Whispers Beneath the Winged Anvil

When Stillness Breaks

When stillness breaks and morning bleeds,

The forge no longer hides its seeds.

A scream, a fang, a line once crossed—

Now peace is weighed, and trust is lost.

The blade yet dull, the truth unseen,

The child walks paths of smoke between.

The Crimson Seal

The scream had not yet faded when the Denvers family burst from the Apostle Smithery. The forge's warmth lingered on their backs, but the air ahead was strangely cold—thickened with dread, like a fog that carried no scent, only tension. The sun seemed to dim over Ariadera, casting elongated shadows as people gathered near the Market Square.

The Market Square, usually brimming with light and laughter, now pulsed with unease. Colorful stalls stood half-abandoned. Trinkets lay untouched. Merchant calls had faded into hushed tones. The square's cobblestone center, adorned with petal motifs and an old compass rose, was now scarred by death.

Martin's boots hit the ground with echoing resolve. Emil held William's hand tightly, shielding him from the rising panic. Robert strode ahead, parting the crowd with the silent authority of a man who had seen too many tragedies.

They reached the heart of the square.

Two bodies lay sprawled in a cruel stillness.

One was a young elven girl, barely thirteen. Her limbs curled inward like wilted branches.

Beside her, a human male in his thirties, eyes wide, lips parted in a scream that never found voice.

People stood back, trembling. A young woman knelt beside them, her eyes red, tears streaking her cheeks.

"My lord... please... I swear I didn't do anything. I found them like this. I just touched them—I thought they were sleeping."

Robert crouched gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You did the right thing. Let me look."

As he approached, Emil instinctively stepped between William and the bodies, though the boy was already staring with a quiet intensity that belied his age.

Robert studied the corpses. Their skin was ghostly pale, unnaturally cold. Two puncture wounds on each neck—close, but subtly misaligned.

"Vampires...?" he murmured.

Then his eyes caught something beneath them.

With Martin's help, he gently shifted the bodies aside. A gasp rippled through the onlookers.

A twin-ringed seal etched into the cobblestones emerged—its inner star marked with ancient runes and elemental sigils. Faint light glimmered like trapped moonlight.

"Seal of Teleportation?" Robert asked.

Martin leaned closer, frowning. "Looks like it. But out here? In open sun?"

Robert examined the elven girl's neck again. "No other wounds. These punctures suggest vampiric feeding but..."

Martin pulled a measuring ribbon from his pouch, aligning it against the marks.

"Too wide apart," he said, eyes narrowing. "And the depth is uneven. Vampires bite cleanly. This was staged."

Robert exhaled sharply. "Then someone wants it to look like a vampire attack."

Martin nodded gravely.

Robert rose, face taut with resolve. He turned to a nearby cadet. "You. Fetch the clinic. Tell them to prepare for two bodies. No examinations until I arrive."

"Yes, Lord Denvers!"

As the boy sprinted away, a clinic worker approached with a plain covered cart. Together, Robert and Martin lifted the bodies with solemn care. Robert paused to place a feather charm on the girl's chest—a small, sacred token of peace.

Turning to two nearby guards, Robert's voice deepened. "Mark the circle. Rope off the square. Post a watch. Nothing disturbs this seal."

The guards saluted and moved with quiet efficiency.

Emil gently nudged William, whose eyes hadn't left the diagram.

"Will," she said softly, "let's go get something warm."

The boy blinked, his hand trembling slightly.

"He shouldn't see more," Martin whispered.

Robert gave a subtle nod. "Take him, Emil. I'll speak to Martin and join you at the carriage."

Emil crouched beside William, brushing a hand over his cheek. "Come on, storm-bringer. I know a stall with buns as sweet as sunshine."

His stomach growled.

"Okay..." he whispered.

Honey Amidst Ashes

The food plaza was a crescent of warmth nestled at the plaza's southern end, half-circled by stone archways draped with ivy. Stalls formed a kaleidoscope of color—amber lanterns swaying in the wind, banners fluttering with vendor emblems. The aroma of caramelized root, cinnamon stew, and buttered flan drifted lazily through the air.

William sat across from Emil on a low wooden bench near a corner stall. The table was carved with floral grooves, faded by time but still beautiful. Emil ordered honey lotus buns, roasted squash spirals, and warm milk with cinnamon foam.

"Are you alright, love?" Emil asked, offering him the warmest smile she could muster.

William looked up, then down again. "They were so pale. Like... like statues."

She reached across and cupped his cheek. "You were brave. Not every child your age could stand in a square like that without trembling."

He looked away. "I'm not every child."

She blinked. "No. You're our child."

The buns arrived, steaming and golden, filled with sweet nectar and soft enough to melt on the tongue. William bit into one and chewed slowly.

"It's like clouds," he mumbled.

"Then float, my little storm. Just for a bit."

They ate quietly for a while. Then he whispered, "Do you think vampires really did it?"

Emil looked into her cup. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you don't need to worry about that. Not yet."

"But I saw the seal too."

She exhaled softly. "Some seals are meant to guard. Some are meant to trick. Your father will find out which."

William sipped his milk. "I want to know more. Not just swords and aura. I want to know what people hide."

She watched him closely, then smiled again, though her heart fluttered.

"Then ask questions. But don't stop being a child just to get answers."

His brows furrowed. "That's hard."

"So are honey buns, before they melt. And yet... they do."

He giggled.

And for a moment, the weight lifted.

Steel and Smoke

Back at the smithery, the flickering glow of the forge barely pushed back the quiet that wrapped itself around the stone walls. A silence neither of peace nor stillness, but of calculation.

Robert stood near the flame, the warmth brushing his face. "It is really worrisome," he said, gaze distant.

Martin leaned against the anvil, arms crossed. "Yeah. The peace between Featheria and Endorina has held since the last war. If the villagers begin to suspect vampires... this could spark something we can't contain."

Robert's jaw clenched. "But vampires don't hunt like this. Not openly. Not outside their border. And certainly not in a place as exposed as Ariadera."

"Which means," Martin said slowly, "either they're desperate—or someone wants us to believe that they are."

Robert looked over, meeting Martin's eyes. "Exactly. If their condition has worsened to the point of crossing borders for blood, that's already dangerous. But if someone faked this to blame them... then it's deliberate provocation."

Martin frowned. "Someone trying to start a war. To push us over the edge."

Robert gave a short nod. "The bite marks—too far apart. Staged. The seal? That was no minor illusion."

Martin's voice dropped. "Sealing isn't magic. It's a sacred technique, born from the fusion of physical and spiritual energy. And not many can wield both."

"Even among those who can, few possess the ability to use seals at that level," Robert continued. "Only ten people across the continents have truly mastered that power."

"That narrows it down... and raises the danger."

Robert let the silence sit for a while before speaking again. "If the clinic finds the wounds were artificially made... then we're not looking at an accident. We're looking at a strategy. Someone's agenda."

Martin's voice was low. "Countless lives will be placed at risk. All for a lie."

Robert nodded. "We're not dealing with a saboteur. We're dealing with a mastermind. And someone powerful enough to bend peace with a whisper."

Martin exhaled, stepping back toward the weapon racks. "Until we get the medical report, we can't do more than guess. But there's one thing we can do. Prepare the boy."

Robert finally allowed a brief sigh. "You're right. The future begins now. He must be shaped well. I was thinking Orihalchum for the sword. Responsive to aura. Strong enough to evolve with him."

Martin nodded approvingly. "Excellent pick. But give me half a phase. I want to forge something more than just steel. I want it to speak."

"Understood. In the meantime, give me something basic—a practice blade."

Martin turned and selected a clean, tempered iron sword from the rack. He held it out with the same reverence he would offer a relic.

"Here. It may not hum yet, but it will teach his hands to listen."

[Reader Note: In the Primera calendar, one phase equals two months.]

Beneath the Pines

The return carriage moved slowly through the shifting light, wheels murmuring over gravel.

Inside, the mood was quiet, reflective.

Robert handed William the sheathed iron sword. "You'll get your real sword within half a phase. Practice with this one until then."

William unsheathed it slightly. The steel glinted like morning frost.

"It's light," he said.

"Because you're meant to carry it far," Robert replied. "Weight comes with time."

Emil smiled and leaned closer. "Training with Lamile begins tomorrow. In the woods."

William's eyes widened. "The wilds? Really?"

"Yes," she said, brushing his sleeve. "You'll see things you've only dreamed of."

"Will there be monsters?"

"Only if you forget who you are," she whispered.

He grinned. "Then I'll remember."

Just as the carriage turned onto the final stretch of the estate path, William leaned toward the window.

"Mom! That's him! The old man from the market—the one who warned us."

Robert quickly turned.

Under a looming pine tree, a figure stood cloaked in shadow. Just for a moment.

Then he was gone.

No sound. No movement.

Only the tree, swaying slightly.

Emil looked puzzled. "Will... there's no one there."

William's eyes narrowed. "But I saw him."

And silence returned, colder than before.

Feathers in the Dark

Night had wrapped Ariadera in a shawl of quiet stars. A soft wind slipped through the estate windows, carrying the scent of pine and smoke.

William lay tucked beneath linen sheets. Emil sat beside him, one hand stroking his hair, the other holding a candle.

Her voice rose in a gentle hum, then words:

Feathers fall when dusk is near,

But light shall bloom where hearts are clear.

Sleep, my spark, where dreams take flight,

Forge your truth in starless night.

Though shadows creep and whispers roam,

Your heart is shield, your soul is home.

So drift beyond where swords may sleep,

And let the stars your promise keep.

William's breathing slowed.

His hand curled gently around the iron sword by his side.

And as sleep took him, his dream was not of monsters.

It was of feathers.

Falling.

Rising.

Becoming flame.

Shadows Cast in Silver Light

Where secrets wear a borrowed face,

And steel is forged in silent place,

The child shall rise with embered breath,

To walk the edge between life and death.

But peace may falter, dreams may fight—

Beneath the stars and silver light.