The setting sun melted into a molten copper on the western horizon when the gigantic shadow was finally revealed. Zego held back a gasp. The Aethen Fortress. Its gates stretched like the gaping jaws of a dragon, the stones covered in a golden moss cracked by the grip of time. In the distance, watchtowers loomed—sharp and cold like a double-edged sword plunged into the purple sky.
"Impenetrable..." he murmured softly. But what tickled his warrior instincts wasn't the thickness of the thirty-meter-high walls. There was a strange vibration in the air. It felt like the pulse of invisible energy, or perhaps dozens of eyes peering from the cracks in the stone. He could feel it; these walls were alive, emanating an ancient power far older than anyone who now inhabited them.
Beside him, Silvi suddenly froze. Not by the fortress's grandeur, but by the reflection of the orange light in Zego's eyes. His steel-blue eyes glowed like a falling star trapped in the darkness. A streak of black in her silver hair, a birthmark that only appeared when her emotions ran high, now seemed clearer. "Beautiful," she whispered, almost soundlessly. "Just like the Lyra constellation in the night sky." Her silver hair, ruffled by the evening breeze, intertwined with Zego's—two strands of silver of different origins, both reflecting the light like precious metal.
Her chest tightened for no reason.
What is this strange pulse?
Sophie, her mother, caught the gesture from the corner of her eye. A faint smile—almost imperceptible—bloomed on her lips. The tip of her index finger touched Piro's arm with a subtle, coded pressure.
"Piro..."
Piro turned. His eyes questioned. But Sophie had already shifted her gaze to Silvi, who was frozen like a marble statue. Ah. In an instant, Piro understood.
My little princess...
He glanced at Silvi: her fingers were clenching the hem of her dress until her knuckles turned white, her breath caught every time Zego shifted his stance. Piro gave a soft nod. The bud that had been closed for so long was blooming earlier than expected.
"It seems the morning sun has finally shone upon our daughter," he whispered to Sophie, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion.
Sophie leaned her head on her husband's shoulder, her brown hair sweeping across the fabric of Piro's cloak. "She's old enough to choose the warmth she longs for herself. We can only watch over her from afar, Piro." Her gentle smile radiated a profound sense of relief, as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life.
The queue at the kingdom gate stretched like a listless sleeping serpent, swaying under the weight of emptiness and exhaustion. Guards in bronze uniforms—a fierce eagle emblem emblazoned on their chests—watched with unforgiving eyes. They were the perfect embodiment of Aethen's military discipline: cold, efficient, and merciless.
"Cooperation!" grumbled one of the guards when it was the Zelton family's turn. His voice was hoarse, like a grindstone scraping against rusted iron. "Baggage and purpose of arrival?"
Piro stepped forward, his calm demeanor exuding the authority of a seasoned merchant. "The Zelton family. For routine trade business."
A fleeting look of surprise crossed the guard's rough face. Zelton. The spice king of the south, the master of the cinnamon and clove routes. His name alone was a key that could open any gate. The guard's tense face softened into a forced display of respect.
"My apologies, Sir," the guard bowed respectfully, but his sharp eyes scrutinized Zego from head to toe. He couldn't ignore Zego's unique aura. There was something about him that didn't fit the status of a simple bodyguard. "And this man in the worn uniform behind you...?" His voice rippled with suspicion.
"A personal guard," Piro answered curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The guard took two steps closer. The smell of raw garlic and dried sweat stung Zego's nose. His eyes probed every inch of Zego's body—every beast claw mark on his neck, every arrow wound that formed a memory on his left shoulder, even the dried blood stains on his boots. Zego remained motionless, his face a block of cold stone. But inside, his alertness burned red. He could feel the hidden malice, a discomfort that was not purely from suspicion. There was poison behind these walls. He clenched his fists behind his back, ready to unleash his Yin-Yang Fist at any moment if necessary.
"Alright," the guard finally sighed, raising a hand as a signal. "Welcome to Aethen."
When the iron gate creaked open, its sound like a banshee's shriek on a silent night, Zego clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. They are hiding something rotten. The thought kept swirling in his mind. The guard at the gate had a pendant similar to the one the goblin wore. There was a connecting thread between the two, and that thread felt incredibly dangerous.
All the way to the "Silver Shield" inn, Sophie and Piro were busy whispering. It wasn't about trade quotas or the price of pepper—it was about the two teenagers walking three steps behind them.
"I saw Silvi's pinky finger tremble when she accidentally touched Zego's arm just now," Sophie whispered, her eyes sparkling like a young girl's. She had been waiting for this moment for her daughter for so long.
Piro smirked, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. "And notice how Zego is always positioned between Silvi and the crowd—exactly like an eagle circling its young in the air. His instincts are extraordinary."
Suddenly, without warning, Silvi grabbed Zego's arm. "Zego..." Zego turned, his eyebrow raised slightly. "Yes?" "Your clothes... are still covered in road dust and smell of campfire smoke."
"It's fine," he said curtly, trying to pull his arm away. He didn't care about his appearance; all that mattered to him was the freedom to move.
"Don't be stubborn!" Silvi cut him off, gripping him tighter. "Consider this a thank you for saving us from the bandits in the Bloody Forest last month!" Zego sighed deeply. Fighting Silvi's fiery determination was more exhausting than fighting three bandits at once.
"Father! Mother!" Silvi yelled while continuing to drag Zego away. "Zego and I are going to the clothing market first! We'll catch up!"
Sophie and Piro could only exchange broad smiles while waving. The twilight's color deepened to a rich red, like spilled wine, as if to celebrate that small moment of laughter and joy.
The "Silver Silk" shop in the corner of the market smelled of sandalwood and mothballs. Silvi was busy flipping through a navy blue wool tunic with thin silver thread embroidery. "Try this one!" she threw it at Zego.
Without a second thought, Zego took off his dusty outer layer.
Krrk! The sound of his leather belt buckle broke the silence of the shop.
Silvi gasped. "W-What are you—?!" Her hands reflexively covered her eyes—but her fingers spread apart without her realizing it. Her eyes peeked through the gaps between her fingers, unable to resist the temptation.
Zego's body was a canvas of life-and-death battles. Dense muscle contours wrapped around his bones like the roots of an old banyan tree. On his chest, a cross-shaped scar the width of a palm—a pale, jagged line like a map of a dry riverbed. On his back, a deep gash from the claws of a mountain tiger that had almost claimed his life two years ago.
Blood rushed to Silvi's temples. Her hand moved on its own—her index finger touching a scar on Zego's ribs. His skin was rough and warm like tree bark exposed to the midday sun.
"Silvi?"
Zego's low voice brought her back to reality. Her face was burning red like a ripe pomegranate.
"G-Get changed in the back booth! Now!" she shrieked, turning her back to him, her heart pounding erratically. But the image of his powerful body was already imprinted on her retina. For the goddess's sake... like a statue of a god of war.
A short while later, Zego came out wearing the new tunic. Silvi almost dropped the roll of satin fabric she was holding. The dark blue made her silver eyes look like a deep ocean swept by a storm. His tousled silver hair contrasted perfectly with the luxurious noble fabric.
"You look... like a lost knight from a legend," she murmured, unable to suppress a smile. Her fingers casually adjusted the collar's fold, then her pinky finger accidentally touched his muscular neck.
Zego held back a sharp breath. The touch flowed like a stream of lava beneath his skin.
"Are you deliberately trying to make me lose my guard, Silvi?" he teased, his voice husky.
Silvi's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "And what if I am?" she retorted, her eyes twinkling with mystery. "Doesn't that mean I succeeded?"
Back at the "Silver Shield" inn, Sophie gasped in admiration. "It fits perfectly! As if that tunic was made just for you!" Piro nodded in agreement, but his gaze turned serious. "Zego, there is something important we need to discuss."
In a private room on the second floor, the dim candlelight danced on the old oak walls. The scent of beeswax and fireplace ash filled the room. Piro looked at Zego with a deep, calculating gaze. "Silvi will be entering the Aethen Knight Academy next month," he revealed, his hands clenched on the table. "That place is full of young nobles and ambitious knight candidates. We want you to accompany Silvi—to be her protector and her friend."
Zego fell silent. His mind processed the information. The Knight Academy. This was the opportunity he needed to become stronger, to learn more about this world. But he also knew he was an outsider. "The academy? But I—"
"We will cover all the costs," Sophie interrupted before he could finish. "Registration, training, strategy books, even a new sword forged by master Gromund. In return, all we ask is that you keep her laughter alive."
Behind the thick oak door, Silvi held her breath. Her heart pounded like a war drum.
"Alright," Zego replied after ten seconds that felt like ten years. "I accept."
Silvi's joyful cheer broke the night's silence, echoing through the inn's corridors.
In his inn room, Zego stared at the full moon through the dusty glass window. The scars on his shoulder felt itchy. The Knight Academy. A nest of high-ranking nobles. They would smell his common blood like wolves smelling carrion. But he was not afraid. He would use this opportunity to find out the truth behind the Elder's lies. He would use this opportunity to become stronger.
But then, Silvi's image appeared: her smile blooming like a sunflower, her mischievous touch that burned, the way her eyes searched for him in the crowd. There was something else waiting for him there now. Not just danger, but a hope he hadn't realized he had.
He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. The real battle was not just against goblins or visible enemies. The real battle had just begun, and he didn't know whether he would be the victor or the victim.