between Xerxez and the newcomer. "Hey, wait—I know you. You're that guy from the fire faction."
The boy crossed his arms, his eyes glowing faintly with ember light beneath his lashes. "Evenneor Faidenthor. Remember the name."
"Oh, I do!" Matheros grinned. "I saw you during the element testing—you blasted through that flame trial like it was nothing! You were really awesome!"
"Awesome?" Zenny scoffed, tossing her hair back. "More like arrogant. I heard he nearly scorched half the training marks. He's ill-tempered."
Evenneor's gaze snapped toward her, a smirk curling on his lips. "Zenny Myrtle McGuirre—daughter of the great wind-hunter clan, right? Always boasting about her bloodline." His tone dripped with mockery. "Funny. You talk a lot about heritage for someone hiding behind her family name. Trying to earn praise through them instead of your own strength?"
Zenny's fists clenched, her green aura flickering like restless leaves caught in a storm. "Shut up, you fire-headed weirdo! You don't know anything about me!"
A faint ripple of heat rose from Evenneor's palms as his temper matched hers, embers flaring between his fingers. "Then prove it. Right here, right now."
"Hey! Stop!" Xerxez jumped between them, arms spread wide. "You two are acting like children!"
"We are children!" Zenny shot back, glaring past him. "And this one's about to get burned!"
Evenneor's smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You talk big, leaf girl. Let's see if you can handle the heat."
"Enough!" Xerxez barked, his voice sharper this time, a faint crackle of energy snapping around his fingers. "This isn't the arena! You want to fight, do it during proper training—not like this."
For a heartbeat, the air between them shimmered — fire and wood, heat and moss, clashing like rival spirits. Matheros glanced between the three nervously. "Uh… maybe we should all just chill before one of you blows up the whole ground again."
Zenny huffed, lowering her hands but not her glare. "Fine. But this isn't over, fireboy."
Evenneor folded his arms, his smirk cooling into calm defiance. "Didn't expect it to be."
Master Caldier's shadow loomed long across the training yard as he approached, his robes rippling faintly with the breeze. His expression carried both weight and worry — he had sensed the flare of unstable energy before it could erupt.
"Enough, you two!" His voice thundered, and the faint flickers of fire and wind immediately stilled in the air. His eyes settled sharply on Evenneor first, then Zenny. "You are both potential hunters — not reckless fledglings throwing tantrums. A hunter who cannot restrain their flame will only burn themselves in the wild."
Zenny lowered her gaze, her green aura dimming. Evenneor's fists unclenched, though he gave a stubborn tilt of his chin.
Matheros, exhaling with relief, stepped forward. "Master Caldier, you came at the right time! We thought they were going to kill each other!"
"I could do that!" Evenneor blurted, glaring sidelong at Zenny.
Caldier's eyes hardened. "Enough, my son!"
Evenneor froze, his jaw tightening. "…Yes, Father."
The group blinked, realization dawning like sunlight through cloud.
"He's your son?" Xerxez asked, eyes widening. "Wow… no wonder he's so skilled!"
Zenny crossed her arms with a huff, scowling. "Skilled or not, that attitude's still irritating."
Evenneor gave a small, teasing smirk. "Guess talent runs in the family."
Zenny shot him a glare sharp enough to cut air, and Xerxez quickly raised both hands between them. "Okay, okay! Let's not start round two!"
Caldier sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You children… tomorrow's training will be stricter. If you can't temper your hearts, your strength will devour you before the battlefield ever does."
The warning hung heavy, but his tone softened as he turned to leave. "Now go — supper's waiting, and you'll need your energy. Tomorrow, you'll see what true control means."
Evenneor and Zenny exchanged one last stubborn glance before walking off in opposite directions, and Xerxez and Matheros shared a knowing look.
"Guess we're in for a long week," Matheros whispered.
Xerxez sighed. "Longer, if those two keep acting like sparks in dry grass."
—revised ends here—
As the palace door swung open, Xerxez was met by his guardian soldiers, clad in splendid attire, their garments adorned with intricate gold embroidery. A genuine smile, etched on Xerxez's face as he beheld his magnificent white horse, standing poised and waiting, ready for their journey, through the entire district.
Neigh!!! A tame, greeting whinny, full of affection, emanated from his noble steed.
'Hmmm...He know, who is his master. That horse was a gift from Dreamithreo, the land of Pegasus. But, I don't know if he can fly...he has no wings. Maybe, he is just a normal horse.'
Nevertheless, in the Betelgeuse District, the palace stood as the central government, a majestic edifice symbolizing the very heart and unwavering leadership of the kings.
'As I pass at the door, I saw some councils standing in the door, with long robes, honoring my exit for the tour.'
"Good morning, your majesty... Enjoy your tour."
Important council members stood watching Xerxez exit the palace, their expressions serene, as did some royal ministers whom Xerxez frequently consulted for crucial matters, whether economic or systemic.
Xerxez observed the rectangular flags hanging, their blue and red silk shimmering in the morning light. Xerxez then contemplated that they should be replaced with a new, unifying symbol for Thallerion, to cease the pervasive thought of "inevitable war" that still clung to the minds of his people. The flags, bearing the emblem of Orion—the warrior skilled in combat—were attached to the walls of the buildings and even the palace itself.
"Uhm, can you please. replace those flags."
"But, Your majesty... Those are the symbols of Orion. What would other people think, if we will remove the flag, they will think...Orion is no longer a theme in Thallerion?"
"That's a useless emblem!" Xerxez muttered, a quiet resolve hardening his gaze. " We will just encouraging enemies because of that emblem."
"If that's your will, then...we will remove it." Other Minister responded.
During their journey, the people they encountered smiled warmly at Xerxez, their faces radiating respect and affection. It took but a few minutes before they reached the second District—Rigil, and Xerxez's heart was already overflowing with profound joy.
'Look at their faces, they were happy, peaceful, and calm. I wish.. this era...will remain forever. But, as Mr Martheuw Cereun said, as long as the Death-entity is in somewhere, watching humanity, and waiting for an opportunity—the world will plunge into chaos.'
'In district Rigil, we build Temple, for the spiritual-energy training lesson, headed by the Elders. They train young people there, to improve their spiritual ability, in order to use, magical weapons. But, Matheros, as a new Chief Commander, he train soldiers for the military combat, guns and explosive weapons, as a rudimentary weapons for all soldiers.'
'I understand, as we have no, Constellar protector, we have to rely on our own strength, ability, and weapons...And I think, elders knowledge can help to improve my soldiers ability to fight , especially... countering beasts of Constellar entity. Those magical weapons can be useful to destroy Constellar entity form.'
From afar, Xerxez and his companions could already discern the thunder of horses and the synchronized shouts of soldiers in the wide parade ground, each movement a testament to their unwavering discipline, their stance proud, and their footsteps echoing like deep applause on the very face of the earth. On the elevated stage, a formidable chief commander named Matheros stood, his gaze sweeping across the training ground, and he too noticed Xerxez's regal presence.
'Hmm, Matheros became matured, after I appointed him, as a Chief Commander...though, he never expected this to come in his life...and I am very glad, Thallerion military was now fortified, alert, and prepared for all posible attack of invaders.'
"Welcome to the District of Rigil, Your Majesty," Matheros greeted, his voice resonating with respect, as Xerxez dismounted his white horse, accompanied by his loyal guards and diligent assistants for the tour.
"Here are the Thallerion soldiers," He then, adjusting the sword in its sheath with a confident gesture. "We can send them to war at any time." The soldiers, a sea of disciplined might, instantly ceased their training and bowed in unison to Xerxez upon his arrival.
'Hmm, I can say...the military forces under Matheros' management, was far more advance compare to the previous customary. Well... Matheros leadership was great... I know what motivates him, to do his responsibility, being a new leader of the Thallerion military forces... And I like his military preparedness, for the future of Thallerion...but....'
"Let's avoid such thoughts."
The king gently admonished, for he believed such an idea would only encourage the conscience of war, to which Matheros nodded in silent agreement, accepting his king's wisdom.
'The more, we anticipate war...the sooner, we can encounter the inevitable, destiny of conflicts. I know...this world, nestled with different entities...some were cunning, ferocious, but there are also... adorable, and meek.'
A small steel pistol gleamed at the chief commander's waist, a subtle detail Xerxez noticed in a mere blink. Matheros was a man of imposing stature, taller than Xerxez, with a broad, muscular chest; his voice was deep and commanding when leading soldiers—yet surprisingly gentle when addressing his king.
"Come, let's go to the weapon-making facility," Matheros invited, his armor ornaments clinking with each step, a rhythmic sound signifying his high rank as a military leader in Thallerion.
'hmm, Matheros was indeed, matured. I can see on his move, his elegant as a great leader...he even stiff on smiling. His figure was a testament of good leadership, his attitude, behavior, a calculated move, a proof of keeping his being, as a man of dignity.'
Ahead, the king of Thallerion, saw the Blumentritt-like colored roof of the facility, where the continuous hammering of hard steel resonated from within. The workers, pausing their diligent labor, slightly bowed as Xerxez and his companions entered. The air in Thallerion's weapon-making facility was remarkably cool upon their entry. But, when Xerxez gave the signal for the workers to resume their tasks, the hum of machines burst forth, a symphony of industry—the continuous pounding and clanging of screws whenever the machinery spun, and the jarring saws used to precisely cut logs. Xerxez also observed large logs being fed into the roaring furnace, its coals crackling with an intense heat that melted the raw iron tools for molding.
The workers, their bodies glistening with effort, endured the fierce heat of the furnace, which stung their exposed skin when endured for too long. The molten iron, poured into the waiting molds, flowed like incandescent lava spewed from the heart of a volcano. A molten hot red chili! Grind! Dripping!!! Sparkly Glitches!
The grinding stone rotated, its sharp noise smoothing the blade to perfection. Noticeable sweat dripped from the workers' bodies as they rhythmically hammered the glowing iron, creating a dazzling cascade of sparks with every powerful strike of the hammer. Each mold, a potential brilliance, a new chapter in a warrior's life, echoing the legendary weapons of former kings proudly boasted by Thallerion to new generations. Every hammer blow reverberated outside the facility like a relentless drumbeat in the ears of the training soldiers. Xerxez also smelled the potent bomb-powder being meticulously made by the workers in the corner, carefully placed in precise circular steel casings. "Cranking!"
Xerxez then, proceeded to the vast weapon storage, where an arsenal of swords hung majestically on the walls, and spears stood like silent sentinels on the side. Helmets, like the hollow eyes of skulls, faced Xerxez, lined up in neat rows on sturdy shelves. The polished iron ornaments on the formidable shields awakened a flicker of envy in Xerxez, so he flicked one with his finger, the satisfying click a testament to its undeniable durability.
"How are the newly purchased weapons?" Xerxez inquired, his gaze examining the daggers attached to the wall, his eyes searching for the forms of guns in that expansive room.
'Well...King Driother— a talented king in Thartherus— was glad, as we personally visited his kingdom to buy a special weapon...most of our purchases were discounted... he-he-he.. I know, he wanted to be part of the alliance, so do I... I will encourage all nations with less entity influence. If the alliance will be successfully launched, other countries, with Constellar entity could somehow realize them: our country, our people in unison, our forces in one —will be able to defeat them. I know... a single twig is weak, but as long as you put them up together, even a boulder can be moved aside.'
"The quality provided by the Thartherus nation is truly excellent," Matheros affirmed, a slight peer out the window revealing soldiers hauling heavy boxes to the other headquarters. "Some of the guns have been rigorously tested by General Phalleon... according to their report, there were no defects whatsoever." Matheros's face radiated his positive outlook on the weapons Xerxez had acquired.
'Thartheruz weapons are not a simple toy in the face of all beastly beings, each bling, it weakens their ability to transform...like my dagger, who electrocuted king Hedromus. Hmm, what about the explosive I bought in Vhorlandrus...I was eagerly to buy their unique explosive weapons, as I heard, it can destroy abyssal creature...they said, during the time, abyssal beasts existing, Vhorlandrus, fought effectively and many were rescued.'
"What about the weapons from Vhorlandrus? They were delivered last week, weren't they?" Xerxez asked, approaching the gunpowder, as white as pristine beach sand, but a controllable sneeze escaped him from its weak, yet distinct aroma; fortunately, he had a handkerchief in his pocket, which he promptly plucked out.
'Vhorlandruz country were known as Viking men, most of them lived in the arduous journey across the ocean in Atlantis Ocean.Vhorland people were hunter of sea monsters, and treasure hunters. Their majestic Ark, harbouring in the Vhorlandrus Port. Those explosive balls were powerful to defeat sea monster during their hunting.
"Those explosives have been carefully moved to a safe place; they haven't been tested yet...eh. But I believe they are far more powerful compared to what we have manufactured here in Thallerion, ehh." Matheros stated, observing Xerxez as he meticulously examined the quality of the bomb-powder and the finished, round explosives nearby.
'hmm, if that's the case, Thallerion workers should study first in Vhorlandrus to learn a proper way of making explosive weapons...I will ask king Vhalthimoos, to let my weapon-workers have a hands-on training in their land.'
"In that case, we need to send weapon-workers in Vhorlandrus," Xerxez declared, standing tall, his eyes surveying the entire room towards where Matheros stood. "To further improve the quality of our workers' products." Xerxez even clapped his hands, a fine dusting of bomb-powder clinging to his fingers. "I will talk king Vhalthimoos, in the upcoming alliance between Vhorlandrus and Thallerion. So, prepare yourself, Chief Commander, Matheros."
Xerxez had also procured additional weapons of immense power: colossal cannons from Vhorlandrus, and guns from the Thartherus nation with exquisitely beautiful designs—the proud creation of their unique architecture, featuring a long-nosed gun capable of firing five consecutive, bling shots!!!
"HEHE, you can count me...always."
Outside, large-bodied cannons, capable of launching bombs far across the landscape, stood like ancient sea lions gazing eastward.
'Speaking of alliance, we will buy a phoenix-headed artillery, maybe after settling the district internal problems. The phoenix headed artillery... I heard, it was meticulously crafted, each part resembling the mythical phoenix bird, a symbol of rebirth and power. It burst fire-arrow simultaneously in a long range.'
Xerxez still emphasized that the new generation should never forget the profound wisdom gleaned from the use of old weapons and the rigorous training for spiritual energy to hone everyone to use magical weapons or other war equipment.
'I understand that times were relentlessly advancing, so Thallerion also needed to embrace modern methods of warfare.'
At this crucial juncture, inventors and workers were tirelessly busy creating special, cutting-edge weapons. The manufacture of guns and explosives was Thallerion's paramount objective, to ensure all soldiers were ready for any impending threat to Thallerion's future—even though Xerxez's ultimate ideal was to meticulously avoid war itself.
On the second day, Xerxez then proceeded to the Bellatrix District, which was the focus of trade, commerce, and business industries, with markets and guilds of merchants, but it had been influenced by Moonatorian mercenaries. This was where the people of Thallerion met for trade and buying, and it was often crowded, so there were many entertaining activities. Often, when Xerxez wanted to be entertained, he would tour this area to stroll and observe the people.
'Hmm, despite the influence of Moonatoria, Bellatrix guild still magnificent, especially the blue crystalline pond with lustrous fountains, each a testament of unyielding charisma of this place. We cross in the middle of the blue pond, and there, I saw a man with a group of vendors, standing, expecting our visit.'
"Your Majesty, it's good that you toured this district. We are pleased by your personal visit here. Please sit down and have some tea."
"The beauty of Bellatrix plaza...was never fades."
'The man in front of me was Echerg, he is in charge of order in the plaza. I also saw the vendors with long skirts and colorful smiles, just like their clothes.'
'I feel the calming bustling sound in our surroundings, the echo of negotiations, the collective rhythm of fountains, fill within me...I am happy because the people now were no longer a slave, nor oppressed. Me, as a new king...I will protect the peace of Thallerion.'
"It's perfect, I can express the sentiments of the vendors. There's a shortage of supplies here in the market because the farmers' production isn't abundant. According to my investigation, I found out that the farmers are fighting over the land of Wendlock." Echerg said with a very serious face. Xerxez nodded and slightly looked at his personal reporter.
"Wendlock." said one of Xerxez's reporters. "Your Majesty... that's true, some of our farmers rely on Wendlock land, because that's the only fertile land that can be cultivated... The problem is—"
Aghero was holding a large parchment— the record of events in Thallerion— as he answered. He first took a porcelain cup and brought the warm tea to his lips, inhaling its aroma.
'I remained silent, listening and trying to understand, what was happening in Wendlock, my gaze wandering to the blue water, playing with the flowing fountain. Meanwhile, the scent of tea brushed my nose. The surroundings was calm like a blue sky as I saw above. After he sip on the tea, he inhaled and said.'
"There are Ossibians living there who are seizing land from our farmers, and some of the Thallerion residents there say the land dispute is worsening."
'Ossibian?? Why are they seizing our farmland?'
The tea immediately eased Aghero tension about the problem in Wendlock. 'Look like his face was hinted with fear.'
"For now, all I can say is—Wendlock is ours, the Ossibians should know that."
'I heard long time ago... Ossibians were protected by a giant black bird... I have to keep my mouth shut, when talk about Ossibian.'
The king tasted the tea, he hadn't tried in a long time. 'All I can say... the taste of the tea did not sympathize with the vendors' problem.'
Xerxez's chest swelled, and he decided that a solution was needed. "Send representatives for tomorrow's meeting; I want you there too, Echerg." Echerg nodded and listened to Xerxez. "The Ossibians have stirred up trouble!"
'I still remembered the times, when I was pulled away from Thallerion to escape King Hedromus's conquest. Wendlock became the home of the disenfranchised Thallerion. when my parents were slain, my relatives fled to the Wendlock forest. That land offered time to me, with Matheros assisting and teaching me how to fight. We both dreamed together for Thallerion's future then.'
Matheros's good example was why Xerxez faced the fierce Bear of Moonatoria. And without Wendlock, there would be no Xerxez reigning in Thallerion today. Thallerion would not have triumphed without the people willing to assist Xerxez, which is why Xerxez did not write Matheros's kindness in the sand—whoever was the true hero in Xerxez's eyes was none other than Matheros.
'The only way to avoid conflicts...maybe, a deal of alliance. But...I am not so sure, if it works. Hmm, did Elder Devein...just ignore the Ossibian to seize, the farm land for the Thallerion?'
***
Xerxez also thought of visiting the church in the last district, the Mintaka District, which serves as the kingdom's cultural and educational center.
'We continued to tour in the Mintaka District. I know...this place have been transformed into the gladiatorial amphitheater because of the Moonatorians. But, the church still stood.'
The Thallerion church is a symbol of the Crux religion. Thallerion has its own priest who studied in the country of Cypriox for the Thallerion church a long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that no one has yet replaced the priest, worn by time, who has countless wrinkles on his skin.
"Your Majesty, do you not intend to send new students to Cypriox to become official priests of our Thallerion?"
'Aghero stared at me as he asked. We stood in front of the Church. I saw the door open, then a face of an old man appeared.'
"As far as I know, the priests in Cypriox have been replaced due to a new system, and their convent is now open to those who intend to study for the priesthood."
The Thallerion church was before them, and a priest was approaching, wearing a long, sacred-colored garment. 'Well, if there is a new system in Cypriox...then, it would be mean...new challenge for all students.'
"Father Gomenzer is indeed old."
The king gazed at the priest, who walked rather slowly, using his staff as a third leg. "But if we send new students to Cypriox, with a new system proposed... the students we send will only struggle, unlike before in Father Gomenzer's time."
'Hmm, Father Gomenzer age ... somewhat at 85 years old...not so sure. But, he can still walk continuously, though by the help of his cane.'
"May the holy Crux bless you...Your Majesty, Xerxez."
Father Gomenzer eyes were weary but smiling as he greeted the king. 'He was the bishop of Thallerion. Two young assistants, dressed in black with cross necklaces, accompanied the priest.'
"I am glad, Father Gomenzer, that even though the country's ties with Cypriox have ceased, you continue to teach the Crux religion in Thallerion." He immediately kissed the bishop's hand, a calm smile gracing his face.
'His hand though shaking but, I feel the gentle, a testament of his religiousness.
"It seems it's also time for Thallerion to return to Cypriox." Father Gomenzer taking a deep breath that made his staff tremble slightly due to his understanding of the truth. "I am old. I hope, before I retire, our country and Cypriox can reconcile. May the holy Crux hear me."
"Don't worry, Father Gomenzer, I will fix Thallerion's relationship with Cypriox. However, we have elders had returned in our land to train people with spirit energy, I hope you will understand— we are abandoned people— we must rely on our own efforts... but am grateful that you did not lose hope in teaching the Crux religion here in Thallerion."
'Father Gomenzer just zipped his lips...he know that Cypriox is against about elders practice and training activities. But, being an abandoned people... Maybe, he respected my decision to build a temple for the spirit energy training.'
Xerxez saw that the church had turned moon-colored, and the angelic sound of convent music could be heard outside. The large bell, silently observing their conversation, was also covered in moss.
"Please protect the youth, from being tempted by the Shadow of the Crux," The Bishop's shoulders heavily slumping as he spoke.
'Maybe, the existence of Shadow of Crux is the reason of having a new system in the Cypriox? Even though, he wasn't reacted about my decision...he still hoping the essence of Crux religion against the existence of Shadows.'
"Don't worry, Father Gomenzer... I will assure you that our land will be protected against invaders."
After their conversation, Xerxez and his companions toured other parts of the Mintaka district. Xerxez was also amused by the skill and prowess of the wrestlers and the use of weapons in the grand Arena, a magnificent amphitheater. Gladiator battles, tournaments, and other public events were staged here. This showcased the focus on honor, bravery, and fighting excellence of people with unique talent and skill.