Golden Heat

The sun had barely risen over Villanova Kingdom, but the castle was already alive with movement. Servants rushed through the marble halls, carrying trunks and scrolls, preparing carriages and warhorses for the royal family's departure.

Princess Thalia stood in the center of her chamber, her attendants fussing over the golden sash draped across her shoulder and the silver tiara placed delicately on her head. But her mind wasn't on the finery.

She looked out the balcony, the wind brushing her hair as she whispered to herself, "Nizara… I'll see you soon."

Her heart fluttered at the thought. The final rounds of the 5K Tournament were ahead — and he would be there, standing at the center of the arena, blades sparking, storm in his eyes. She could already picture it.

Her excitement was interrupted by the heavy thud of boots on marble.

"Your Highness," one of the royal guards spoke, his tone low but hesitant. "Before we leave, there's something you should know."

Thalia turned, a spark of worry already forming. "What is it?"

The guard's gaze shifted, as if unsure whether to say it. "…Nizara isn't… competing as part of his squad right now. He's going solo."

Her brow furrowed. "Solo? What do you mean?"

Before the guard could answer, the doors opened again.

Prince Kael strode in, his steps firm and his face unreadable. The golden scabbard of his sword — Solflare — gleamed faintly at his side.

"Kael," Thalia said, turning to him. "What's going on? Why is Nizara alone?"

Kael exhaled, rubbing his temple. He hated lying — and he hated this even more.

"He made a deal with King Auzara."

Thalia blinked. "A… deal?"

Kael nodded, his tone steady, but his words carried weight.

"To prove himself innocent of Dark Magic usage. The council demanded evidence. The deal was simple — survive the tournament, win it even, and his name is cleared."

For a moment, Thalia just stared. The words didn't register. Then, like a storm, they did.

Her knees gave out.

She dropped to the floor, silk pooling around her like fallen sunlight, her hands clutching her dress as tears pricked her eyes.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?!" she cried, her voice trembling with anger and heartbreak.

Kael crouched beside her, his golden eyes steady but soft. "Because I knew what you'd do."

She looked up at him, furious.

"You'd have thrown a tantrum," he said calmly, "or worse — you'd have marched to Valoria to protest. And that would've made things worse for him."

Thalia's tears spilled as she whispered, "You kept me in the dark…"

Kael placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's still alive, Thalia. He's in the dungeon trial — round two. He's fighting his way through, like only Nizara can."

Her breath hitched. "He's… okay?"

Kael nodded once. "For now. But he has to win. That's the only way he lives."

Thalia wiped her face with the back of her hand, still trembling, but there was relief in her eyes — mixed with worry that wouldn't fade.

Moments later, the royal family departed. The great gates of Villanova creaked open, and the royal convoy rolled out — carriages guarded by elite soldiers, banners fluttering in the morning wind. King Auzara rode at the head, regal and silent, the Queen beside him, her gaze scanning the road.

Kael rode behind, his hand resting on the hilt of Solflare. Thalia sat in the carriage, staring out the window, her mind a storm of hope and dread.

The forest that bordered Villanova stretched endlessly, trees looming like sentinels. Birds scattered from the treetops as the convoy entered.

And then —

The ambush.

Arrows whistled through the air, slamming into the front of the convoy. Horses reared, soldiers shouted. From the trees, bandits poured out — rough men with jagged blades and cruel grins, dozens of them, blocking the road.

"Protect the King!" the captain of the guard roared.

Kael dismounted before the words had finished leaving the man's mouth.

His sword, Solflare, gleamed as he drew it, the golden blade igniting with searing heat.

"Stay in the carriage," Kael told his sister without looking back.

Thalia reached for the door. "Kael—"

But he was already moving.

The first bandit lunged at him.

Kael sidestepped with fluid precision, his sword tracing an arc through the air.

"Golden Heat — First Form."

A single, flaming slash.

The man crumpled, his weapon split in two.

Another rushed him from behind. Kael spun, Solflare cutting a wide arc that left a trail of heat shimmering in the air.

The blade didn't just cut — it burned. Every strike left seared lines in the ground, and the air smelled of molten steel.

Three bandits attacked at once. Kael moved like a blazing phantom.

"Golden Heat — Second Form."

His sword blurred — one, two, three strikes, faster than breath. Three bodies hit the dirt.

The rest of the convoy fought, but Kael was a storm of his own. Every swing of Solflare left an afterimage, each cut carrying enough force to shatter shields.

One of the bandits, clearly their leader, stepped forward with a massive axe. He sneered. "Pretty boy thinks he's a hero."

Kael's eyes narrowed. "Pretty boy thinks you should've stayed home."

The man swung.

Kael blocked with a single strike, sparks erupting from the clash. The heat of Solflare melted through the axe's edge.

"Golden Heat — Third Form: Ascending Sun."

Kael leapt into the air, twisting his body, and brought Solflare down like a falling star.

The bandit leader didn't stand a chance.

When he landed, the ground split beneath him, the impact shaking the trees.

But more were coming.

Kael wiped blood from his cheek, eyes sharp. "We'll make it through…" he muttered, raising his sword again. "But we might be a bit late to the tournament."

Because through the trees, more bandits appeared — dozens more, their eyes glinting in the shadow.

Kael tightened his grip.

The forest wasn't done testing him.

Not yet.