The attack began without warning.
A rupture tore through the sky above Ark's guild city, mana screaming as it split open. The first blast shattered rooftops, sending stone and glass raining into the streets. Before the alarms could fully sound, shadow-bound beasts poured through the breach, their forms stitched together with unstable magic.
Ark was already moving.
Fire ignited beneath his feet as he leapt from the guild tower, landing hard in the square. His blade burned white-hot, heat warping the air as he cleaved through the first wave. Each strike was precise, controlled—he wasn't fighting to destroy the city, but to protect it.
Neo appeared beside him in a flash of light.
Her mana flared like a rising sun, forming shields around civilians scrambling for cover. "They're targeting the guild core," she said, eyes sharp. "This isn't random."
Ark nodded. He felt it too—the pressure, the intent. Someone wanted him dead.
The second wave hit harder. Human mages this time, cloaked and masked, their spells disciplined and lethal. One of them slipped past Ark's guard, spear of condensed mana aimed straight for his back.
Neo moved without thinking.
Her barrier shattered the spell midair, the backlash knocking her to one knee. The ground cracked beneath her, light surging outward in a pulse that sent enemies flying.
Silence fell for half a breath.
Then the lead mage laughed.
"Still alive," he said. "The prince will be disappointed."
Ark froze.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
The mage realized his mistake too late. Ark was on him in an instant, sword at his throat, flames licking dangerously close.
"Say it again," Ark growled. "Who sent you?"
The mage's mask cracked under pressure. Fear bled into his voice. "Prince Six. He said if you lived past this year, the throne would never be safe."
The words carried.
Citizens had gathered at the edges of the square—guild members, merchants, wounded soldiers. They heard everything.
Neo rose slowly, her expression unreadable, but her mana surged uncontrollably for a moment. "You tried to erase him," she said quietly, "because you were afraid."
The mage spat blood and laughed again. "The king will never choose him. He's illegitimate. Always was."
Ark's blade flashed.
The man fell unconscious, alive—but exposed.
The remaining attackers faltered. Some fled. Others were subdued. When it was over, the city stood damaged but standing, its people alive.
And the truth was no longer hidden.
By nightfall, the story had spread faster than any official decree. Witnesses spoke. Healers confirmed interrogation marks and magical bindings tied to the prince's faction. Even nobles who once stayed silent could no longer deny it.
The people sided with Ark.
In the palace, the king stood at the balcony, face dark as stone as reports were read aloud. His fingers tightened around the railing.
"They dare speak his name like this," he said coldly.
Behind him, his favored wife stepped forward, silk whispering against marble. Her smile was soft, careful, practiced.
"The people are emotional," she said gently. "They forget bloodlines when frightened."
The king said nothing.
She continued, voice warm as honey. "Perhaps this chaos proves something else—that the realm needs stability. A rightful heir. One raised openly, without scandal."
She placed a hand over her heart. "Our son has always been loyal. His mana is pure. The nobles trust him."
The king turned slowly. His eyes were sharp, searching.
"You suggest replacing a hero," he said.
"I suggest protecting the crown," she replied smoothly. "Before the people decide for you."
Far away, in a city still smoking from battle, Ark stood among those he had saved. Neo at his side, silent but resolute.
For the first time, the throne felt close enough to touch.
And dangerous enough to kill for.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------Eira in the Present
They trained on the upper terrace that day.
Word had spread—quietly, but fast. Warriors gathered along the edges, pretending to stretch, pretending not to stare. Eira felt their eyes the moment he stepped onto the stone.
Iris didn't acknowledge them.
She met his blade head-on, steel locking with a sharp ring. This wasn't about evasion. This was pressure—bind against bind, weight against will.
"When blades meet," she said under her breath, "decide who owns the shadow."
She twisted suddenly, winding her sword over his, forcing his balance to tilt. For a heartbeat, darkness fell between them as their weapons crossed, eclipsing the light.
Eira reacted on instinct.
He reversed the bind, stepped in, and struck—not with the blade, but with the pommel, stopping just beside her temple.
The watchers went silent.
Iris smiled faintly.
"Veil Eclipse Binding," she announced. "When light and shadow trade places."
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