Bang!
The heavy iron door slammed shut, echoing down the cold hallway. Rathord and his nine companions were shoved inside a holding cell, their clothes streaked with ash and dust, their faces pale from shock. The guards locked the door, turned the key, and walked away without another glance.
"Please bring your identification next week to collect your bounty and medal."
The officer at the desk smiled at the middle-aged man who had turned them in. "You'll receive both together. Congratulations, sir."
The man's face lit up. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" he said, his voice trembling with excitement. He couldn't believe his luck. Not only had he received a handsome reward, but he was going to be honored with a medal as well. All for a few words and a short trip to the police station.
He stepped out into the bright streets of Tino City, feeling the sun on his face. The air smelled of bread and iron and spring. For a long moment, he stood there and just breathed.
"Ah… what a bright future," he murmured to himself.
---
Inside the prison, the sound of boots approached. The cell door opened again, and a man in a dark police uniform walked in. His badge glinted gold. He looked over the captured nobles quietly before speaking.
"Rathord, why did you have to do this?" the man said softly. "The Kingdom of Ross is no longer what it used to be. It's not something a few angry sons of fallen nobles can challenge anymore."
Rathord lifted his head. His eyes narrowed. "You… Green Alcott?"
The officer smiled faintly. "You still remember me."
Rathord's breath caught. Viscount Green Alcott—the only Nord nobleman who had been spared after the war. Years ago, when Gavin Ward conquered the Nord Kingdom, every noble who resisted was executed. But Green had been different. He was pardoned—not out of mercy, but because he had sided with the civilians, protecting them instead of exploiting them. He had renounced his titles, worked among commoners, and helped rebuild the capital.
Now, his noble rank existed only as an honorary title, stripped of all privilege. Yet in return, he had earned something far greater: the people's respect. By the vote of Tino City's citizens, he had become a royal police captain, serving the new order with pride.
"The Kingdom of Ross today," Green said, stepping closer, "is the dream of all ordinary people. It's safe, fair, and strong. But you…" His gaze hardened. "You want to drag it back into the dark ages—to rebuild a broken feudal kingdom, ruled by blood and pride instead of merit. I won't let that happen."
Rathord met his eyes silently. He had no words left.
Behind the bars, his followers sat motionless, the weight of defeat settling like lead in their chests.
---
At the palace, Gavin Ward sat behind his desk, a report file open in front of him. The ink on the first page was still fresh: "Nine captured Nord rebels; attempted subversion of state authority."
He chuckled quietly. "Interesting." His tone was light, almost amused. "Nine fools trying to overthrow an empire of ten million people. They didn't even get past the first checkpoint."
He closed the file and looked up. "Don't bother imprisoning them long. Set an execution date and shoot them."
His adjutant hesitated. "All of them, sir?"
"All of them," Gavin said flatly. "You don't let weeds regrow after you cut them. Burn the roots, or they'll come back."
His words were final.
That was how it ended—the largest rebel group in Loth, led by a bastard prince of Nord, was wiped out in a single report from a clever farmer.
---
"Darling…"
The voice came from behind him—soft, musical, dangerous. Gavin's shoulders stiffened before he even turned around.
A woman stepped into the room, light spilling through the doorway around her. Lusia.
Her beauty could stop the world. She moved like the moon's reflection in a lake—graceful, untouchable, unreal.
"You again," Gavin muttered, half smiling, half exhausted. He rubbed his temples. "If you're here to drain what's left of my soul, I surrender already."
Lusia giggled. "Oh, come now. You make it sound like I've been too much for you."
"Too much?" Gavin snorted. "You've been here five days, and I've barely had time to breathe. You're trying to make up for eight hundred years of loneliness in one week."
She tilted her head playfully, but her smile faded. "I didn't come to tease you this time. I came to say goodbye."
That silenced him.
"Goodbye?" he repeated. "You're leaving?"
Lusia nodded. Her expression was solemn, and for once, her golden eyes were troubled. "I've received a long-range transmission from the Central Magic Empire. It was sent through the ether by five Star Mages, broadcast to every Star Saint across the continent."
Gavin straightened. "A group transmission of that scale? That must be serious. What happened?"
Lusia took a slow breath before answering. "A gate to another world has appeared. In the central region. It's unstable now, still forming—but it will fully open within a week."
Gavin's eyes widened. "The Gate to Another World?! You mean the demonic portal you told me about—the one connected to the outer realms?"
Lusia nodded grimly. "Yes. Even the oldest mages fear it. The demons that come through… they aren't like us. They don't belong to this world's rules. Even the strongest magic may not hold them."
She paused, then added, "The message we received is delayed by three days. That's how long it takes light to reach us from the Central Domain."
Gavin frowned. "Three days late… that means whatever happened there is already done."
Before he could say more, Lusia froze, her head tilting slightly as her eyes unfocused. A faint magical ripple pulsed through the air.
"What is it?" Gavin asked.
Her lips parted. "Another transmission… just now."
She exhaled sharply. "Three reclusive Star Saints have just unleashed the Star Curse on the forming Gate. They destroyed it completely." She hesitated, her voice breaking. "But they… fell with it. All three."
The room went silent.
---
Lusia closed her eyes. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her forehead. "One of them… was my teacher."
Her words came like a whisper.
"He was over four thousand years old. A gentle man, kind to mortals and mages alike. When my mother died, he was all I had. He… he taught me everything."
Her voice wavered. "And now he's gone."
Three days ago, he had answered the Empire's call, traveling to the heart of the forming Gate. Together with two other Saints, he had invoked the forbidden Star Curse—a spell so catastrophic it turned thirty miles of land to ash. The explosion had erased the Gate completely… and them along with it.
Lusia's tears spilled silently down her cheeks. "They gave everything to save the world, Gavin. But the demons won't stop there. They'll come again. The Gate may reform somewhere else."
---
Suddenly she stepped forward and seized Gavin's hands. Her voice shook.
"Listen to me, Gavin. I know what kind of power your kingdom holds. The weapons you've built—they could shake the entire continent. Maybe even the stars. But if the demons return… even that might not be enough."
Her eyes were glassy, desperate. "My teacher's gone. The others too. One day, it might be my turn. When that time comes, I'll cast the same forbidden spell if I must. But you… you must not die. Promise me you won't die!"
Her words tumbled out like a prayer, trembling between courage and heartbreak. "Please… you are the only one left who matters to me. You're the only light I've found after eight hundred years in the dark. If you fall, this continent will have no hope."
Tears traced glowing lines down her face. For all her divine grace, for all her centuries of strength, she suddenly looked like a lonely girl—broken, terrified, human.
Gavin reached for her and pulled her into his arms. He held her close, feeling her trembling against him, and whispered against her ear, his voice low and fierce.
"Lusia… listen carefully. There isn't a being alive—or dead—that can kill me. Not magician, not demon, not god."
He drew back just enough to look into her eyes. "And I won't let you die either. Not for this world, not for anyone. If something comes for you, or for me, or for the people under my rule…"
He clenched his fists, and the room seemed to darken around him as the weight of his will pressed outward.
"I'll kill it. All of it. I'll drag every last one of them into hell itself if I have to."
His eyes burned with cold fire. "If the enemy comes from hell… then I'll take hell with me."
Lusia's breath hitched. For a moment, the fear in her melted into awe. The room was silent except for the faint hum of magic between them—the kind born not of spells, but of conviction.
Outside, the world turned quietly beneath the sun. In the east, the ashes of three Saints still hung in the wind. In the west, the factories of Ross thundered, hammering steel and dreams into shape.
Between those two forces—magic and machinery, gods and men—Gavin Ward stood, a man who refused to bow to either.
And somewhere in the heavens, three fallen stars faded out… while a new flame burned on the ground below.
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