CHAPTER 1: Arrival at Lunaris City 

The year, etched in the annals of time as 1128 A.D., unfolded in a tapestry of perpetual summer, where the sun's golden embrace painted the landscapes with an ethereal glow. This was an epoch of tranquil sorcery, a realm where power wasn't merely an abstract concept, but a tangible essence, coursing through the veins of every being, manifesting as vibrant, luminous auras.

 These radiant hues, each a unique testament to lineage and inherent abilities, wove a living chronicle of their bearers, a visual symphony of their very existence. For countless generations, these extraordinary gifts had cultivated an era of unparalleled serenity and opulence, a veritable golden age where harmony reigned supreme, an unbroken melody of peace.

Yet, even within the most resplendent days, shadows lurked, subtle and insidious. Beneath the placid surface of this seemingly flawless world, a disquieting undercurrent began to stir. 

The delicate equilibrium, which had held sway for an eternity, stood poised on the precipice of shattering, threatening to unleash the primordial chaos that lay dormant beneath.

Lunaris City, a marvel of architectural and natural integration, throbbed with the pulse of life, a harmonious convergence of nature's grandeur and human ingenuity.

 At its heart, stood the venerable Starlight Learning, an institution transcending the mere definition of a school, a sanctuary where the extraordinary flourished. Its hallowed halls resonated with vibrant energy, echoing with the joyous peals of children's laughter and the hushed intensity of rigorous training sessions.

Here, within its sanctified walls, students did not merely cultivate their elemental powers; they were also indoctrinated in the virtues that would sculpt the very fabric of Lunaris's future. And amidst the constellation of 1st class students, one luminary stood out—Kael.

His aura, a tempestuous blaze of fiery hues, a definitive mark of his esteemed Magma clan lineage, commanded both admiration and a degree of trepidation.

 With an unwavering confidence, formidable power, and an unyielding discipline, Kael epitomized the very essence of Starlight Learning—the quintessential student, the paragon of aspiration. He embodied the profound truth that strength transcended mere physical prowess, residing instead in the indomitable fortress of character, a beacon illuminating the path of true greatness.

The first tremor of discord, a subtle yet chilling portent, manifested almost imperceptibly. A gossamer stain of shadow, an ethereal smudge of twilight, clung to the horizon's edge at dawn, as if the nocturnal realm, reluctant to relinquish its dominion, had cast a lingering pall over the nascent day. 

Yet, the ephemeral nature of this anomaly belied its true significance, a harbinger of the encroaching darkness. As the sun-kissed days yielded to the relentless march of time, this shadowy stain deepened, its inky tendrils stretching forth, an insidious encroachment upon the celestial canvas.

A week's passage transformed the once vibrant dawn into a macabre spectacle. The sun, no longer ascending into a cerulean expanse, now struggled to pierce the oppressive veil of blackness, its golden radiance suffocated beneath layers of impenetrable darkness.

 The melodious symphony of avian dawn, once a testament to life's vibrant pulse, dissolved into an unnerving silence. The birds, their tiny forms rigid upon the branches of withering trees, bore silent witness to the encroaching gloom. 

The very air, once a breath of life, grew heavy and frigid, a palpable sense of dread permeating the world, as if the very cosmos held its breath in anticipation of an impending cataclysm.

Farmers, their faces etched with worry, stood at the fringes of their parched fields, their gazes drawn skyward, their plows abandoned amidst the parched, fissured earth. Traders in the city squares, their voices hushed, exchanged furtive glances towards the sun, whose once vibrant radiance had dwindled to a feeble glow.

Though no one dared to articulate the growing dread, it permeated every facet of life. It manifested in the anxious grip of a mother's hand upon her child's wrist, in the nervous darting of a merchant's eyes as he hastily packed his wares before the customary hour, and in the somber silence of the elders, their weathered faces taut with unspoken apprehensions.

And yet, the encroaching darkness continued its relentless spread.

Far removed from the bustling metropolises, nestled within the solitude of a windswept farm, David stood in quiet contemplation, his gaze fixed upon the ominous heavens. His sanctuary, a haven of tranquil strength, had long remained untouched by the tribulations of the outside world. Yet, as the darkness deepened, even this refuge felt vulnerable, its tranquility threatened.

A short distance away, his nine-year-old son, Zenith, frolicked in the fields, his laughter carried upon the breeze.

 Beside him stood Anya, an orphan girl, her veins gleaming with the pristine whiteness of freshly fallen snow—a rare and sacred emblem of the Agape clan. Her presence, a stark contrast to the mundane world of the farm, served as a living reminder of the extraordinary bloodlines that governed Lunaris.

Neither Zenith nor David, however, possessed such gifts. Their veins remained devoid of the vibrant hues that signified power in this world. In a society where magic was an inherent birthright, they were anomalies, two ordinary souls amidst an extraordinary realm.

A profound hush had descended upon the land, the air thick with an unseen but oppressive presence, pressing upon David's chest like the weight of an impending tempest. The light was distorted—the familiar golden glow of morning now a sickly, fading ember, consumed by the encroaching blackness. Even the wind, once a gentle caress, seemed hesitant, whispering through the brittle grass before succumbing to an eerie silence.

The wind, typically a gentle presence on the farm, had always swept across the fields in soft, rhythmic waves. But tonight, it bore a different character, carrying a whisper of unseen forces. The scent of earth and decaying leaves clung to the air, heavy with unspoken truths.

David stood motionless at the field's edge. The fading light cast his shadow long across the ground, yet his thoughts were far removed, dwelling upon the uncertain future that his son would soon face alone.

Behind him, Zenith's laughter echoed, a sound untouched by fear, untainted by the knowledge that this night would steal everything away.

David closed his eyes, seeking to etch this moment into his memory, a fleeting snapshot of joy before the inevitable darkness. Then, he turned.

Zenith stood there, small and radiant, his wide eyes reflecting the fading sunlight. His dark curls were tousled by the wind, and in his hands, he clutched a wooden bird, a simple carving smoothed by years of restless fingers.

David's throat tightened, a lump of unspoken emotion constricting his breath. This moment, he knew, could not endure.

He knelt, not out of exhaustion, though it weighed heavily upon him, nor from the burden of his decision, though it threatened to crush him. He knelt because he needed to gaze upon his son's face, one last time.

Zenith tilted his head, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His father's face was shrouded in shadow, yet his posture conveyed a sense of stillness, a finality.

David reached out, his large, calloused hands resting upon Zenith's small shoulders. His grip was steady, grounding, as if by holding on, he could prolong his son's safety, if only for a moment.

The words caught in his throat, a silent lament. How could he bid farewell to his own son?

Instead, he allowed his hands to convey his unspoken emotions, a slight squeeze, just enough for Zenith to feel, to remember.

"Zenith," David murmured, his voice thick but firm. "Listen to me."

The boy's brow furrowed, his fingers tightening around his wooden bird. "Father?"

David hesitated. If there had been an alternative, any other path, he would have taken it. If he could have shielded his son from this impending fate, he would have done so without hesitation.

But the world was not so merciful.

"You have to be strong," David said, his voice barely a whisper. "Stronger than you think you can be."

Zenith frowned, his small hands gripping the folds of his father's tunic, as if he could anchor him in place. "Why are you saying this?"

David swallowed hard. Because he had to leave him. Because Zenith had to survive without him. Because this world was cruel, and he could no longer protect him.

Instead, he uttered the only truth that mattered. "Because I have to go."

A breath of silence hung heavy in the air. Then—Zenith flinched.

His hands clenched tighter, his knuckles white. His breath hitched, sharp and unsteady. "Go?" His voice cracked, thin and desperate. "Where?"

David exhaled slowly. He reached forward, brushing his fingers across his son's forehead, a gesture so simple, so familiar. But this time, it felt like a final farewell. "Away," he said softly.

Zenith shook his head. "No." His voice wavered, thick with the first traces of fear. "Not without me."

David smiled, a soft, sorrowful expression. He had anticipated his son's response. Zenith had always been brave, always willing to follow, always willing to fight. If only he could.

David's hands drifted down to the bracelet encircling his son's wrist. His fingers traced the worn threads, his touch lingering. "Promise me something, Zenith."

The boy swallowed, his chin trembling.

David's voice dropped lower, a quiet urgency threading through his words. "Promise me you'll never take this off." His thumb brushed against the bracelet, slow and deliberate. "Not until the world stands at the edge of ruin."

Zenith's chest rose and fell too rapidly. His lips parted, longing to argue, to refuse, to demand a promise in return. Instead, he curled his fingers around the bracelet, gripping it tightly. He nodded, a single, sharp movement. "I promise."

David released a slow breath, his shoulders sagging. "Good."

But there was one final matter. David reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a folded piece of parchment. The edges were worn, the ink smudged, but the name scrawled across it remained clear: Wilson. He pressed the parchment into Zenith's hand, curling the boy's fingers around it.

"You have to go to Lunaris City," David said, his voice steady now, filled with quiet urgency. "Find Wilson. Tell him I sent you. He'll keep you safe."

Zenith's brows pulled together. "But why? Why can't I go with you?"

David's fingers trembled. Because Zenith was more important than he realized. Because following him would lead to his demise. Because he could not bear to witness his son consumed by the same darkness that had claimed him.

Instead, he whispered, "Because you have a future, Zenith." A future he would never witness.

The wind howled, sudden and violent. David's hands slipped from his son's shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his own wrist, his fingers finding the simple band of woven threads.

And then—he pulled it free.

The moment the bracelet left his skin, his veins ignited. A brilliant, emerald-green light surged beneath his flesh, crackling outward in waves of untamed energy. It climbed up his arms, over his chest, enveloping him like a living force.

The air hummed, then roared. The ground beneath them trembled.

Zenith stumbled backward. "F-Father?"

David gritted his teeth, his body trembling under the raw force of it. He had concealed this power for so long, buried it deep within. But now…there was no hiding.

Tears welled in his eyes, but he did not wipe them away. There was no time. He looked at his son, his beautiful, innocent son, knowing this was their final moment.

His fingers trembled as he reached out, his touch ghosting over Zenith's cheek. His voice, a raw whisper, conveyed love, sorrow, and all the words he would never utter. "Forgive me, my son."

Then—a blinding flash of green light.

Zenith lunged forward, arms outstretched, reaching—but his hands closed on empty air. The warmth, the presence, the strength of his father—gone. The night swallowed him whole.

A hollow silence followed, deafening in its finality. Zenith stood frozen, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His heart pounded violently, a painful rhythm.

His father had vanished. And he was alone.

Then, slowly, his knees buckled, and he sank to the ground.

He stared at the place where his father had stood, his mind screaming for an answer—for anything that would make this make sense.

But there was nothing.

Nothing except the cold wind curling through the empty space beside him.

A hand, warm and trembling, settled on his shoulder.

Zenith turned, his breath shaky. Anya knelt beside him, her silver eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored his own.

"He's gone," Zenith choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "He's really gone."

Anya said nothing.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

Her touch was steady. Warm. The only thing anchoring him to this moment.

"We're not alone, Zenith," she whispered. "We still have each other."

Zenith clenched his fists, the rough threads of the bracelet digging into his skin.

His father's words echoed in his mind.

Power isn't always in magic. Sometimes, it's in the choices we make.

His tears fell, hot and silent. But this time, he didn't fight them.

The world felt hollow.

The spot where David had stood—where he had been—was empty now, but Zenith couldn't stop staring at it. His fingers curled into the dirt, cold and unyielding beneath his touch, as if some part of him thought that if he held on tightly enough, time would rewind.

But it wouldn't.

The last echoes of his father's voice had faded into the wind. The warmth of his presence was gone.

Zenith squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against his knees. His breath came in uneven gasps, his chest tightening until he felt like he might shatter beneath the weight of it all.

Then, something warm pressed against his shoulder.

Anya.

She said nothing. She didn't have to.

Her presence was steady—a quiet anchor in the storm raging inside him.

For a long time, they sat there beneath the darkening sky, neither moving nor speaking. Only the wind dared to break the silence, curling through the fields like a ghost, whispering secrets only it could hear.

Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called—a lonely, haunting sound that sent a shiver down Zenith's spine.

He lifted his head, his vision blurry, his body heavy with exhaustion.

The farm was no longer home. Not without his father.

His gaze drifted to Anya. She had lost everything once before. She understood what it meant to have your world ripped away.

And yet—she was still here.

Still breathing. Still standing.

Zenith swallowed, his throat raw. His father's words echoed in his mind, steady and unwavering.

"After I am gone, you must go to Lunaris City. Find Wilson. He will guide you."

His hands trembled as he wiped his face.

He turned to Anya, her white veins shimmering in the dimming light, her silver eyes filled with exhaustion and sorrow.

"We have to go," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To Lunaris City."

Anya hesitated for only a moment, then nodded.

Not because she wanted to leave. But because there was nothing left for them here.

The road stretched before them—long, unforgiving.

Each step pulled them further from the only home Zenith had ever known, yet the weight of grief clung to his back like a phantom. The fields that had once felt endless and warm now seemed barren, drained of color and life.

The sky, dark and oppressive, pressed down upon them like an omen, the creeping blackness seeping into their very bones.

They walked in silence.

What was there to say?

Their feet carried them forward, but their minds remained behind—in the past, in the echoes of a voice that would never call them home again.

By the time the first night fell, exhaustion gnawed at their bones. They found shelter beneath a dying oak, its twisted branches clawing at the heavens as if trying to grasp the last remnants of light.

Zenith sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his stomach hollow with hunger. The night was colder than he expected. Or maybe that was just the absence of his father's warmth.

Anya was quiet, staring at the small pile of twigs she had gathered.

Zenith finally spoke. "Do you think he knew?"

Anya turned, her silver eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Knew what?"

"That he wasn't coming back."

A long pause.

Anya's fingers hovered over the wood, and with a slow exhale, she pressed her palms together. A faint glow pulsed beneath her veins—Agape magic. It was weak from exhaustion, but it was enough.

A soft spark flickered, catching on the dry bark.

The flames wavered, fragile. Like them.

"I think," Anya said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, "he did."

Zenith didn't know whether that made it better or worse.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth doing little to thaw the cold inside him. He pulled his cloak tighter, his fingers finding the woven bracelet on his wrist.

He gripped it like a lifeline.

Promise me you will never take this off.

Zenith closed his eyes.

The wind whispered through the trees.

Sleep didn't come easily that night.

They kept moving.

Their bodies grew weaker, their steps slower. Each mile felt heavier than the last.

Food was scarce. They scavenged what they could—bitter roots, a handful of wild berries—never enough to ease the gnawing, hollow ache in their stomachs.

Sleep came in short, uneasy bursts, stolen beneath rocky outcrops or within the hollow remains of fallen trees. The world felt too quiet, too still, as if holding its breath.

Once, a lone traveler passed them on the road, his cloak tattered, his eyes sunken from hunger. He barely spared them a glance before disappearing into the endless stretch of land ahead.

They weren't the only ones running from something.

Zenith tried not to think about it.

One night, as they huddled beneath the open sky, Anya broke the silence.

"Zenith…"

He didn't answer right away.

She shifted beside him. "Do you think we'll be safe in Lunaris?"

Zenith tightened his grip on the bracelet, his father's last gift.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But we don't have a choice."

Anya stared at the stars—or where the stars should have been. The sky was empty, swallowed by creeping black.

"I just… I hope we're not too late."

Neither of them slept well that night.

One evening, as they made camp beneath the twisted branches of a dead oak, Anya stood to collect firewood. The crack of a snapped twig was the only warning before a figure lunged from the shadows. 

A raider—his clothes tattered, his face gaunt with 

desperation—grabbed Anya's arm, yanking her backward. She gasped, struggling against his iron grip. Another man stepped forward, his knife gleaming in the dim light. 

"Well now," he sneered, his voice rough and cruel. "Didn't expect to find anyone out here. But you'll do just fine." His eyes flickered to Anya's shimmering white veins. "Agape blood… rare, valuable." 

Zenith's heart pounded as fear gave way to something sharper, something colder. Without hesitation, he grabbed a fallen branch, gripping it like a weapon. 

"Let her go." His voice was steady, his stance firm. 

The second raider laughed. "Oh? And what are you gonna do, boy? You don't even have a weapon." 

Zenith didn't answer. He acted. 

He swung the branch with precision, striking the first raider's wrist. The man let out a pained grunt, releasing Anya just long enough for her to stumble free. Zenith didn't stop. He pivoted, driving the branch into the man's gut, sending him staggering back. 

The second raider lunged with his knife, but Zenith ducked, his movements swift and calculated. He grabbed the raider's wrist mid-strike, twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the ground.

The first raider recovered, growling in frustration. He charged at Zenith, but this time, Zenith was ready.

Using the raider's own momentum against him, he sidestepped and slammed his elbow into the man's ribs, sending him sprawling. 

Breathing hard, Zenith placed himself between Anya and their attackers, his makeshift weapon raised. 

The raiders hesitated. They had expected easy prey, not resistance. Muttering curses, they scrambled to their feet and vanished into the night, their hunger for violence outweighed by their instinct for self-preservation. 

Zenith turned to Anya, his chest heaving. "Are you hurt?" 

She shook her head, though her hands still trembled. "Zenith... you fought them." 

Zenith glanced down at his hands, his fingers still clenched around the branch. He had never trained as a warrior, never been taught the ways of combat. And yet, something inside him had known exactly what to do. 

"They were going to take you," he said simply. "I couldn't let that happen." 

Anya swallowed hard, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around him, her embrace tight, grounding. "Thank you," she whispered. 

Zenith exhaled, his grip on the branch loosening. He looked toward the distant horizon. The silhouette of Lunaris City stood against the gloom, a beacon of hope in an ever-darkening world.

But as he stared at its towering walls, he knew their journey wasn't over. 

The encounter with the raiders left Zenith and Anya shaken but more determined than ever. As they pressed on, the landscape grew harsher. The roads, once well-traveled, were now abandoned, reclaimed by creeping vines and cracked earth. 

The darkness that tainted the sky seemed to stretch its fingers toward the land itself, sapping the warmth from the air and replacing it with a constant, bone-deep chill. 

The silence was unnerving. Even the wind whispered with an eerie stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath. 

Despite their exhaustion, Zenith and Anya kept moving. They avoided the main roads, choosing instead to weave through the ruins of forgotten villages and dense forests, guided only by Anya's faint glowing veins and the distant promise of Lunaris City's towering walls. 

They spoke little, their words replaced by quiet gestures of understanding—a shared piece of bread, a reassuring glance, the silent agreement to push forward despite their fatigue. 

One night, as they took shelter beneath a crumbling stone archway, Anya broke the silence. 

"Zenith…" she whispered, staring at the sky, where stars once shone but were now smothered by thick, roiling clouds. "Do you think we'll be safe in Lunaris?" 

Zenith tightened his grip on the woven bracelet his father had given him. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we don't have a

choice. My father wanted me to find Wilson. Maybe he has answers." 

Anya nodded, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. "I just… I hope we're not too late." 

Neither of them slept well that night. 

By the time they reached the outer gates of Lunaris, dawn had barely touched the horizon. The city loomed before them, its towering stone walls gleaming faintly in the dim light. 

What was once a symbol of protection now seemed imposing, almost unwelcoming. Guards stood at the entrance, their armor dull with dust, their eyes wary as they scanned travelers desperate for refuge. The long line of people waiting to enter stretched far, a mix of refugees, traders, and wanderers seeking safety within the city's walls. 

As Zenith and Anya took their place in line, whispers of fear and uncertainty surrounded them. 

"They say the darkness is spreading faster than the scholars predicted…" 

"Lunaris is our last hope. If it falls, we all fall." 

"Did you hear? The Council is hiding something. People are vanishing inside the city." 

Zenith exchanged a glance with Anya. The closer they got to Lunaris, the more it became clear—this city wasn't just a sanctuary. It was a battlefield of secrets, a place where even the walls had ears.

Finally, they reached the front of the line. A grizzled guard eyed them suspiciously. "Names?" 

"Zenith," he answered, his voice steady. "And Anya." 

The guard's gaze lingered on Anya's white veins, his expression unreadable. "Purpose?" 

Zenith took a deep breath. "We're here to find a man named Wilson." 

The guard's expression darkened. He exchanged a look with another soldier before returning his attention to them. "Wilson, huh?" His voice was quieter now, edged with something Zenith couldn't quite place. "You two should keep moving. Don't ask too many questions." 

Zenith frowned, but before he could press further, the guard stepped aside, waving them through. 

As they passed beneath the towering gates, the weight of their journey settled on their shoulders. The city sprawled before them—grand, but tense, filled with life but laced with an unshakable unease. 

They had made it to Lunaris. 

But their true challenges were only just beginning. 

A figure stepped out from the shadows near the towering gates of Lunaris, his silhouette backlit by the flickering torchlight. He was tall, wrapped in a dark traveler's cloak, his face partially hidden beneath a hood. His voice was smooth, almost casual, yet carried a weight that made Zenith tense.

"You two seem lost," the man said, tilting his head slightly. His gaze flickered between them, unreadable. "What brings you to Lunaris?"

Zenith hesitated. Something about this man put him on edge, but he swallowed his unease and answered, "We're looking for someone. A man named Wilson."

The stranger was silent for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Of course you are."

Anya shifted closer to Zenith, gripping his wrist lightly, unsure. "Do you know him?"

The man exhaled through his nose, as if amused. "Know him?" He finally lifted his hood, revealing sharp features, thin lips curled into a smirk. His veins, faintly visible along his neck, shimmered blue in the dim light. "I'm an old friend of Wilson's. And you two… must be Zenith and Anya."

At his words, Anya let out a quiet breath of relief. "Thank the stars. We've been traveling for so long—we thought we'd never find him."

Zenith didn't relax. Something wasn't right.

The man turned slightly, motioning for them to follow. "Come with me. Wilson will want to see you."

Anya was already taking a step forward, but Zenith caught her arm, whispering, "Wait."

She frowned at him. "What? He knows Wilson. He even knows our names."

"That's what bothers me," Zenith murmured, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man's movements.

But Anya, exhausted and trusting, gave him a small shake of her head. "You're just tired, Zenith. Let's go."

Zenith clenched his jaw but followed, keeping his guard up.

The man led them away from the main roads, through narrow alleys where the towering buildings loomed over them like silent watchers. The city's warmth faded behind them, replaced by eerie quiet. The further they walked, the fewer people they saw.

The back of Zenith's neck prickled.

"This… doesn't look like a place Wilson would live," he said carefully.

The man stopped at the mouth of an alley, where a dimly lit door stood slightly ajar. He turned to face them, his expression unreadable.

"You're right," he said.

Before Zenith could react, a sharp pain exploded at the base of his skull. His vision spun, black spots blooming in his sight.

He heard Anya gasp—then darkness swallowed him whole.

Wilson had been waiting.

He had stood at the eastern entrance of Lunaris since morning, his sharp gaze scanning the sea of travelers. David's son was supposed to arrive today.

But hours passed.

Then the whole day.

And there was no sign of them.

Something was wrong.

His usual calm fractured as his veins pulsed with blue light. Closing his eyes, he focused—not on sight, but on sensation. Wilson wasn't just a man; he was a force of nature. The Aquarian clan's power was fluid, connected to the ebb and flow of magic itself.

Wilson moved through the winding alleys of Lunaris like a shadow, his every step measured, every breath drawn with calculated intent. The city had changed since the last time he walked these streets. Even in the dim glow of enchanted lanterns, there was an undeniable tension, a whisper of fear clinging to every corner.

Something was wrong.

And if Zenith and Anya were missing, it meant they were already caught in the web of Lunaris's underbelly.

Wilson's jaw tightened. He needed to find them.

He started where he always did—the dark places, the places no law touched.

A narrow passage led him to The Hollow, a half-ruined tavern buried beneath the city's foundations, where criminals gathered like vultures picking at the bones of Lunaris. The stench of spilled ale and damp stone clung to the air, the voices inside hushed, calculated, dangerous.

Wilson entered without hesitation.

The moment his boots hit the floor, a few heads turned—quick glances, measuring eyes. Some recognized him. Others simply felt the shift in energy that followed him like a storm on the horizon.

He approached a table in the far corner, where a man with silver-threaded veins sat nursing a drink. Dren the Whisperer. A man who knew things he shouldn't.

Wilson pulled out a chair and sat across from him.

"I need information," he said, his voice steady, quiet. A warning and a demand all in one.

Dren didn't flinch. He merely swirled his drink, the liquid catching the lantern's dim light. "Information comes at a price, Wilson. You know how this works."

Wilson exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn't have time for games.

His fingers twitched, and suddenly—CRACK.

A sharp burst of water slammed into the stone wall behind Dren's head, spraying cold mist across his face.

The entire tavern fell silent.

Dren stilled, his smirk faltering as droplets trickled down his cheek. He slowly set his drink down.

Wilson leaned forward, his blue eyes dark with warning. "If you don't start talking, I drown you where you sit."

Dren swallowed. The arrogance in his gaze flickered, replaced by something warier. "Alright," he murmured, wiping his face. "Word on the street is, two kids—one with white veins—got taken near the eastern gates."

Wilson's veins pulsed. "Who?"

Dren hesitated, then sighed. "If they were taken, it was by the shadow brokers. You'll find them in the old district, near the abandoned grain silos."

A lead.

Wilson stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

The old district was a graveyard of forgotten structures—stone buildings half-crumbled, streets lined with debris from a time Lunaris no longer acknowledged. The night air smelled of damp earth and rusted metal, the silence pressing in like a held breath.

Wilson moved carefully, his steps soundless.

Then—movement.

A flicker of shadow against the broken walls.

He wasn't alone.

The trap sprung fast.

Figures emerged from the darkness—six, no, seven of them. Their veins pulsed with deep brown light, Rock Clan mercenaries. Thick-built, hardened men who fought like stone itself—unyielding, unrelenting.

Wilson stopped, rolling his shoulders. This was going to be a fight.

One of the mercenaries, a brute with a jagged scar across his cheek, smirked. "Didn't expect you to come so fast, Wilson." His voice was gravel, rough and confident. "Figured you'd enjoy chasing ghosts a little longer."

Wilson's eyes flicked to the men surrounding him. "I don't have time for this."

The leader chuckled. "That's unfortunate. Because we do."

Then—they attacked.

The first strike came from behind—a blunt weapon swinging for Wilson's skull.

He moved before it landed.

A sharp twist, a flick of his wrist, and a wave of pressurized water shot backward, slamming into the attacker's ribs, sending him sprawling into the dust.

Another came from the left. Wilson dodged, fluid as the ocean, and lashed out—a precise strike to the throat. The man staggered, choking, dropping to his knees.

They didn't expect him to be this fast.

The Rock Clan fought with brute force, trying to overpower him with raw strength. But Wilson was water—fluid, unpredictable, untouchable.

A fist came at his jaw. He ducked.

A knife swiped toward his ribs. He twisted, redirecting the momentum.

Then he struck.

A wave of water erupted from his palms, colliding with two mercenaries at once, sending them crashing into a wall, gasping for breath.

The leader cursed, reaching for the hilt of his blade.

Wilson didn't let him draw it.

He surged forward, grabbing the man by the front of his tunic, and slammed him against the nearest stone pillar.

The mercenary coughed, eyes wide.

Wilson leaned in, voice a cold whisper. "Where are the kids?"

The man sneered. "You think—"

Wilson raised his hand. Water coiled at his fingertips, twisting into a sharp tendril. He pressed it against the man's throat, cold and unyielding.

"Talk," Wilson said, "or you'll spend the rest of your life breathing through gills."

The mercenary's smirk faltered. He glanced at his men—scattered, groaning, defeated.

Then, he spat blood onto the ground and muttered, "Underground. The old dungeons."

Wilson released him, letting him crumple to the ground.

He stepped over the fallen bodies, his breath steady.

Now he knew where to go.

And nothing in this city would stop him from getting there.

Zenith's head ached. His wrists burned from the rough ropes binding him. The cold dampness of the dungeon clung to his skin.

Across from him, Anya sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her silver eyes filled with barely concealed fear.

The door creaked open.

Their captor stepped in, his blue veins shimmering under the lantern's dim glow.

"You two are a lot of trouble," he mused, crouching beside them. His smirk was infuriating. "People are paying a great deal for a girl like you, Agape-blood."

Anya tensed.

Zenith glared. Think. There has to be a way out.

The man tapped his fingers against his knee. "And as for you, boy… you're an anomaly. No magic in your veins. Just… empty." His smirk widened. "You might be worthless."

Zenith's jaw tightened. "You're wrong."

BOOM.

The ground shook.

The captor's smirk vanished. He turned sharply toward the door just as—

It exploded inward.

A wave of water crashed into the room, slamming him against the wall like a ragdoll.

And in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of lantern light, stood Wilson.

His blue veins pulsed with controlled rage. His expression was deathly calm. "You picked the wrong children to take."

The captor gasped, struggling against the force pinning him down. "Wilson—"

Wilson flicked his fingers. The water pressure increased, pushing harder against the man's chest.

"Give me a reason not to drown you right now," Wilson said softly.

The man's lips parted in silent terror.

Wilson didn't wait for an answer. He released the pressure just enough to keep him conscious, then turned to Zenith and Anya.

"You alright?"

Zenith let out a shuddering breath. "Took you long enough."

Wilson smirked, cutting their bindings with a precise flick of his dagger. "You should've stayed put at the gates."

Anya's hands trembled as she rubbed her wrists. "How did you find us?"

Wilson exhaled, glancing at their captor. "Not easily."

He pulled Zenith up, then Anya, his grip firm and reassuring.

"We don't have time for questions," Wilson said, his tone shifting back to urgency. "More of them will be coming."

They bolted from the room, moving quickly through the underground tunnels. The further they ran, the more the dungeon's oppressive silence faded.

When they finally emerged into the open air, the first breath of freedom felt surreal.

Zenith turned back toward the crumbling ruins of the building they had been trapped in. His heart still pounded, adrenaline still burning through his veins.

Wilson placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're safe now, kid."

Zenith looked at him—really looked at him.

And he believed him.

But as they turned toward the lights of Lunaris in the distance, one thought stayed with him.

Whoever was behind this… wouldn't stop here.

Anya shivered beside him, rubbing her arms. She hadn't spoken much since they escaped, her white veins still flickering faintly from the fear lingering in her bones. Zenith walked close beside her, not saying anything either.

Wilson, however, was silent for different reasons. His eyes were sharper now, scanning every shadow, every rooftop, every passing figure. His usual warmth had cooled into something else—calculated, alert, ready.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he spoke.

"We're almost there."

His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. Something that told Zenith that, despite his confidence, he wasn't at ease.

Wilson turned a corner, leading them into a quieter part of the city, away from the main roads. The further they walked, the fewer people they saw. The towering spires of Lunaris faded behind them, replaced by smaller homes nestled between worn stone streets.

"This is the safe part of the city," Wilson muttered, as if to reassure them. But Zenith wasn't convinced.

If it was so safe, why did he keep looking over his shoulder?

Finally, they reached a house—a modest stone building nestled between two larger structures. Flowering vines climbed the walls, their petals faintly glowing in the moonlight. The wooden door creaked as Wilson pushed it open.

"Inside. Quickly."

Zenith and Anya didn't hesitate. The moment they stepped in, warmth wrapped around them. The scent of burning wood mixed with the comforting aroma of something faintly sweet—spiced bread?

The room was simple but inviting. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting flickering shadows on the wooden beams of the ceiling. Lanterns, enchanted with soft, blue light, lined the walls. A round wooden table sat at the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs, a few books scattered across its surface.

It felt… safe.

And yet, Zenith couldn't shake the feeling that it shouldn't.

Wilson shut the door behind them, bolting it with three separate locks.

Anya visibly relaxed, sinking into one of the chairs. She let out a long breath, pressing her hands against her face.

Zenith didn't sit.

Instead, he turned to Wilson, watching as the man leaned against the door, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You're scared," Zenith said bluntly.

Wilson froze for half a second. Then, he let out a short laugh—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Smart kid."

Anya looked up, her expression tightening. "Wilson, what's going on? Those men… they were after us. They knew who I was."

Wilson let out a slow breath, dragging a chair from the table and lowering himself into it. He rested his elbows on his knees, his blue-veined hands clasped together as he studied them both.

"They weren't after you, Anya," he said carefully. "They were after both of you."

Zenith frowned. "Why?"

Wilson leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes locking onto his. "Because of who your father was, Zenith. Because of what he was hiding."

The room seemed to shrink.

Zenith's heart slammed against his ribs. "What are you talking about?"

Wilson exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Your father… wasn't who you thought he was."

Anya straightened, her silver eyes widening slightly. "Wilson, what do you mean?"

Wilson hesitated. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Your father was part of something bigger, Zenith. Something that people would kill to uncover. And I think… I think you might be part of it too."

Silence.

Zenith's pulse thundered in his ears. The words didn't make sense. His father was a farmer. A quiet man, someone who had never shown any sign of magic, or power, or… anything like that.

But then he remembered—the bracelet.

The moment David had removed it. The way his veins had glowed green for the first time.

Zenith felt his stomach twist.

"…You knew, didn't you?" he whispered.

Wilson's gaze softened slightly. "I suspected. But I never had proof. Until now."

Zenith swallowed hard. "And those men? They knew about my father?"

Wilson nodded. "They must have. Or at least, they knew he left something behind." He gestured toward Zenith's wrist. "That bracelet—it's not just a keepsake, is it?"

Zenith instinctively gripped it. The woven threads felt rough beneath his fingertips, worn from years of wear.

He had never taken it off. Not since the day his father gave it to him.

Wilson sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, kid. I don't know the full story. But I do know this—if those men were willing to kidnap you, it means they think you're important. And that means… you're in danger."

The words sat heavy in the air.

Anya looked between them, her expression unreadable. Then, she slowly stood, stepping closer to Zenith. "We need to figure this out."

Zenith barely heard her. His fingers tightened around the bracelet. His father's words echoed in his mind.

"Promise me you will never take this off—not until the world stands at the edge of ruin."

Wilson stood, his expression set. "For tonight, you're safe. But tomorrow… we need to start getting answers."

He placed a hand on Zenith's shoulder, squeezing it briefly. "Get some rest, kid. You'll need it."

Then he turned, disappearing into another room, leaving Zenith and Anya standing in the dim light of the lanterns, their thoughts heavy with the weight of everything that had just changed.

Zenith stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace, his mind racing.

His father had been hiding something.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the city of Lunaris. Zenith and Anya had just settled into Wilson's home, the weight of their journey slowly lifting with the comfort of the hearth and the kindness of their new companion.

 For the first time in days, their stomachs were full, their bodies rested, and their minds were quiet. But even in this peaceful moment, an unsettling feeling lingered, like an invisible thread pulling at the edges of their awareness. 

Wilson had stepped out for a while, leaving them alone to soak in the warmth of the house. Anya sat by the window, watching the bustling streets below, while Zenith absently traced the edge of his bracelet. The distant sounds of Lunaris filled the air, a soothing symphony of everyday life, but the looming unease still gnawed at him. 

Without warning, a subtle shift in the air caught Zenith's attention. It was as though the very atmosphere around them had changed—an almost imperceptible hum that resonated deep within his chest. Anya looked up, her brow furrowing as the same feeling seemed to take hold of her. 

"What's happening?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. 

Zenith's eyes narrowed as he moved toward the window, his gaze locking onto the horizon. At first, it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. The sky was bright, the day still holding onto its warmth, but then… it shifted. 

A faint green hue began to bleed across the edge of the sky. It started small, like the first streaks of dawn, but it spread quickly, creeping along the horizon with an almost deliberate intent. 

Zenith's heart raced as he watched the green light grow stronger, a vibrant, living color that seemed to pulse with energy. It wasn't a trick of the light—it was real, and it was sweeping across the sky, blotting out the usual harshness of the ever-darkening clouds. It felt like something ancient, something powerful, awakening deep

within the earth, reaching outward to protect the world from the suffocating darkness. 

"The sky… it's changing." Zenith's voice was a mix of disbelief and wonder. 

Anya joined him at the window, her eyes widening as she saw what he did. The green light stretched outward like a protective barrier, wrapping itself around the land. It wasn't just a light—it 

was a shield, alive with magic and purpose. 

The oppressive dark clouds that had hung in the sky for so long began to retreat, as though the green shield was pushing them back. 

The city of Lunaris, bathed in the light of the shield, seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The familiar golden glow of the sun seemed to return, as if the shield were absorbing the darkness and turning it into something far gentler. But the magic of it… it was so much more than just the light. It was a living force, a protective veil that was slowly unfurling across the entire world. 

And as the green light expanded, there was a sensation in the air—one of hope, of life, and of something even older and more powerful beginning to stir beneath the surface. 

For a moment, neither Zenith nor Anya could speak. The sight was too magnificent, too otherworldly. The green light continued to grow, wrapping around the earth like a living organism, soothing the land it touched. 

The oppressive weight of the darkness that had been steadily encroaching on their world seemed to ease, as though the earth itself was fighting back. 

Zenith reached up instinctively, gripping his bracelet, the one his father had given him. He felt the surge of energy pulse within him,

as if the magic of the shield was calling to him, urging him to understand, to be a part of this unfolding mystery. 

"Is this... is this what Father meant?" Anya's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes wide with both awe and confusion. 

Zenith swallowed hard, his mind racing. "I don't know. But it feels like the world is changing. The darkness is retreating… but this isn't the end. It's only the beginning." 

And as the green light expanded across the land, pushing the darkness further and further away, Zenith couldn't shake the feeling that their journey was far from over. 

The shield wasn't just protecting them—it was a signal, a message that something greater was coming. Something both terrible and wondrous. 

But for now, the world outside seemed safer. The green shield offered a promise of hope, a momentary reprieve from the long nights of uncertainty. 

Yet, in the back of his mind, Zenith couldn't ignore the feeling that they were standing at the edge of something far greater. 

A horn, distant and low, cut through the air. The sound seemed to carry on the wind, a warning, or perhaps a summons. It echoed through the streets of Lunaris, drawing Zenith's attention. 

For a fleeting moment, the world outside seemed to pause. The green light had pushed back the darkness, but it had not erased it. And in the quiet that followed, Zenith knew: whatever lay ahead, they would be ready to face it.