The Second Castle of Maro loomed under the cloudy sky, its walls still carrying the scent of fresh stone after the first castle's destruction by fire. Inside, in a chamber drowned in silence, Queen Lora sat before her mirror.
Her reflection was a cruel reminder.
The flames that had once devoured her face stared back at her every night. The scars twisted her beauty into something both tragic and furious. Her lips trembled, not from weakness, but from the molten anger that boiled in her veins.
"Damn that wretch…" she whispered through clenched teeth, her voice like a crack of thunder. Then louder:
"Naerina… Naerina! Where are you?!"
The door creaked open, and a servant stepped in—a young woman with violet hair and bright amber eyes. She bowed with practiced grace.
"Yes, my Queen? Do you require my service?"
For a moment, Lora studied her, then her lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"Yes… I have a task for you. Go to the Chief Publisher of Letters. Tell him the Queen demands his presence here, for there is an order only he can fulfill."
"As you command, my Queen."
Naerina bowed again and left, closing the door behind her. From the window, Lora watched as the servant boarded a carriage that rolled out of the castle gates.
"If Pierce and his companions believe themselves safe… they are mistaken. Their peace will turn into a hunt—one that will not end until they are dragged before me in chains. That traitor defied my orders, and for that, he will rot. If my husband learns of this, then so be it. I'll simply throw them in the dungeons. No one will ever know the truth."
A cruel laugh spilled from her lips as her plan took shape.
---
Meanwhile, in Pierce's residence, the air was far less grim. On the rooftop, Aaron and Ashen struggled with clouds of dust as they attempted to clean.
Cough! Cough! Aaron waved a hand before his face, nearly choking.
"This is worse than a desert wasteland! Nothing but dust, smoke, and sand! Cough, cough!"
Ashen, equally miserable, bent over with watery eyes.
"Cough—ugh! I can't take it anymore, Master Aaron. The dust is… it's crawling down my throat!"
Aaron groaned inwardly. Are we seriously going to spend all day like this?
Ashen's expression suddenly brightened with an idea. He conjured a pale spirit, its form hazy and translucent.
"Master Aaron! I'll have the ghost blow all the dust away. That'll solve it!"
Aaron blinked. "…Wait. Blow it away?"
"Yes!" Ashen grinned proudly.
Aaron's face drained of color. "No—wait! Don't—"
Too late. The ghost inhaled deeply and exhaled with force. Dust erupted like a sandstorm, filling the rooftop in a suffocating fog.
"Ashen! Where are you?!" Aaron shouted into the cloud.
"Here!" came a muffled reply.
Aaron staggered toward the voice, swung his hand, and smacked Ashen lightly on the head.
"Idiot! Did you even think before doing that?"
Ashen rubbed his head sheepishly. "…Sorry."
---
Far away, in the bustling markets of Gaeti, Pierce and Kain strolled between stalls, arms full of household goods. They entered a shop stacked with gleaming cookware.
The shopkeeper, an old man with sharp eyes, approached with a rehearsed smile.
"Welcome, gentlemen! Can I interest you in something special today?"
Pierce gestured at a set of blue pots.
"How much for these?"
The shopkeeper's smile grew sly. He looks wealthy. I'll raise the price.
"These? Oh, very rare indeed. More than seven thousand gold coins."
Kain leaned close to Pierce, whispering, "He's scamming us. Those pots aren't worth half that."
"I know," Pierce whispered back.
Turning to the merchant, Pierce's expression shifted into one of mock surprise.
"Seven thousand? That's outrageous. I'll give you five coins."
The shopkeeper nearly dropped his jaw. "Five?! That's robbery!"
"Four thousand then," Pierce countered smoothly.
"Impossible. At least three and a half thousand!" the man barked.
"Done." Pierce said calmly, handing over the gold.
As they left, the shopkeeper's face twisted with irritation. Only then did he realize he had sold them at the true market price.
Kain smirked. "How did you know?"
Pierce chuckled. "I've been here before."
---
Back in Pierce's mansion, Aaron sat in the grand hall, drawing the Nai particles into his body. Energy surged through him as he crossed the threshold into First Rank Magician. His chest rose and fell heavily, but a smile tugged at his lips.
The door creaked open, revealing Ashen.
"Master Aaron! The food—help me cook!"
Aaron sighed, but followed. Together, they gathered ingredients: crimson noodles, a jar of pink dragon sauce, and a pot of water. Aaron carefully measured, stirred, and let the pot simmer.
"It'll take an hour," he said, wiping his brow. "In the meantime, want to do something in my room?"
Ashen's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
In Aaron's room, Ashen sat cross-legged on the bed.
"Let's play a game. I'll ask you questions, and you have to answer truthfully."
Aaron raised a brow. "Dangerous game. Fine. Go ahead."
"What brought you here? Was it just for work?"
The question pierced Aaron's heart. For a moment, silence swallowed him. Do I lie? Or… do I finally tell someone the truth?
"…Fine. But you must never tell Pierce or Kain. Promise me."
"I promise."
So Aaron spoke. He told Ashen of his childhood in Takuba, the cruelty of his family, the bitter taste of abandonment, and the strange relief he felt the day he was cast out. He spoke of the mysterious letter that saved him from despair, and of how art—his drawings—were the only shield against a suffocating past.
"When they threw me out, I felt sorrow… and yet freedom. It was as if the gates of hell had closed behind me. I finally understood: people hide their pain behind what they love. That's why grief never lasts forever."
Ashen's eyes glistened. "I'm sorry, Master Aaron… I think I understand. I never had a home, or a family. I suffered too, but you… you saved me. I'll always be grateful."
Aaron placed a hand on his shoulder. "No thanks needed." Then smirked. "But don't let the noodles burn."
---
In the Queen's castle, Lora now sat upon her throne. Naerina entered with the Chief Publisher of Letters, Rusen, at her side.
The Queen's smile was sharp as a blade.
"Leave us, Naerina."
When the servant bowed and withdrew, Lora leaned forward.
"Rusen. You know of Frankfurt Pierce, do you not?"
The publisher nodded slowly. "Yes… the West Wing. What of him?"
"I want his name spread across the kingdom. I want every ear to hear this: whoever captures Pierce and his companions shall be rewarded with fifty thousand gold coins."
The chamber echoed with the weight of her decree.