Lyara couldn’t stop staring at him. He was unnecessarily rude, egotistical, and had a disheveled appearance more befitting a vagrant than a Lieutenant of the Guard. And yet, he possessed an intimidating, almost magnetic presence—his unmistakable silver hair and those red eyes so characteristic of the northern peoples. A presence that vanished the moment you noticed him drooling over himself as the palanquin swayed back and forth.

  Lyara sighed, almost regretting having accepted becoming his apprentice instead of Lady Platea’s. The only things that stopped her from asking Kaeldric for a reassignment were her pride and those inhuman combat skills of his. Kaeldric, meanwhile, simply stared out the window in boredom as they moved through the districts of Veltraxis.

  They were riding atop an Armadon, a massive creature with metal plates covering its body, a flattened yet friendly face, and a long tail tipped with keratin spikes. It looked like a beast made for war, though its gentle nature made it utterly useless in that role. For that reason, is only used by transportation method.

  Lyara studied the neighborhoods carefully, deliberately noting how, as they drew closer to the city center, the houses improved, clothing became more extravagant, and there was no longer any trace of beggars or prostitutes. She sighed again and looked toward their destination: a vast palace atop a mountain that seemed to reach the heavens. The most heavily protected area in the entire city, where the Guard resided and where the “Lord” lived.

  She glanced back at Aedran just as a sudden jolt from the Armando made him wake abruptly and bite his tongue. Lyara struggled to hold back a laugh. Aedran shot her a sideways glance; it was clear that neither of them was particularly pleased with the news.

  Aedran lifted his head and looked directly at the girl with a grimace.

  “Alright then. What’s your name?” Aedran asked.

  “Me?” the girl replied foolishly.

  “No, I was asking the damned Armadon. What do you think?” Aedran shot back sarcastically. Lyara clenched her teeth.

  “I thought you already knew. Lyara—”

  “No. Your last name.”

  Lyara frowned, but Aedran’s gaze remained fixed on her, curious. She glanced briefly at Kaeldric, who nodded.

  “Lyara Valbourg…” she finally said, averting her eyes.

  Aedran’s eyes widened in surprise as he leaned back in his seat and looked at Kaeldric.

  “Seriously? A Valbourg?” Aedran asked. Kaeldric sighed and looked away. “One of the most powerful families in Veltraxis, and their daughter wants to join the Guard? How strange. Trying to prove something to mommy and daddy?”

  Lyara narrowed her eyes.

  “Not really. I’m the youngest of eight siblings. I won’t inherit the house’s duties. That gives me a certain freedom,” Lyara explained, forcing a polite smile at Aedran.

  “And you chose to be a pig? Not very smart,” Aedran mocked. Kaeldric cleared his throat, causing the warrior to squint. “Besides, why the hell are they starting a new division and assigning daddy’s little girl to me as an apprentice? I bet she hasn’t even graduated from the Academy.”

  “I actually graduated a year ago,” Lyara replied firmly.

  Aedran raised an eyebrow in surprise and looked at Kaeldric.

  “She graduated at sixteen. She took the record for the youngest graduate in history, surpassing you” Kaeldric explained. Aedran sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Not like I care,” Aedran said, looking Lyara up and down. She had a slender, short build, as if she could snap in half with a stick. “An anti-terrorism division… what a joke.”

  Lyara watched him for a few seconds. The legendary mage hunter who slaughtered sorcerers like they were nothing. It was somehow disappointing to realize that the rumors about him being an idiot were true.

  She turned her gaze back outside. The buildings had changed—multi-story houses with marble fa?ades or polished stone walls, balconies overlooking a carved street crowded with guards. Wherever she looked, several recognized Lyara instantly, throwing her mocking glances and whispering among themselves.

  A few moments passed before the Armadon came to an abrupt halt. Lyara stood up, but Aedran stepped into her path and dismounted first. She eyed him warily. Kaeldric sighed.

  “Just ignore him. He’s just bitter about losing his record,” the general said as he climbed down beside Lyara.

  They were now within the Guard’s grounds—an absurdly vast open space leading to a road that ran straight to the palace. The greenest trees imaginable were planted throughout the area. A group of students wandered by, laughing among themselves.

  Lyara noticed Aedran staring at them intently, as if he recognized someone. They passed through the main gate and entered the palace. It was absurdly massive: a hall several stories tall, with marble bridges stretching from one side to another, connecting different sections across multiple floors.

  Their footsteps echoed against the marble as members of the Guard moved back and forth—some carrying weapons or supplies, others walking briskly with purpose. A few were simply chatting with colleagues as their shifts came to an end.

  Lyara and Kaeldric walked at the front, which triggered immediate reactions: people would first look at Lyara with tenderness or attraction—she seemed adorable to them—only to immediately straighten their posture or avert their gaze upon noticing Kaeldric.

  Aedran walked along carefree; most people prefer to ignore his existence, and those who did merely narrowed their eyes or wore expressions of confusion.

  In the middle of the corridor, a few hunters were playing among themselves, biting and rolling over one another, while an apprentice desperately tried to stop them from causing damage. The animals ignored him completely, and the young man trembled at the mere thought of getting closer. Kaeldric sighed and stepped forward to help. However, the moment he approached, the animals sprang upright and scattered with frightened whines, leaving the apprentice utterly bewildered.

  Then Aedran stepped in and grabbed him just before a massive ball of fur—nearly two hundred and forty kilograms—hit the floor. It was a creature Aedran knew very well. The feline grinned at him: over a meter tall, with long, well-groomed fur, golden claws scraping against the floor with every step, and a maw full of fangs capable of intimidating even the most savage Gramorgian. Its heterochromatic eyes gleamed vividly, and its tail rose, pointing toward Aedran with unmistakable amusement.

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  “Kesari!” Lyara exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear as she approached the creature. The feline spotted her and tilted its head, allowing the young woman to come closer and stroke its head amid soft giggles. “What are you doing here, handsome?”

  Aedran knew perfectly well why the creature was there, so he refused to look upward, toward where the feline had leapt from. But Kaeldric elbowed him, signaling that he should behave. Aedran lifted his gaze, and his eyes met hers from one of the bridges above: caramel-toned skin, hair braided into a long tail that nearly brushed the floor, a silk dress, and several jewels adorning her face, accentuating her amber eyes. The woman offered him a strained smile.

  “Well, Platea…” Aedran began, turning his head with an awkward grin. “It’s been a long time. How long has it been?”

  “Not long enough,” the woman replied. Aedran clenched his teeth but kept smiling. “Though I do wonder what you’re doing with Lyara.”

  She tilted her head as she said this, then glanced at Kaeldric before fixing her gaze back on Aedran.

  “Don’t tell me you agreed to work with the idiot Aedran. How unfortunate.”

  Lyara was taken aback by the way she spoke about someone. She then looked at Aedran, confused. Straightening up, she smiled at Platea.

  “Well, I suppose I can learn a lot from him, right?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Platea replied. She snapped her fingers, and the feline stepped back, sprinted toward the wall, and climbed up until it stood beside her once more.

  Lyara looked disappointed and stood up, smoothing the skirt of her uniform. Platea cast one last look of disdain at Aedran before continuing along the bridge.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Aedran said, looking at Kaeldric with visible exhaustion. “What is the princess of Samuraya doing here?”

  “You never pay attention during meetings, do you?” Kaeldric complained, pressing a hand to his forehead. Lyara was curious as well; she hadn’t seen Platea since her graduation. “The leaders of the human nations are here to decide what to do next with the species. Without mages, we’re far weaker than the other races, so they may choose to unite…”

  “Like a superstate?” Aedran deduced thoughtfully. Kaeldric nodded. “And they’re here too?”

  Kaeldric shook his head. Lyara wasn’t entirely sure whom they were referring to; it was clear they had known each other for many years.

  “The Gramorgians refused to come,” Kaeldric replied as they continued walking.

  Aedran sighed.

  “Yeah, I suppose those idiots would say this is just a bunch of whiny children’s nonsense,” he added with a faint smirk.

  Lyara paused for a couple of seconds, trying to recall what she knew about the Gramorgians, but nothing came to mind. As far as she knew, Aedran was a Gramorgian. She shook her head and resumed walking.

  They reached the end of the corridor. A gate nearly three meters tall loomed before them. Aedran pushed it open lazily, and the door swung wide with surprising ease. They entered what looked like a cozy three-story residence nestled within the heart of the Guard’s palace. Books were scattered everywhere, papers lay strewn about, and a long central hall served as the spine of the place.

  At the far end, behind a wide desk, sat someone who seemed unaware of their arrival. Lyara looked around in fascination; it was her first time inside the Lord’s residence. She looked up—the floor of the second level was made of glass, allowing her to see the kitchen and dining area above. The third floor was likely where the bedrooms were, as it was covered by opaque wooden flooring.

  The wood of every piece of furniture was instantly recognizable to Lyara: it came from the Forest of the Druids.

  “Does it remind you of home?” Aedran asked, clearly trying to provoke her.

  Lyara let out a soft laugh and looked at him.

  “I think you overestimate my family’s purchasing power. We could barely afford a single chair made of druidwood,” she explained, brushing her fingers lightly over the smooth surface.

  “You know, there are at least three secret passages leading out of this room,” Aedran added as he stepped ahead. “So if one day you feel like assassinating him—or throwing him a surprise party—I know all of them.”

  Lyara wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not.

  At last, they reached the desk, and the man behind it looked up. He was around fifty years old, with streaks of gray running through his hair and beard. It took him a few seconds to process who he was seeing before his face broke into a wide smile and he stood up.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mage hunter,” he said excitedly as he approached Aedran. The warrior immediately took a step back before the man could hug him, looking as though he might decapitate him on the spot.

  The man also hugged Kaeldric, who accepted it with a sigh, and Lyara, who returned the gesture while trying to be polite. She was genuinely lost: the greatest warrior in Veltraxis was an idiot, and the leader of the nation was anything but imposing.

  “I assume you all know why you’re here—assuming Kaeldric did his job properly,” the Lord said with a broad smile as he leaned against his desk. “Aedran, I hope you’re excited.”

  “Honestly? Not really,” the warrior replied bluntly. “An anti-mage division, at this point?”

  “Well, it’s not optional,” the Lord replied. His voice remained warm, but Lyara felt a chill crawl down her spine. “I’m sure you already know the four nations are in the process of uniting, and we don’t even know yet who will lead the new state that emerges. We need guarantees—and mages represent a risk.”

  “It’s unnecessary. We’ve been dealing with them for eight years without major issues,” Aedran shot back insolently.

  The Lord raised a clenched fist, and Aedran fell silent at once.

  “To be honest, this isn’t even my decision,” the Lord continued. “For now, we’re only concerned with first- and second-tier mages. But the Celestials are growing increasingly impatient. They’re pushing all six races to do more.”

  “Don’t tell me they expect us to hunt fourth-tier mages.”

  “Of course not. They’re gods, not idiots,” the Lord replied. “They’ll personally handle fourth- and fifth-tier mages, as you know, the celestials don’t do much without a good motivation, and don’t die only applies to those categories. What they want is for us to begin hunting third-tier ones.”

  The room fell silent. Aedran waited a few seconds before responding.

  “That’s insane. We can barely take on a category 2.5 mage with the full force of the Guard, and now they want us hunting beings equivalent to demigods?”

  Aedran was genuinely angry. He took a step toward the Lord, but Kaeldric grabbed him by the arm. Lyara noticed that, despite facing a larger, well-trained warrior, the Lord maintained a calm, unshaken presence.

  “The Sentinels are gone. We have no way to fight mages of that caliber.”

  “Well… there is still one, as far as we know,” the Lord replied, a hint of mockery in his tone.

  “Oh, right. I forgot about Wayne—playing pirate and chasing immortality in the deep sea. There’s no way we can—”

  “Why not? Lodtrack defeated a category 4.8 witch.”

  “That’s a legend from over two hundred years ago! And as far as we know, he had help from the ancient gods.”

  Aedran couldn’t understand what the Lord was getting at; the man seemed disturbingly calm. He sighed, turned away, and grabbed a coat from the rack before putting it on.

  “This isn’t a choice, Aedran,” he said in a calmer tone, attempting to placate the sergeant. “It’s going to happen. The pretty girl will be your apprentice by the way.”

  Lyara grimaced, realizing he didn’t even remember her name.

  “The division will be formed and officially presented during the Night of Memories. What better moment than the eighth anniversary of the Red Night?”

  We only have one month to establish an entire damn division? Lyara thought nervously.

  “And if I refuse?” Aedran asked, never taking his eyes off the Lord.

  “Then you’ll be expelled from the Guard and branded a deserter. We’ve tolerated your lack of interest in your duties for eight years because you’re our greatest weapon against mages. If you can’t fulfill that role, you’re useless to us.”

  The Lord placed a hand on his shoulder, then glanced sideways at Lyara.

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear. The threat applies only to him. You won’t suffer any consequences if they fail. Unless of course, if you die in a mission.”

  The Lord walked away humming softly, heading toward the council with the other leaders. He closed the door behind him without even turning back to look at the guards he left behind.

  Lyara wasn’t sure whether she found him intriguing or unsettling. She looked at Aedran, expecting him to destroy the office in a fit of rage, but instead he took a deep breath and turned away, his brow so tightly furrowed he could have cracked a nut with it.

  “So… my only options are exile or killing myself against a third-tier mage?” Aedran asked Kaeldric. “And on top of that, this girl will be dead in two days. No matter how good she is, mages are dangerous—especially if more red camellium shows up.”

  Kaeldric shook his head.

  “The Lord forgot the most important part… or chose not to tell you while you were throwing a tantrum,” he said, stretching his arms. “We’re not sending you in unarmed. We’ve found a way to stand up to mages…”

  End of Chapter 3.

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