The Crown Tournament 3 [Chapters 11-15]

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More chapters. I hope you enjoy!

Shami

Chapter Eleven

As the translucent airship descended into the forest village, I was struck by a strange blend of serenity and awe. My eyes widened, desperate to absorb every detail, as if I could memorize the entire village in a single glance.

I could hardly believe I was finally here—the kirin village.

Master Elias and Roux had mentioned it from time to time, always in passing. They never said much, which I now understood. This place was meant to remain hidden, sacred. A secret worth keeping.

I remembered the quiet promises they had made. After the tournament, we’ll bring you here. I had longed for that moment. And though I wished we had arrived under better circumstances, something about this place still felt... right.

The village was breathtaking in its quiet beauty, both extraordinary and exactly as I’d imagined. It was peaceful, harmonious, and entirely in tune with the forest. Despite the structures and pathways, nothing felt imposed or artificial. It was a place where human presence had been folded gently into the natural world.

A gentle breeze stirred the canopy, sending golden leaves cascading through the air like petals in a slow, swirling dance.

This wasn’t a village in a forest—it was a village of the forest. The homes were grown directly into the trees, stretching upward in tiers that disappeared into the green heights. Layer upon layer of dwellings and shops were stacked vertically, like a natural version of the apartment towers in Indigo Port, but alive, both breathing and rooted.

At the village’s heart, the tallest trees bore the largest number of homes. Their trunks had been shaped by magic—not hacked or hollowed, but guided, sculpted—so the trees lived and grew alongside their inhabitants. The homes resembled giant nests or softly glowing beehives, expanding naturally as the trees did.

Long, swaying bridges of polished wood connected the outstretched branches, while wide, gentle ramps spiraled around the trunks, allowing even the largest four-legged eldrin to ascend with ease. I realized with a quiet pang that Roux, who had always struggled with steps and ladders, would have loved these ramps.

Glowstone lanterns dangled from the branches, casting a soft light wherever sunlight couldn’t reach through the dense canopy. The whole village glowed like a starry constellation tucked within the leaves.

Villagers leaned over railings and balconies, smiling as they enjoyed the warm shade. Some read books or scrolled through parchments, while others tinkered with magical items, lost in quiet fascination.

In the distance, I caught sight of a training ground. Warriors moved through drills, some arcanists, some not, all striking with focus and purpose. According to Elias, he and his earliest companions had come from this very village—warriors chosen to guide the kirin across the world, seeking their destined partners.

Elsewhere, villagers worked the land: farmers tending neat rows of vegetables, others harvesting fruits from tall orchards, and still more caring for berry vines bursting with color. From the abundance of plant life, it was easy to tell this was a vegetarian community, which was fitting for a village that raised kirin, creatures known for their purity and refusal to consume flesh.

A gentle river ran through the village, bubbling softly as it carved a silver path through the underbrush. Off in the distance, I saw villagers swimming, laughing, and splashing in the water.

When I’d first started my journey, I would have called this a metropolis. But really, it was a small community, likely even smaller than Morrumbi Town, where we’d fought the tournament’s opening round.

There simply weren’t that many humans here. But there were plenty of mystical creatures. As expected in a kirin village, I saw more than I’d ever seen before.

Two kirin stood together—fully grown, their bodies gleaming with power. One was older even than Kismet, with streaks of glowing white in its mane and the weathered, ancient scales of a creature bonded for over a century. They exuded quiet wisdom, their presence commanding yet gentle.

Most of the others were still foals, like Roux when I’d first met her. Born here, but not yet bonded. It made sense, though they originated from this village, their partners were scattered across the world. For many, the search had only just begun.

And they weren’t alone.

Other mystical creatures moved among them: dryads with mossy hair and glimmering skin, giggling pixies trailing sparkles of light, and unicorns trotting gracefully along the pathways. Like the kirin, most were young. They roamed freely, undisturbed, occasionally pausing as a villager reached out to offer food or affection.

“What a shock,” Sage murmured beside me. “No one’s rushing to bond with them.”

Wren nodded. “Yeah. You usually only see that kind of restraint in harsh places—like the Sunset Desert or the Lightning Straits. And even then, it’s not just the humans. We mystical creatures usually rush to bond too!”

I looked out at the village again, at its quiet balance and ageless peace, and felt something stir in my chest—something like hope.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t blame either side.

For a human, bonding meant power; extended life, enhanced magic, and a respected place in society. For a mystical creature, bonding was the only path to true growth; without it, they remained children forever, no matter how much time passed.

Despite what people like Dario believed, bonding was usually a symbiotic process. But of course, the desperation from both sides could be twisted, exploited by people like my father, or Haoyu’s former arcanist.

Here, in the kirin village, there was no such rush. Neither humans nor mystical creatures seemed eager to bond. Instead, the process felt mutual—intentional. Each person and eldrin searched for someone who could truly bring out their potential, not just complete a transaction.

And just as that realization bloomed in my mind, I noticed something even more astonishing than the sheer number of kirin: the humans.

They were high up in the trees, so I couldn’t get a good look at most of them. But every now and then, I glimpsed the faint glow of an arcanist mark, some shining far brighter than others.

True form.

Just like Yumi’s.

It wasn’t common, far from it, but even a handful of true form arcanists in a village this small was incredible. In all my travels, I had only ever seen three: Yumi, Aziel, and now… here. Not even Dario or Master Elias had reached that stage.

An eldrin could only achieve true form when their arcanist accomplished a great quest or fully embodied an ideal. Many true forms hadn’t even been discovered yet. And here, in this quiet, collaborative village, it seemed like those rare awakenings happened naturally, almost as if the environment itself nurtured them.

“What do you think?” Orwyn asked, her voice soft and pleased, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

“It’s incredible,” I replied. “So peaceful. I just wish Master and Roux were here to see it with me.”

Beside me, Dario stood still, his eyes wide, filled with quiet wonder. For a brief moment, a genuine smile lit his face. But then it faded, replaced by something heavier—guilt—as he turned toward Haoyu.

“Yumi would’ve loved it here,” he murmured. “She always asked about this place. We should’ve come. Instead of going to that party. Maybe even instead of joining the Crown Tournament at all.”

I stepped closer. “It’s all right, Dario. We’ll get her back. Roux, Lux too. Once we heal Master Elias, he’ll know what to do. He’s beaten Aziel before; he’ll do it again.”

Orwyn nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Once Elias is back on his feet, everything will be easier. And perhaps House Tellia can help with your troubles. Come, let me take you to Waynright. He’s the leader of the village, and he’ll be very interested in meeting two kirin arcanists.”

She turned, and we followed. As before, she carried Master Elias effortlessly behind her, encased in a cocoon of wind—her air manipulation as gentle and precise as a lullaby.

In that moment, I saw something in Orwyn that reminded me of Master Elias. Not just her decisiveness, but her momentum. She didn’t wait for permission, she simply moved forward. Only with her, it felt less like urgency and more like rhythm. Orwyn marched to the beat of her own wind-carried song, and we were simply expected to keep pace.

We crossed a wide branch bridge, and then she gestured downward. “This way. Through the ramp.”

The ramp was broader and smoother than any I’d seen outside the village, its gradual slope clearly designed for both humans and eldrin. It wound downward gracefully, delivering us to the forest floor.

The ground was soft and dry beneath our feet. A few children played nearby, diving into piles of fallen leaves and giggling as they scattered them through the air.

“Across there,” Orwyn said, pointing to a simple arching bridge of polished redwood. On the far side sat a modest wooden cabin, shaded by low boughs.

“That’s him,” she said. “Waynright, the leader of the kirin village.”

I blinked.

For the leader of such a storied village, Waynright looked… ordinary. I had expected someone tall and commanding, maybe wrapped in ceremonial robes or cloaked in the aura of mystical power—someone who could lead warriors like Master Elias.

Instead, he looked like someone’s kindly grandfather. He was tall, yes, but chubby and balding, with a noticeable pot belly. A pair of golden spectacles clung precariously to his nose, threatening to fall off with the slightest movement.

He lived on the ground floor, not in the tallest tree or grandest hall, but in a quiet cabin. He looked more like Old Man Valdo than a legendary arcanist.

But then he looked up, and I saw the glow on his forehead.

His arcanist mark gleamed with a radiant duality. Split, just like mine. A kirin arcanist. And not just that, he had reached true form, just like Yumi.

He squinted toward us and frowned, rising slowly to his feet. “Orwyn? I thought I heard the Westerlies flying overhead, but I couldn’t believe it… What brings you here?”

“My son needs your help,” Orwyn said. “I’ve brought him for healing.”

“Who? Isaac? Aran? Did something happen to them?” Waynright’s brows knitting together in sudden concern. But then his eyes locked on the floating figure behind Orwyn. “Elias? What in the world could have possibly—”

He stopped himself mid-sentence, drawing in a sharp breath. With that single motion, the illusion of a harmless old man melted away. The twinkle-eyed elder vanished, replaced by a healer of extraordinary poise and precision. His gaze sharpened, and his bearing shifted into that of a master arcanist.

“Come in,” he said, his voice steady. “Apollo and Shani are inside.”

He turned and walked back into his cabin, and we followed him in silence.

His home was humble and unadorned, the kind of disciplined simplicity that Master Elias would have admired. A narrow cot sat in one corner, draped in a rough cloth for warmth. A squat table, more stool than dining surface, occupied the center of the room.

But the majority of the space was filled with carefully arranged medical supplies. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with gleaming talismans and softly glowing potions, alongside more traditional remedies—bundles of dried herbs, jars of poultices, neat rolls of clean bandages.

In one corner rested a magnificent bird, feathered in radiant white and gold, its tail a sweeping arc of elegant plumes. A true form caladrius. Beside it stood a kirin, silver-coated and slender with age, its mane ragged and windswept, yet its eyes sparkled with life and fathomless wisdom.

Waynright gestured to them with calm familiarity. “The caladrius is Apollo. The kirin is Shani.”

“Nice to meet you,” Apollo said, his voice smooth and measured. It echoed Waynright’s own—soft-spoken, but dignified. Shani, like all kirin, remained silent, offering a respectful bow instead.

“No wonder he can do it,” Wren whispered in awe. “A true form caladrius. And he has a kirin. The kirin’s magic must amplify the caladrius healing, just like Roux empowered me!”

Waynright turned to Orwyn. “Place him there,” he instructed, nodding toward a wooden bed freshly made with pristine white linens.

Orwyn obeyed without hesitation, guiding Elias’s body through the air with gentle precision and laying him down upon the bed.

Waynright moved to his side, expression focused, studying every inch of Elias’s body with calm intensity. His eldrin circled around them, Apollo’s wings glimmering as he emitted a soothing hum, and Shani’s horn giving off a faint shimmer of protective magic.

Like Yumi, Waynright didn’t heal alone, his eldrin were part of the process, weaving their abilities together with his in perfect harmony.

All I could do was watch, breath held tight in my chest.

Then, finally, Waynright looked up and gave a small, assured smile.

“I can save him,” he said. “But it will take time. I’ll need until day’s end.”

Relief crashed over me like a wave.

The weight I’d carried for days seemed to ease, just for a moment. There was still so much ahead—Aziel, the tournament, the missing eldrin—but this one crucial battle had finally tipped in our favor.

“This is delicate work,” Waynright continued, his tone now formal. “Please, no interruptions. We need absolute focus. Orwyn may stay, but the rest of you... I must ask you to leave.”

Chapter Twelve

We stepped quietly out of Waynright’s home, not wanting to challenge the old healer’s request.

“You know,” Wren said, his voice light, “Waynright might not look tough, but he is. He’s got that same ‘obey me or else’ energy as Master Elias.”

I chuckled. For the first time since this journey began, the laugh felt genuine. Light, free, unburdened. Master Elias was going to be alright. It was exactly what I had hoped to hear, and now it was real.

“I’ll stay with them,” Hyperion rumbled, planting himself by the door. “All I want is to see my arcanist back on his feet again.”

I gave him a grateful smile and a nod, then the rest of us made our way back into the heart of the village.

Everywhere I looked, peace thrived, not just in the landscape, but in the lives being lived. Humans and mystical creatures moved in seamless harmony. It all felt so natural, even more so than the wild beauty of the Sunset Desert.

Given how many greedy arcanists would force a kirin to bond just for the power, it made perfect sense that this place remained hidden. And yet... I couldn’t help but feel that if more people had the chance to live like this, they might actually choose to.

“Dario,” I said as we walked, “this feels like the kind of place you’d want to live in, doesn’t it?”

He glanced around, his expression softening. “Yeah. It does. I think…” He hesitated, then smiled faintly. “If we ever get Yumi back—when we do—it would be the honor of my life to bring her here.”

His voice trailed off, not with sadness, but with renewed conviction. Like me, this village seemed to be reminding him of who he was fighting for.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” Sage said. “There are more true form eldrin here than anywhere I’ve seen before… but no true form kirin. You’d think, being the kirin village…”

“Isn’t the method for a kirin’s true form still unknown?” Luna asked. “Even Roux didn’t know how, and she’s been around for centuries.”

True form transformations were a mystery to most. Every eldrin longed for it, but few ever reached it. Some methods were well-documented. I remembered reading that for a manticore to achieve true form, it had to consume five eyes of five different colors. Back in the orphanage, Luna and I had whispered rumors that adopted kids were being fed to manticores.

“I actually know it,” Dario said.

“You do?” we all turned to him in surprise.

He nodded. “A nest of sovereign dragons told me. They said one of their ancestors bonded with an arcanist who achieved a kirin’s true form—after becoming king of their homeland.”

“Wow,” Sage murmured. “Sovereign dragons don’t bond lightly. If they chose him, he must’ve been destined to rule.”

“Yes,” Dario said. “A kirin can only attain its true form once their arcanist fulfills their great destiny.”

“And the form itself?” I asked. “What does a true form kirin even look like?”

He shrugged. “That part’s more legend than fact. The story faded by the time it reached the dragons. Some say the kirin turned into a dragon itself—but dragons are rather self-centered, so who knows?”

Wren snorted at that. Like most drakes, he found dragons pompous beyond belief.

“Great destiny, huh…” I muttered. “But that could be anything. How are we supposed to know what ours is?”

I’d hoped Roux’s true form might be some kind of salvation—something that could help bring her back to me. But if what Dario said was true, then there was no clear path. I just had to live my life and hope that, somehow, I made the right choices.

No wonder none of the kirin arcanists in the village had reached true form either.

“Excuse me,” Dario said suddenly, his voice distant. “I’d like to explore the village. Maybe learn more about this place... and clear my mind.”

Without waiting for a response, he and Haoyu stepped away. Dario lifted his hand, and the wind obeyed. Within moments, he and his kirin had soared into the canopy, vanishing among the towering trees.

“Think he’ll be alright?” Finlay asked.

“I think so,” I replied. “Dario’s tough. And… he seemed a little happier than before. After Yumi and Lux were taken, he was barely holding it together.”

“Yeah.” Finlay scratched his chin. “He didn’t even come out of the hold during the ship ride.”

“It’s obvious what’s bothering him,” Sage said. “Seeing Apollo—seeing a true form caladrius—it must’ve reminded him of Yumi.”

Luna nodded. “Sometimes you only realize you’re in love after someone’s gone for a while.”

As she spoke, Luna nervously wrapped her hand around mine. The warmth of her touch made me smile—and blush.

Come to think of it, I hadn’t thought about Luna much at all after leaving the orphanage. I’d been swept away in the whirlwind of training under Elias and bonding with Roux. But everything changed when I saw her again, trapped with the East Sea Raiders, only to vanish again right after. That moment stuck with me. Since then, she’d been on my mind constantly.

Dario was probably feeling something similar now. That same tangled knot of regret and worry.

“You’re probably right,” I murmured. “Dario’s still reeling over Yumi. And like me… he lost his kirin too.”

“Yeah,” Finlay said. “He’s just got a lot weighing on him. But he does seem to be enjoying himself.” She pointed toward one of the trees. “Look, he’s talking to another arcanist. And he actually looks... happy. Happier than I’ve seen him around most people. He was always so focused on building a better world, but maybe this place is showing him a different path.”

“We should use our time here wisely,” Sage said. “Don’t worry too much about Dario, Amir. He’s strong. What we should do is learn more about kirin. I wonder if there’s a library nearby… We should probably ask someone.”

As if summoned by her words, a tall woman strode up to us, waving with infectious energy.

“Hey there!” she called out, her voice bright and melodic, like Orwyn’s, though far brasher and more explosive.

Given her vibrant red hair and that familiar lilt in her voice, I suspected she might be related to Orwyn. But unlike Orwyn’s willowy, ethereal presence, this woman radiated physicality. She was tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a warrior straight out of the Crown Tournament. Her muscles rippled with every motion, and yet her smile was childlike in its enthusiasm.

A brilliant mark glowed on her forehead—clear evidence that she had achieved true form with her eldrin. A moment later, her companion soared into view: a four-winged pegasus, unlike any I’d ever seen. It had a spiraling unicorn horn, golden eyes that shimmered like twin suns, and hooves that glittered like polished diamond.

“You folks look like you need a little help! Nice to meet you! I’m Rebecca! And this is Cecelia! She just reached true form recently. Pretty amazing, right? I figured you weren’t locals, but I also saw you all coming off Orwyn’s ship, so that wasn’t exactly a brilliant deduction!”

Every sentence from her felt like an exclamation, like the very act of talking was a celebration.

“Yeah, we’re trying to find the library,” Sage said. “We want to learn more about kirins.”

Rebecca tilted her head, then grinned when she spotted the glowing mark on my forehead.

“Whoa! A kirin arcanist coming back to the village? That’s awesome! I’ve never partnered with a kirin myself, but Cecelia’s got her true form!” She patted her pegasus’s side proudly. “I mean, look at her!”

True form was a rare feat for any eldrin, so I understood her excitement.

Rebecca pointed into the distance with the force of a ballista bolt. “Library’s that way, dead center of the village. It’s in the biggest cluster of trees, on the middle floor. Absolutely huge, you can’t miss it. I’m not much of a reader, but sometimes I just wander in there during my walks because it’s so big.”

She turned to leave, then froze, eyes narrowing in sudden realization. First, she looked at Wren, then at me.

“Wait a second… when you flew in, there was a giant syrocko drake with you. That was Hyperion, right? So that makes you Amir. And you’re Wren!”

“I am,” I said, surprised she knew my name. “How did you hear about me? Did Master Elias send something back to the village?”

She smirked, tossing her red mane. “Oh, you’ll see when you get to the library. Let’s just say we’ve heard a lot about you. You’re lucky, you trained under the Red Wind himself! He’s a freaking legend!”

Of course he was well-known here. This was his home, after all.

“He’s the biggest hero I know!” Rebecca continued, nearly bouncing on her toes. “I even dyed my hair red because of him! He’s so cool, traveling the world helping kirin find their partners...”

She clenched her fists with renewed determination.

“I gotta go train harder now! We’ve got twenty-three foals here, and I swear, I’m gonna find every single one of them their destined partners! Bye now!”

And with that, she sprinted off, muscles flexing as she ran, shouting to every passerby that her pegasus had just attained true form—whether they asked or not.

“That woman’s like a living fireball...” Luna murmured, still watching the direction Rebecca had bounded off.

“Well, pegasi embody loyalty to the group above the self,” Sage said thoughtfully. “They achieve true form when their arcanist fully embraces that virtue. Staying in her hometown, training daily, and dedicating herself to helping the kirin… it probably triggered the transformation.”

“Wren,” Luna asked, “do you know what causes a syrocko drake to evolve?”

“Beats me,” Wren replied, shrugging his wings. “Probably something ridiculously hard if even Elias and Hyperion couldn’t pull it off.”

“Well, we can’t just stand around talking about true forms all day,” Sage said, hands on her hips. “Let’s get to the library. We need real information—something that can actually help Amir. That’s our best bet right now.”

I nodded, and we set off toward the central trees—massive, towering sentinels that dwarfed even the stadiums from the Crown Tournament. They were so wide, I half-expected a battle ring inside. Though knowing this place, starting a fight would get us evicted on the spot.

At the end of the path was a wide ramp that wound around one of the trees, leading up.

“I like these a lot better than stairs,” Wren said, trotting up with ease. “Way more comfortable for us four-legged folks.”

“With so many kirin around, they probably had no choice,” I added.

“I wish we’d had these back at the orphanage,” Sinsidius grumbled. “Climbing as a caterpillar sucked.”

Just like Rebecca had promised, the library was impossible to miss.

“Before we go in,” Finlay said, glancing at me and Wren, “you two need to know—no talking. You have to be quiet in a library.”

“Everyone knows that,” Luna said, rolling her eyes.

“The first time I met Amir,” Finlay groaned, “I had to throw him and Wren out of a school.”

“Point taken,” I laughed. “We’ll be quiet.”

The library was breathtaking, a cavernous hollow carved into the heart of the great tree. Dozens of chambers branched off the main room, each filled with shelves of books and scrolls. Arcanists studied at stone desks with their eldrin beside them, poring over tomes in hushed focus.

Only one of them was a kirin arcanist, the rest were partnered with a range of fascinating eldrin. The scholars here would have fit right in with the Geniuses, the tactician team we’d defeated in the earlier rounds of the tournament.

A whelk made entirely of glowing light conferred with a male sphinx, their conversation conducted in hushed tones. Another arcanist sat hunched over a rack of scrolls, his panoptes giant looming behind him—its ring of countless blinking eyes scanning every document at once. The last time I’d seen a panoptes giant, it was a corrupted prison guard. But this one used its many eyes for scholarship rather than surveillance.

The lone kirin arcanist had a second partner: a lithe fox with brilliant red fur and a cascade of flowing tails—a kitsune.

“Kitsune use illusion magic like tanukis,” Sage whispered.

“They’re Tier 3 though,” Kenji added proudly. “So people say they’re stronger than us. But can they turn into rocks? I think not!”

The man behind the main desk appeared to be the head librarian. A gold badge glinted on his chest, and his long black hair trailed down to his waist. His skin was ruddy red, and his robe shimmered faintly with patterns of white stars. He didn’t even look up when we entered, he was entirely absorbed in an enormous tome.

Perched beside him was his eldrin: an owl with curling horn-feathers atop its head. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, but its wing-tips were stained crimson, and its talons gleamed like charred obsidian.

“That’s a mongwu owl,” Sage whispered, her voice automatically adjusting to the sacred hush of the space. “They’re clairvoyant—powerful diviners. But some consider them an ill omen.”

“Well,” Luna said, “I’m sure there are plenty of books on kirin in here. Is there something specific you want to look for, Amir?”

“Yes,” I said. “The Ascension Crown. The reason we entered the tournament in the first place.”

Finlay nodded. “Oh right. You and Elias went for the Crown instead of the Star Shards, huh?”

“Yeah. Master Elias said the Crown this year was different. That it was excavated from some important site. He told me a rumor…”

I closed my eyes, reaching back into memory.

It had been a while, but I could still recall my coming-of-age ceremony, when I brought back Wren and feasted on roast boar under the desert sky. That night, as the fire crackled and the stars wheeled overhead, Master Elias had told me the story.

“A long time ago, there was an arcanist who found a tiny fragment of the rawest magic. It was powerful—beyond his reckoning. But when he touched it, he perished, his soul burned from the inside out.

A kirin arcanist came and touched the rawest magic, but it didn’t hurt him.

Because of the kirin’s fortification. It seemed as though the rawest magic would empower him instead. Make him stronger than any other.

So, set in the crown’s core, is a raw fragment of magic.

It’s something only a kirin arcanist can use. It will change an arcanist. Change their kirin eldrin. They will be god-like.”

“God-like, huh?” Finlay murmured. “No wonder you’re trying to keep your dad away from it…”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “I just don’t know what that means. Like… a God-Creature?”

After witnessing the speed of the Westerlies, I had a rough idea. That ship was built from the remnants of a sky titan, just fragments of a corpse, and it could still move with near-teleporting speed. If the Ascension Crown had anything to do with that kind of power… then it was no wonder Master Elias had been so cautious.

“Excuse me,” came a crisp, precise voice from across the room.

The long-haired librarian had finally looked up from his massive tome, his gaze locking onto me. His mongwu owl swiveled its head in eerie synchrony, both of them staring without blinking.

The longer they stared, the more unsettling it became. They were perfectly still. Too still.

“Um… yes?” I asked, trying not to fidget.

“Did I just hear you reference the legend of the Ascension Crown?”

“You know about it?” I asked, surprised.

“I do. But your version is... out of date,” he replied, folding a corner of the page and closing his book with gentle finality. “Recent findings have expanded our understanding. Our historical records have been updated accordingly.”

“Out of date, huh?” I echoed.

“Yes. There is now considerable academic debate regarding the crown’s true nature. Granted, most of the debate is internal, there aren’t many of us who specialize in relic studies. But perhaps after reviewing the primary sources, you’ll form an opinion of your own.”

He rose from his seat, robes rustling softly as he did, then gestured for us to follow. “Come with me to the Chamber of Arcanists. There, you may examine the materials firsthand.”

Chapter Thirteen

“The Chamber of Arcanists?” I asked. Even the name sounded grand—mysterious and important.

“Yes,” Lewyn replied. “Well, the Chamber of Kirin Arcanists, specifically. But I suppose that’s implied, given where we are.” He gestured for us to follow. “Come. There are things you should see—some of them even about yourself. I’m Lewyn, by the way. And my partner is Diane.”

He turned and strode deeper into the library with elegant purpose. His mongwu owl, Diane, waddled after him rather than taking flight, her talons clicking lightly against the wood.

Seeing our curious glances, she paused and turned to us, her voice just as clipped and measured as Lewyn’s. “Twenty years ago, I dreamt I would suffer a terrible flying accident. Better to walk. Caution is survival.”

She spun around again and resumed her awkward, but determined, march after her arcanist.

To me, walking on the ground seemed far more dangerous for such a small creature. Anyone could step on her by accident. But if she’d been doing this for two decades, I supposed it worked for her. Somehow.

The further we went, the more the library transformed. Books and scrolls gave way to something else entirely. At the far end of the great tree’s hollow, we entered a long, solemn hall lined with gleaming silver statues. The polished floor reflected their forms like rippling water. The statues stretched down both sides in perfect symmetry—row upon row of silver figures, some heroic, some serene, others grim.

Not every pedestal had a statue—many stood empty, awaiting the legends still to come.

As we stepped into the chamber, I slowed, my gaze catching on a familiar silhouette.

I stopped cold.

“Is that…?”

I moved closer, heart quickening, and confirmed what my instincts had already told me.

Aziel Theano.

He stood atop a polished pedestal, looming with imperious command. His silver likeness was sculpted with incredible precision—every detail exact, from the way his cloak billowed in phantom wind to the brutal sharpness of his greatsword.

Even the jagged scar slicing through the center of his arcanist mark had been faithfully rendered.

He stared down at us with cold, lifeless eyes, yet somehow, the gaze still felt oppressive, as though the statue itself disapproved of our presence.

Beneath the figure, a plaque was set into the pedestal, gleaming, untouched by time.

Aziel Theano

Kirin and Twilight Dragon Arcanist

Formerly a Chimera Arcanist

Other partners speculated, but unconfirmed

Next to the statue was a scroll, listing out the key events of Aziel’s life.

I read through it, my eyes widening with each line.

Bonded with his eldrin, Kismet, at the age of 14

His kirin was given to him by the adventuring group led by the Red Wind, Elias Tellia

Gained the nickname “the Deceiver” among eldrin for enticing them with promises of bonding and slaying them for their parts

Bonded with the chimera Priam at the age of 18

Attacked the kirin village at the age of 23, but was defeated in battle by the Red Wind after slaying villagers, including the famed warrior Lucas Helvetti

Slew Priam and bonded with the twilight dragon Lear shortly after

Ambushed his hated rival, the Red Wind yet lost his life in battle

The last line had been scribbled out, replaced with new cursive writing.

Survived his climactic battle against the Red Wind outside of the Crown Tournament, remaining in hiding for many years

Formed a new team of dragon arcanists known as the Claws

Defeated his great rival, Elias Tellia, after ambushing him on the Sellix Sea

“We made the revisions after Orwyn told us what happened,” Lewyn said. “She’s a keen scholar in addition to everything else—you’ll find her statue further down the hall.”

“What is this?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly as I unrolled the scroll in my trembling hands.

“What is what?” Lewyn tilted his head.

“This scroll.” I swallowed. “It reads so… neutral. He came into the village. He attacked people. He ambushed Master Elias. He hurt so many—and it just presents everything like a list of facts. Aren’t you angry about what he did?”

Lewyn’s expression didn’t change, though I could tell this wasn’t the first time he’d heard a question like that. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘history is written by the victors’?”

“Yeah. Master Elias told me that once. He said you can’t always trust the official record—because whoever wins will write it to make themselves look good.”

Lewyn nodded. “Exactly. Kirin arcanists are almost always bound for greatness—if they weren’t, they wouldn’t bond with a kirin. And because of that, they often find themselves at the center of great conflicts… sometimes on opposing sides. Here in the kirin village, we try to leave judgment to others. We simply record the facts of what happened, as faithfully as we can.”

“I… I see.”

It was a lot to process. But I understood what he meant. If my father ever did become a god, I had no doubt he’d rewrite the story to make himself look like a hero.

“You’re over there, by the way,” Lewyn added, gesturing down the hall. “Most of your life’s story has yet to be written, and we have no reference for what you’ll look like as an adult, so... no statue.”

“Hey!” Wren burst out indignantly. “You should still give my arcanist an amazing statue!”

Lewyn and Diane both turned to glare at him in perfect synchrony.

“Quiet in the library,” Finlay hissed. “And you acted like you wouldn’t need that reminder.”

I chuckled softly, then turned my attention to where Lewyn had pointed. Even though I didn’t have a statue, I did have a plaque—and next to it, a scroll.

My name was there. My story was already being written.

Amir Rosewood

Kirin and Syrocko Drake Arcanist

I already knew what my life was like, but just out of curiosity, I decided to look at it.

Raised in the Rosewood Orphanage after his mother was killed by the East Sea Raiders

Bonded with his kirin, Roux, at the age of six

Kirin was brought to him by Elias Tellia, the Red Wind, in his final journey from the kirin village

Bonded with the syrocko drake Wren at the age of 15

Slew the dread pirate Black Sea Erik of the East Sea Raiders

It was… interesting.

Even though I’d fought in the Crown Tournament, none of that had been recorded here—nor had Aziel’s participation. I guessed it wasn’t considered historically significant yet. Compared to the achievements of other kirin arcanists memorialized here, it must have seemed too small. Too early.

Still, I appreciated that Elias was mentioned in my scroll. He was the most important part of my story so far—my mentor, my guide. Without him, none of this would have ever happened.

“Well,” Lewyn said, dusting his hands, “let’s continue. The information you’re looking for is stored in the archives at the back.”

We moved deeper into the chamber, walking past countless rows of gleaming silver statues. Their silent presence loomed like echoes of the past, every step we took threading us further into the lineage of kirin arcanists.

Midway through the hall, we stumbled upon a sprawling, unruly pile of scrolls and books.

Lewyn clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Looks like Sophia’s been through here again… she’s brilliant, but notoriously bad at cleaning up after herself.”

He bent down and began sorting through the mess with practiced efficiency. Diane gave a sharp caw and ruffled her feathers.

“You should make her clean up,” she said. “She’ll never learn otherwise.”

“True.” Lewyn sighed. “But she works tirelessly. Without her research, we’d never have discovered the truth about Viktor.”

“Rumors, huh?” Sage asked, her curiosity clearly piqued. “What kind of rumors?”

“Oh, just scattered whispers about kirin arcanists—past and present. Most kirin are born here, but not all. Some bond far from home, and the world forgets them. Sophia’s currently tracking a figure she calls the Wild Boy.”

That sounded like Dario. Maybe he’d crossed paths with her while exploring the village.

As we continued on, a gleam of gold caught my eye. A radiant statue stood out among the sea of silver—commanding, defiant, and unmistakable.

“Who’s that?” I asked, pausing before the figure.

Lewyn’s lips curled in a strange mixture of scholarly reverence and distaste. “Cane Helvetti. A former leader of the village.”

“Why is his statue gold?”

“Because his kirin was golden. The rarest kind—one that hasn’t been seen again since. His legacy is... controversial.”

Even Sage looked stunned. “A gold kirin? I’ve never even heard of one. But I do know that name. He fought in the God-Arcanist War, didn’t he?”

Lewyn nodded. “On the losing side. He committed many brutal acts. His actions brought dishonor to the village, and he’s still reviled in some parts of the world. But here, we remain neutral. Our plaques recount only what we know.”

He gestured to the statue beside Helvetti’s.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was Orwyn.

“Orwyn and Helvetti once fought side by side,” Lewyn explained, “but she ultimately turned away from him and allied with the Warlord, Volke Savan. Of course, my writings are objective—but personally, I believe she made the right choice.”

Seeing their statues side by side drove the point home. Kirin arcanists weren’t always allies. They clashed, diverged, betrayed and transcended each other—because history wasn’t about perfection. It was about choice. And no matter what anyone said, it would be up to us to decide what came next.

Me and Dario. Me and my father. These weren’t isolated conflicts—they were echoes of what had come before.

We continued down the hall. The statues here were simpler, rougher. Their features blurred by time, and many plaques bore the marks of heavy revision. Entire chunks of history had been rewritten, scraped out and replaced with new truths discovered centuries later.

“Very little remains from the ancient times,” Lewyn explained. “Perhaps their records weren’t as thorough… or perhaps their ways of preserving history simply didn’t endure. But we try to keep what we can.”

He pointed to the final statue, tucked in the far corner of the chamber.

“The man you’re looking for is here. Viktor Tellia. He’s the one who created the Ascension Crown—and we’ve recently uncovered new evidence that casts doubt on the legend you were told.”

I stepped forward.

Unlike the grand, lifelike statues of my father or Helvetti, this figure was indistinct. Shrouded in a sculpted cloak, his face hidden beneath a hood. In his hands, he held a crown—not worn, not claimed—but offered.

It was a statue not of glory, but of mystery.

Viktor Tellia

Kirin Arcanist

Abyssal Leech Partner Speculated, but Unknown

A specialist in long-ranged magic

“This was recently recovered with Sophia’s past spinner spider. Look.”

Lewyn handed me a very ancient looking note that had been restored with glowing white magical thread. The parchment looked like it’d fallen apart at any moment and the words had been stitched together for clarity where the ink had faded

I have done it. I, the great and mighty Viktor Tellia, have finally discovered the essence of raw magic. After years of research, the Artifact has finally been completed. All that’s left is to ignite it in the forge of battle. Once the Ascension Crown ritual is complete, I will ascend to godhood.

“Forged of battle? That must mean the tournament, right?” Luna asked, peeking over my shoulder to read.

“We believe so,” Lewyn replied. “It appears that Viktor attempted to organize some sort of combat competition in his time. A precursor, perhaps.”

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“There’s no writing from the period, no formal records. But according to surviving oral tradition, he vanished. Some say he was overwhelmed by raw magic. Others believe he was exiled.”

“We do know that his allies tried to continue his legacy,” Lewyn went on. “After his disappearance, they attempted to host the tournament again. Likely out of curiosity, or perhaps greed. His writings must have circulated more widely in his age, and the promise of godhood would’ve been impossible to resist.”

He paused beside the statue’s base. “From what we can tell, the Ascension Crown held so much raw power that only a kirin arcanist could wear it without being destroyed. But when the first champion donned it… they lost their kirin. It’s said the tournament continued for generations after that, but eventually, it lost its meaning.”

“So you think Viktor’s original tournament became the Crown Tournament?” I asked.

“Exactly,” Lewyn nodded. “It evolved over time—shifted into the friendly contest between nations that we know today. The Crown itself became ceremonial. For many years, it was likely just a replica. But now… the original has resurfaced.”

I drew in a slow breath. “That explains everything. No wonder Aziel wants it. He probably thinks it’ll make him a god. And Dario… Dario won the Crown too. Maybe that’s why he was targeted.”

“Read some of Viktor’s notes,” Finlay muttered. “He sounds like a power-hungry lunatic.”

“Still,” I said. “Master Elias believed in the legend. He said whoever puts on the Crown—the real one—will ascend to godhood. And the battles of this year’s Crown Tournament must have filled it with magic...”

Luna’s hand curled tighter around my sleeve. “Amir… if your father gets the Crown… things will be bad. Really bad.”

“But do we even know it works?” Sage asked. “It’s an ancient artifact, made by someone who disappeared under mysterious circumstances. How do we know it wasn’t all theory? Or wishful thinking?”

“I mean,” Finlay added, shrugging, “it probably doesn’t work. If it did, Viktor wouldn’t be some guy with a statue hiding his face. He’d be a god. But he’s not. He vanished. So, you know... not exactly proof of success.”

Even Lewyn chuckled at that, the sound dry but genuine.

And yet… I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Even if the Crown was flawed. Even if its power was exaggerated. If there was even a chance that it could grant my father divinity, I couldn’t let him have it.

Not now. Not ever.

Chapter Fourteen

“So… what do you think the Crown actually does?” I asked, turning to Lewyn.

The librarian simply shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Who can truly say what happens when one places it on their head? History is still being written.” He glanced over the rim of his spectacles. “Now, is there anything else you need?”

When we shook our heads, Lewyn turned and began leading us back toward the front of the library.

Waiting there was Dario, standing tall and resolute, a sharp glint of purpose in his eyes. He lifted a hand in greeting, his voice steady.

“Amir. Your master woke up. Waynright sent for you.”

The words hit me like lightning.

Master had woken up.

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my chest would burst open and my heart would soar straight out of it. Another part of Roux’s prediction fulfilled, something I hadn’t dared to believe in my darkest moments. Wren had been right all along. We’d persisted, one step at a time, and now... things were beginning to fall into place.

With Master Elias awake, the worst had passed. We were through the fire. Everything would be okay now.

“Let’s go,” I said, my voice tight with emotion.

Then I broke into a sprint, bursting out of the library like a storm wind unleashed.

“Come, Wren!” I shouted, not slowing for even a moment.

The wind surged to my call, answering me like it had been waiting for this very moment. I didn’t bother with ramps or bridges. With one fluid motion, I leapt from the library’s branch, channeling magic through my feet and hands. The air caught me, soft and sure, slowing my descent in a rush of swirling leaves.

It wasn’t as graceful as Dario’s flying technique, but it was mine, and I couldn’t wait to show Master how far I’d come.

I touched down lightly, already sprinting toward Waynright’s cabin.

“Master! Master!” I called, my voice ringing through the forest. “It’s me, Amir! You’re back!”

Waynright was waiting outside his cabin, arms folded, a somber look etched across his weathered face.

“Whoa there,” he said, holding up a hand. “I can see you’re excited, and rightly so, but there’s still a long road ahead. He’s awake, yes, but the wound in his chest was deep. I had to reopen it to get everything working again. He’ll need extended care. He’s not going to be back on his feet anytime soon.”

I froze. “Wait… you mean he’s not in fighting condition?”

Waynright hesitated, then sighed. “Amir… I don’t know how to say this, but I’m not sure he ever will be. The damage was that severe. It’s a miracle he survived at all.”

The words landed like a hammer in my gut.

I didn’t know what to say—what could I say? It felt impossible. Elias, the Red Wind himself, unable to fight? It shattered everything I’d assumed. I swallowed hard and shook my head, pushing forward anyway. Right now, none of that mattered. He was alive. And for the past few days, I’d been terrified I’d never hear his voice again.

That fear was over. For now, that was enough.

The door creaked open behind Waynright, and Orwyn stepped into view, her expression gentle.

“Amir,” she said. “Elias is awake. He’s asked to see you. Wren, Hyperion would like to speak with you as well—he’s resting in the shed. Waynright, Apollo, and Shani are tending to him.”

She turned to the rest of the group. “The rest of you… it’s probably best to wait out here. I think Elias would appreciate some quiet time with his student.”

“Maybe we can grab dinner,” Sage offered. “Give them some privacy.”

“Smart thinking,” Finlay chimed in, his usual energy rising like a tide. “Orwyn, what’s the kirin village’s signature cuisine? We love trying the local food wherever we go.”

With that, the group peeled off toward Orwyn, leaving me alone. I stepped inside. Waynright followed me in and gently closed the door behind us.

And just like that, I was alone with Master Elias.

He sat upright on the stone bed, leaning against the wall for support. The wound in his chest was covered by a canvas of carefully wrapped bandages, white cloth now stained a sickly mix of crimson and yellow.

Master Elias looked older than I’d ever seen him. Somehow, in the span of days, his wrinkles had doubled, his gray hairs tripled. His complexion was still ghost-pale, likely a lingering effect of the ice preservation. The front of his martial arts gi had been pulled down to his waist, revealing even more bandages along his arms.

When I first brought Master here to the kirin village, I’d clung to the hope, however naïve, that he would be restored, that magic or healing or sheer will would bring him back to fighting strength.

But one look shattered that illusion. Master wouldn’t be saving us this time.

And the only reason he was lying broken in this bed… was because of me.

Roux’s kirin magic had screamed at me to run to Elias. I’d felt it deep in my soul—an instinct that something terrible was about to happen. And I had been too slow.

If I’d struck Aerin down faster…

If I hadn’t wasted time finishing off his pyroclastic dragon…

If we’d never boarded that ship in the first place...

I felt my lips move before I knew I was speaking. My voice echoed numbly in my own ears, flat and cold.

“Sorry I failed you, Master. Sorry I wasn’t stronger. Sorry I didn’t make the right choices.”

But to my surprise, Master smiled. Not a strained smile. Not a pained smirk.

A genuine smile.

“Amir…” Elias whispered. His voice was thinner and raspier than I’d ever heard it—each word like paper crumbling in the wind. “What are you sorry for? You saved me. Thank you.”

Saved him?

How? He was broken, bleeding, covered in wounds. Barely breathing.

“Hah,” he wheezed. “You really think… that you failed me?”

He let out a soft laugh, though the sound of it made my heart ache. His body was too fragile to bear the weight of even that small gesture.

“Master… look at what happened.” My words came in a rush. “My father attacked us and we lost. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t protect you. I lost Roux. Lux. Yumi. Everyone. It’s just—” My voice cracked. “It’s just too much. I thought everything would be fine after we saved Luna, but a few days later, everything fell apart again! I thought saving you would fix things—and now you're still too injured to fight!”

Tears trailed down my face. My voice broke under the weight of everything I’d been carrying. For so long, I’d believed that if I could just bring Master Elias back, things would be okay. That he would carry the burden. That he would make it right.

But I had been wrong.

Saving him hadn’t fixed anything.

It was still up to me—and I had no idea how to be enough.

“You didn’t fail, Amir,” Elias said. But this time, there was steel in his voice. That old commanding presence, flickering like a flame refusing to be extinguished.

“I might be injured,” he continued, “but I’m alive. So is Hyperion. As for Roux and Lux—it’s terrible that they were taken. Yumi too. But from what my mother told me… Aziel held the entire party hostage, didn’t he?”

I nodded. “He did.”

“Then there it is. You made the best choice you could. If you’d fought him, people would have died. His dragons would have torn through the party without restraint. And you… you would’ve been too busy protecting bystanders to win. You would have lost. Everyone would have.”

“I… I guess,” I said, hesitating. But the way he said it—clear, decisive, without judgment—it really didn’t feel like I had any better options.

“Amir, sometimes there are no good moves. Only the least terrible ones,” Master said. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you made the best choices you could. And just because you don’t yet have the strength to defeat Aziel… doesn’t mean you never will. Stay strong. Learn from your mistakes—but don’t let them hollow you out from the inside.”

“But Roux and Lux…” I trailed off, clenching my fists. “They’re not just kidnapped. They’re hostages. If Aziel sees me or Dario again, he might just kill them. And he said something about… experimenting on them.”

To my surprise, Master Elias only shrugged.

“Well, you’ve broken into a prison before,” he said casually. “Maybe you’ll do it again. Roux waited four hundred years to find you—she can wait a little longer while you come up with a proper plan.”

I stared at him, confused. This wasn’t like him. Master Elias had never offered false comfort. He never sugarcoated his words, never told me what I wanted to hear. He always said exactly what I needed to hear, even if it hurt.

But now… now he sounded so calm. So confident.

“Master… this isn’t like you,” I murmured. “Why are you being so optimistic?”

He smiled, soft and tired but shining with unmistakable certainty.

“Amir, I just witnessed a miracle. You brought me back from the edge of death. Why wouldn’t I be optimistic? I might not look it right now… but I’m brimming with confidence.”

“A miracle?” I echoed. “It doesn’t feel like a miracle.”

“I thought I was dead,” he said simply. “When I saw that blast streaking toward my chest, I was sure it was the end. But now I’m awake—injured, yes, but alive. And that… that is a miracle.”

He even had the gall to give me one of his trademark “I told you so” smiles, like he hadn’t just spent days on the edge of death.

As always, he didn’t give me a chance to dwell on it. His tone shifted—focused, sharp.

“One small warning, though. The fact that Aziel and his arcanists were willing to attack you outside the tournament is telling. That kind of thuggery is a blatant violation of the rules. And he even targeted the Feng household—bold, even for him.”

“Do you think it means something worse is happening? Like the Geist Squad and the onryō arcanists?”

“Something like that,” Master said, nodding. “My mother mentioned she’s investigating. The perks of noble status, I suppose… even if the titles and pageantry never appealed to me.”

“I met some of your relatives. At the training center they built. They said it was inspired by our home in the Sunset Desert.”

He chuckled. “I heard. I imagine that must have been quite the shock for you.”

Before I could respond, he narrowed his eyes, spotting something at my side.

“Amir… is that Solarbrand on your waist?”

I blinked, startled. In all the emotion of the moment, I’d forgotten. My hand fell to the sword. I’d meant to give it back to him… but if he couldn’t fight, what was the point?

I moved to unclip it, but he raised his hand.

“No. Leave it there. It looks good on you.”

His voice was warm, proud. Not a trace of disapproval.

“I—Master. It won’t even ignite for me. It’s not mine. The sword rejects me. I’m not good enough.”

He extended his hand. “Give it to me.”

I passed it over, unsure.

He turned the sword over in his hands, whispering something under his breath. Then he handed it back to me.

“Try now. Solarbrand doesn’t need much—just a gentle push.”

I took a breath, then channeled my magic into the blade.

With a sharp crackle, the sword lit up, glowing with brilliant energy.

“What? How—?”

“It was attuned to me and Hyperion,” he explained. “It wouldn’t respond to anyone else. But now… it will only answer to you and Wren.”

A weight I hadn’t even realized I was carrying lifted from my chest.

“Master… thank you.”

“You see now?” he said. “You keep telling yourself you’re not good enough. But the fact that I’m alive—the fact that that sword just lit up for you—proves you are. Now… you still believe you’ll face your father again, don’t you?”

“Yes. I will.”

He nodded. “Back then, his eldrin hadn’t reached true form. Though, now that it has… I’m honestly not sure how. Twilight dragons can only evolve when their arcanist embodies justice—and your father has never cared for justice.”

He chuckled faintly, the sound almost amused by the absurdity.

“But still… it was a brutal fight. He started it the same way—an ambush in the night. I won because of my aura. Aziel’s mind is unfocused. Weak. He can summon an aura, but he can’t hold it. Not if you frighten him. That’s how Hyperion and I cut through his dragon’s darkness.”

As Master spoke, something in his voice shifted—he sounded almost young again, a spark of his old energy returning. Waynright had been right. Just being here, just talking, was helping him heal.

“You’ve come far with your aura manipulation,” Master said. “And that’s what will be key to defeating your father. Now that his eldrin has reached true form, Lear’s aura is called Revenge of the Fallen Sun. He’ll blanket the battlefield in shadow and conjure a false red sun overhead. Do not look at it. If you do… you’ll go blind. Permanently.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. I’d have to warn the others. That wasn’t just a cruel trick—it was the kind of trap that could end lives if you weren’t ready.

“But how am I supposed to distract him?” I asked. “He doesn’t fear me. He doesn’t even see me. To him, I’m just one of many throwaway children.”

Elias’s smile returned—faint, but sure.

“I defeated him once before. And now he’s too much of a coward to face me in the stadium. You, however… you’ll face him as me. Wear a burnt red tunic. Carry Solarbrand at your waist. And I think it’s time you inherit my title.”

He paused.

“What do you think? Amir Rosewood… the Red Wind. Grandmaster of the Ginza Aggression Art.”

The words stunned me.

The Red Wind. Grandmaster of the Ginza Aggression Art.

I…

It felt absurd. Like I’d stolen a crown I wasn’t worthy of.

“I mean,” Master said quickly, seeing my expression, “I don’t mean for you to carry my legacy if you don’t want to! It’s just a suggestion. The name meant a great deal to me when I was your age. I thought… perhaps it might encourage you.”

“It does encourage me,” I whispered. “I just don’t feel worthy. Not yet.”

“You are,” he said, his voice steady. “But there’s no rush. If you’re not ready, that’s fine. Just consider it. No matter what you choose, Amir… I’ll always be proud to call you my student.”

“Thank you, Master, but—”

A knock at the door cut me off. Waynright stepped in quietly, carrying two softly glowing flasks of medicine.

“Amir, it’s time for Master Elias to rest. So if you have anything else to say…”

I turned back to Elias, my throat tight. “I don’t,” I said. “Thank you for everything, Master. I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

Outside, the others were waiting for me.

“What happened?” Finlay asked.

“Master’s awake, but he’s badly injured. He won’t be joining us.”

“So how are we going to get the kirin back?” Dario asked.

“He suggested we steal them. Like we did when we rescued Sage’s brother from the prison.”

Dario was silent for a moment. Then, to my surprise, he nodded. “Yumi told me about your little prison stunt. This’ll be harder, but… I’ll do anything to get her and Lux back.”

“We need to,” Luna agreed, her voice firm.

“But we don’t even know where Aziel’s keeping them,” I said.

“I know someone who might,” Orwyn said, stepping forward. “Elias’s father, Akiva. He’s an expert in subterfuge and has a vast network of informants. We’ll fly to him immediately. If anyone can locate Aziel and the kirin, it’s Akiva.”

We boarded the Westerlies again. Inside, Orwyn had prepared several beds around the transparent chamber, which hovered midair around the central control console. The whole ship shimmered like it was woven from silk and moonlight.

“Rest,” she told us. “You’ve all had a long day. And tomorrow will be just as demanding.”

We scattered to our separate quarters.

For the first time in days, we had a path forward. A plan. A lead.

But I couldn’t shake the heaviness in my chest. The sight of Elias—so diminished, so vulnerable—haunted me. I knew I had to take his place. That I would face my father again. But the weight of that truth settled into my bones.

Sleep did not come easy.

Chapter Fifteen

Flames. Collapsing stone. Pillars of light.

The thoughts chased me relentlessly as I tossed and turned on the narrow bed Orwyn had prepared aboard the Westerlies. She’d draped each cot with heavy curtains, meant to offer privacy and shade, but all they did was create a blank white canvas for my haunted imagination to project its horrors upon.

Flames. Collapsing stone. Pillars of light.

Eventually, the words weren’t just thoughts, they became sensations.

I could smell the crackling burn of flesh, hear the distant echoes of stone collapsing like thunder around me. But worst of all was the light.

That gleaming, silent pillar that had torn through Master Elias’s chest. It hadn’t made a sound. Not really. Just a faint sizzle, like a match flickering out. And it didn’t smell of anything. Not ash, not ozone, not blood.

It had looked almost… beautiful. A beam of pure brilliance parting dark clouds, like hope descending in a storm.

But it brought nothing but death.

The more I stared into that memory, the more it twisted, warped, grew. Soon, it wasn’t memory at all—it was nightmare. And deep down, some quiet, lucid part of me knew I was dreaming. Knew this was the mental fallout of my talk with Master Elias. But even knowing that couldn’t wake me up. I was still trapped, still helpless. A prisoner in my own mind, just as helpless as I’d been that night.

And then I watched them die.

Finlay, reduced to ash. Burned so thoroughly that only scraps of blackened bone remained—one faintly shaped like a jawbone, another like a scorched skull.

Sage, crushed beneath collapsing stone, her body mangled and torn until it was little more than pulp.

Dario stood, headless, his body still upright and twitching from reflex, scorched from the neck down where the twilight beam had struck.

And Luna—

Luna screamed.

She was gripped in a pitch-black dragon’s claw, dangling above the abyss as shadows coiled around her like living smoke. A twisted silhouette, my father, loomed behind her, smiling as she cried out again and again and again.

And I couldn’t look away.

The horror shifted, rewound, and repeated, each time with new deaths, new torments. Sometimes Finlay was crushed, other times vaporized. Sage was impaled by light. Roux, Yumi, and Lux joined the parade of rui, each scene more grotesque than the last.

And then came the dragons.

The bone dragon’s ivory finger gently touched my friends before they collapsed lifelessly, like puppets cut from their strings. The orochi laughed as it bathed the scene in clouds of putrid green poison.

The cliffside dragon pounded the ground with a single claw, smashing everything into red smears.

And no matter how hard I tried to wake, no matter how desperately I told myself it wasn’t real, my eyes stayed shut. My body stayed frozen. And the nightmare wouldn’t end.

“Amir.”

A voice. Soft, but real. Cutting through the dark like a thread of dawn.

“Amir.” Again, firmer this time. “Calm down. Everything is going to be alright. We’re going to arrive soon. We’ve landed in New Norra. You seemed tired, so I asked them to let you sleep longer. But you need to wake up now.”

It was Luna. I’d never heard her sound so sure of herself.

That warm voice reached down and pulled me out of the abyss. My eyes opened, sluggish and heavy. The world was blurry, soft, muted… but real. Luna sat beside me, gently resting her hand on mine.

I was awake.

But the fear, the weight of the nightmare, still lingered in my chest like smoke.

Everything was still blurry, but I caught a flash of mousy brown hair and a green cloak.

“You kind of look like a druid today,” I murmured with a faint chuckle.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Luna asked, arching an eyebrow. “And be careful—I do have a ring that turns into a dagger.”

“Definitely a good thing,” I said, smiling.

I stared at Luna’s face—soft, gentle, framed by loose strands of brown hair—and forced myself to banish the image from my dream. The one where her features were twisted in agony, where a dragon’s claw had ripped through her.

It was just a nightmare. Even if it was some kind of terrible vision, both Master Elias and Roux had told me the same thing: destiny could be changed. I let out a long breath, steadying myself. And as I exhaled, I felt something shift in my chest—an old rhythm returning.

I knew exactly what I needed.

My body ached and my mind was still fogged with fear, but I needed to complete my morning exercises and meditation. Master Elias had drilled it into me from the very beginning: a strong and reliable body, a calm and focused mind, those things are built by routine.

That thought alone gave me strength. I threw off the blankets and sat up.

“Luna, do you mind giving me a moment to get ready for the morning?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Well, there’s something I wanted to—” She stopped herself, then gave a quiet nod. “You know what? Yeah. Take your time.”

I gave her a grateful smile, then began moving through my stretches and forms, carefully and deliberately. Even with my pulse still unsteady from the dream, I performed each movement with precision.

And as I worked, I could almost feel Master’s presence beside me, like he was standing just beyond my vision, nodding in approval. He believes in me, I reminded myself. Even when I don't believe in myself... he does.

If I truly intended to carry his title, the Red Wind, then everything I did reflected back on him. That meant every movement had to be intentional. Precise. Disciplined.

When I finished my physical routine, I sat cross-legged and prepared to meditate.

But then a thought occurred to me.

I reached into my pack and gently laid Solarbrand across my lap. The moment Master had tuned the blade to me, it had begun responding to my magic, burning with only the faintest touch of my syrocko drake aura.

Which meant it could be the perfect tool for meditation.

If my thoughts strayed, if my focus slipped for even a moment, the sword would ignite. It would show me where my mind had gone.

Perhaps Master had once used it for this very same purpose.

So I sat in silence, breathing slowly, rhythmically—in and out, in and out—with Solarbrand resting across my legs like a promise. I imagined my mind as still and cool as the desert night, utterly motionless beneath a sky of stars.

When I finally opened my eyes, I felt more centered. More ready.

I changed into my travel clothes, pulling on a burnt red tunic—the color Master had worn when he was younger. Then I strapped Solarbrand to my waist, adjusting the sheath until it felt like an extension of my body.

At last, I stepped back through the curtain.

“Alright, Luna. I’m ready now. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

“We stopped by the main Tellia estate in New Norra,” she said. “And we picked up Akiva. Elias’s father. He said he wanted to speak with you... to hear exactly what happened. Who attacked Elias.”

My heart tightened.

“All right,” I said, steadying my breath. “Let’s go.”

And with that, I stepped forward to meet the man who’d once raised a legend, and who might just help us stop another.

Part of me regretted taking my time waking up, especially if Master’s father had been waiting for us. But then I remembered that Akiva was the one who trained Elias. And if that was the case, he was likely just as disciplined. Just as devoted to routine. He would understand.

As Luna and I hurried toward the ship’s front, I glanced down through the vessel’s mostly transparent floor, peering past the gossamer silver webbing that held it all together. According to Sage, the sky titan that formed the ship’s remains had once been a being of near-invisible purity, formed of air itself.

Below us lay a breathtaking sight: a desert city sculpted from red clay and sunbaked stone. Despite the surrounding heat and arid land, a brilliant blue river surged through the heart of the settlement, giving rise to a flourishing forest in the middle of the wasteland.

A river winding through a desert, just like the memory from our very first prefecture bout. Back when everything had still felt so new.

“So we’re back in Keshari now, right?” I asked.

Luna nodded. “Yeah. You know, Sage was telling us the East Sea River eventually drains into the Lightning Straits. Hard to believe, isn’t it? That such a peaceful river ends in a storm like that?”

“Yeah,” I said, squinting down at the glittering waters. “I guess it’s kind of like the kirin village too. The forest there was completely normal, but you had to pass through a tempest just to get to it.”

“Marik says that kind of thing happens when the world’s been changed by powerful mystical creatures,” Luna said.

“That makes sense. Master Elias told me once that Empress Xiu is a river dragon arcanist—just like her father was. Since the river is so essential to Keshari, every ruler has to be bonded to a river dragon.”

And in that moment, I understood—maybe more clearly than ever—why so many people craved power. It wasn’t just about defeating evil or protecting the ones you loved. Power meant control. Over enemies, yes, but also over nature. Over fate. If you were strong enough, maybe the world itself bent to your will.

It wasn’t just villains like my father who wanted godhood. Even Dario, with all his compassion for mystical creatures, still longed for that kind of strength. And given the horrors we’d witnessed, I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t immune to that temptation either. If I had been more powerful... maybe I wouldn’t have felt so helpless.

By then, Luna and I had reached the front of the Westerlies.

Orwyn sat in her usual spot, gazing out of the panoramic window with a far-off look in her eyes. But her fingers gripped the edge of the ship so tightly that her knuckles shone stark white. Only that subtle strain betrayed the tension beneath her otherwise ethereal calm.

And then I noticed the man standing beside her.

At first, I had looked right past him. He was so still, so unassuming, that he seemed to disappear into the room. But the moment I truly saw him, it was like a weight dropped into my chest. The force of his presence was undeniable.

He was both unnoticeable and overwhelming, as if he chose when to be seen and when to be forgotten.

I blinked.

There it was, the same gravity that Master Elias carried. That quiet command.

“Um, excuse me, are you—?”

He turned to face me, his gaze sharp as a knife. His eyes seemed to read my soul in a single glance.

“You must be Amir,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate. “I’m Akiva. Elias’s father.”