The air felt heavy inside the cabin.
Only the faint hiss of the dying hearth filled the silence.
Lyra sat beside the bed where Garrick rested, her fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty cup. Her voice was quiet, as though speaking too loudly might wake the ghosts in the room.
"Uncle… wasn't always like this," she began. "He and my father were once knights—honored ones. They served the Holy Nation together, protecting the western frontier. Back then, people called them the strongest pair in the west."
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the flicker of the hearthlight dimmed—
as if the room itself remembered.
---
[Flashback – Years Ago, Western Frontier Before the Great Ebonveil]
---
Blades clashed against hardened scales, and the ground quaked beneath the weight of monstrous forms. The smell of iron and ash filled the air.
"Brother, you're unbelievable!"
Lucan Caelis Valemont "The Crimson Magister" called out, laughter in his voice even as sweat ran down his temple. "You didn't even leave me one!"
Garrick Althar Valemont "The Great Sword Saint" stood several paces ahead, his sword buried in the chest of a massive beast. Black blood hissed on the ground where it fell.
"If I waited for you," he said evenly, pulling his blade free, "these things would've overrun the line."
"Still," Lucan huffed, lowering his staff, "you're so cruel, Garrick! What's the point of me learning magic if you never let me use it?"
Garrick cast him a sidelong glance, a rare hint of amusement tugging at his lips.
"Then try casting faster."
"Tch. You're no fun,boo boo" Lucan muttered, but the grin on Garrick's never left his face.
A foot soldier ran up, breathless. "Sirs! A larger one up ahead—the size of a carriage!"
Before Garrick could answer, Lucan's eyes lit up. "Now that's more like it!"
"Wait—" Garrick started, but it was already too late. Lucan dashed forward, magic flaring bright around his staff.
Garrick sighed and lifted his sword. "Reckless as ever," he murmured, before following after him.
The soldiers exchanged weary glances, a few chuckling under their breath. It was always the same—the younger brother charged, and the elder followed to clean up the mess.
By the time the battle ended, the field was littered with scorched earth and shattered armor. The two brothers stood side by side in the fading light, catching their breath.
"You're bleeding," Garrick said quietly.
Lucan glanced at his arm and laughed. "Just a scratch. Don't look so grim—if we die frowning, they'll think we hated our job."
Garrick couldn't help but smile faintly. "Idiot."
Lucan grinned. "That's Captain Idiot to you."
The two laughed, their voices echoing across the battlefield—warm, familiar, unbreakable.
[Later That Evening – Caelis Valemont Manor, Western Province]
The warmth of the hearth filled the hall as servants bustled about, preparing food and wine. It was a familiar sight after every campaign—Lucan always insisted on a small celebration for the troops that returned with them.
Lyra, still a little girl, peeked from behind the doorframe, clutching a stuffed toy to her chest. The hall was filled with laughter—her father at the center of it, pouring drinks for his men while Garrick stood near the fire, his wife Seren and their young son Rowen beside him.
"Lyra," Lucan called out, spotting her immediately. "Come here, little one! Don't hide again."
Lyra shook her head quickly. "It's noisy…"
Lucan laughed, walking over and crouching in front of her. "That's because your Uncle Garrick drinks like an old man and laughs like a bear."
"Old man?" Lyra repeated, blinking.
From across the room, Garrick arched an eyebrow. "I heard that, Lucan."
Lucan just grinned and whispered to Lyra, "See? He is an old man. Look at that face—so serious all the time."
Lyra giggled. "Old man Garrick…"
That earned her a rare smile from Garrick as he approached, kneeling so his eyes met hers. "Old man, am I?" His tone was calm, but there was warmth in his gaze. "Then I suppose you must be the brave little lady your father keeps talking about."
Lyra shrank slightly, then nodded shyly. "I'm… Lyra.I'm... 6"
Seren chuckled softly behind Garrick. "She's adorable. Rowen, say hello."
The young boy stepped forward, clutching a wooden sword. "Hi! Wanna see me beat monsters?"
Lyra blinked, then laughed for the first time that night.
Lucan clapped his hands together. "That's better. No more hiding, little one. Remember, family doesn't bite—well, unless you steal your uncle's drink."
Garrick sighed, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
"And you love me for it," Lucan shot back, grinning as the brothers shared a rare, genuine laugh—one that filled the hall with a warmth no fire could match.
---
[Back to Present ]
---
Lyra smiled faintly at the memory, eyes unfocused as the fire's glow danced across her face.
"Whenever they returned from duty, Father would throw a celebration," she murmured. "That's when I'd see Uncle Garrick, his wife Seren, and their son Rowen. I used to hide whenever they visited—maybe I was shy, maybe I just didn't like the noise—but Father always found me and made me greet them properly."
Her smile faltered. "Those nights felt endless… laughter, warmth, the smell of roasted bread and spice. I thought it would last forever."
She drew in a slow breath, her gaze dimming.
"But twelve years ago… that laughter stopped."
---
[Flashback – Twelve Years Ago, Western Frontier]
---
The sun rose warm that morning.
A clear sky stretched endlessly above the western fronts, where Garrick and Lucan stood side by side, watching the soldiers begin their drills. The sound of steel clashing and the hum of magic filled the air — routine, disciplined, familiar.
"Looks like a peaceful day for once," Lucan remarked, adjusting the strap of his gauntlet.
Garrick nodded faintly. "Enjoy it while it lasts."
But before another word could pass between them, the wind stopped.
The light dimmed.
From horizon to horizon, the sky turned black.
"What in the Saints' name—" Lucan's voice caught as the darkness bled across the heavens like spilled ink. The air grew thick, heavy, trembling with a strange pressure that made the earth itself hum.
Garrick drew his sword, its holy runes flickering to life. "The Ebonveil…?"
"It can't be," Lucan muttered. "It's not supposed to appear this far west—and never this suddenly!"
The men shouted as the sky turned into pitch black — violent, dense, pulsing with an eerie light. Garrick and Lucan's bodies shone faintly, holy energy instinctively awakening within them, their auras flaring gold against the corruption pressing in.
Lucan turned to the soldiers. "Hold your ground!By the Light of the Stars Bless the line!"
He raised his staff high, casting a wide barrier that wrapped the entire fort in shimmering light. "You'll have protection, but stay close — the Veylith hunt the unblessed!"
"An hour," Garrick murmured. "It always passes after an hour."
But that hour never came.
The veil lingered. The air thickened. And then came the screams.
Veylith erupted from the sky — rounded shapes with hollow eyes long tail with a blade tip and horns blacker than the veil itself. But something was wrong.
They weren't attacking eyes this time.
They were tearing through weapons. Supplies. Structures.
Lucan's spell flared, driving one creature back. "They're… thinking. Garrick, they're strategic!"
Garrick cut one down, his blade shining like a shard of dawn. "Then kill them faster before they learn too much."
The battle dragged on until dusk, when the veil still hadn't faded. Garrick's jaw tightened. "This isn't natural. The Ebonveil never lasts this long."
Lucan's concern deepened. "If it's spreading toward the capital…"
He glanced eastward, eyes clouded with dread. "Garrick, my family—"
"You'll do nothing foolish," Garrick snapped. "The Church will have deployed the Saintess by now. Your wife and daughter are safer than we are."
Lucan grit his teeth but nodded. "Then we need to send word. Ask for more holy casters before this spreads."
Garrick nodded.
Messengers were dispatched to the nearest Church outpost.
None returned.
By the next morning, even the birds had gone silent.
Lucan's unease became unbearable. "It's been two days, Garrick. Two days, and the veil hasn't lifted."
He looked his brother in the eyes. "I'm going. I need to see my family."
Garrick hesitated — then sighed, sheathing his sword. "Then I'm coming with you. If the Ebonveil reached the capital, you won't make it far alone."
---End of Chapter 8---