Through the Gates of Fire

Stork City, a dazzling metropolis, gleamed with a brilliance that belied its dark undercurrents. Situated at the heart of Silvermoor, the city was a cultural and trade hub bordered by Rossfield's fertile plains to the south, Melvic’s mystical forest to the west, Lightshore’s sprawling coastlines to the north, and the frozen Eldoria to the east. Its towering spires, made of gleaming marble and polished steel, caught the sunlight, creating a surreal mirage against the azure sky.

For three grueling days, Darius, Julius, Tom, Hans, and Peter had ridden through a patchwork of Silvermoor’s untamed wilderness and quiet hamlets, their journey marked by constant vigilance.

The incident at Wellington Estate weighed heavily on their minds, and every sound and shadow along the horizon seemed to hint at pursuing Vanguards.

Despite the beauty surrounding them, their nerves were taut. The realization that their rebellion could soon become the talk of the kingdom haunted them like an unseen specter. They wanted to procure weapons for their plans, before the queen could assemble an army to fight them.

Naïve and clueless about the true might of the kingdom’s forces, they kept on.

As they approached Stork City, the scene shifted dramatically. The city gates, towering and formidable, loomed ahead, guarded by vanguards clad in polished armor and armed with gleaming rifles. Julius, familiar with the city’s labyrinthine streets and politics, led the group.

“We’ll use my Wellington pass to enter the city,” Julius murmured, holding up the document that bore the crest of one of Silvermoor’s most influential families. “But be cautious. One wrong move, and we’ll all end up in the Major General’s hands.”

The massive gates were a spectacle of their own— Carved with intricate reliefs of Queen Zenith in her dragon-forged armor—symbols of royal supremacy and terror. Fear to the Denizens.

Beyond them, the city's bustling heart revealed itself: market stalls brimming with goods, vendors shouting over the clamor, and townsfolk navigating the chaos of urban life.

The city gates were heavily guarded, the soldiers visibly on edge. News of the rebellion at Wellington Estate had likely traveled fast.

Julius scanned the guards, recognizing their heightened vigilance.

“You think they know about us already,” Peter asked Julius, whose eyes were darting to the guards.

“It’s possible. They use devices to communicate with each other.”

“Even if General Wellington knows, he won’t expect us to come here. Not to Stork City.” Darius pointed out, though he couldn’t ignore the tension in the air.

As the group deliberated, the glow of the city’s lights seemed to grow dimmer. They were running out of time, and each passing moment brought the danger of discovery closer.

A decision had to be made and fast.

Back at Wellington Estate, Titus stood fuming.

His prey had escaped, and the humiliation of the uprising gnawed at him. Some loyal servants, a few who were too frightened to betray their master, remained behind and aided Titus and his men in regrouping.

Henry Wellington, gravely wounded, had been treated by the estate's physician. The surgery was a success, however his pride suffered more than his body.

Lying in his opulent bedchamber, Henry seethed at the memory of the workers daring to rise against him.

The room itself was a symbol of Henry’s power and privilege—adorned with gilded mirrors, rich velvet drapes, and paintings of Wellington family. Yet, amidst this grandeur, Henry’s twisted mind festered.

His mother’s death shortly after his birth had deprived him of maternal warmth, and his father’s stern indifference had left scars of its own. In his distorted view, power and control became his only solace.

After two days, Titus decided to make his move.

He entered Henry’s bedroom where he was being attended to, his face a mask of frustration. “The Major General has been informed. Stay here and rest. I’ll take my men and deal with those criminals.”

“No!” Henry snapped, forcing himself out of the bed. “I’ll handle them myself. Do you think my father will forgive me for losing control of the farm? This is my mess, and I’ll fix it.”

“You’re in no condition to ride a horse.” Titus pointed out

“We’ll take my father’s ranger,” Henry said, referring to the sleek electric vehicle parked in the estate’s carriage house. On a few in Silvermoor owned the technology, reserved exclusively for the elite.

Before they could argue further, a servant rushed in with news.

“The master's mine has been attacked. Logan—one of the rebels—led the group. They destroyed everything.”

Henry nearly collapsed.

The mine. That was sacred ground to his father. Untouchable.

Recalling Logan’s face, a knife pressed on his throat, Henry’s rage erupted.

“Logan... I swear I won’t rest until I destroy you!” He roared, rage pulsing through every vein

He immediately dashed from his room and brought the ranger.

“Get in!” he said to Titus who was armed and ready together with the other five Vanguards.

And so, the hunt resumed.