“Story… read me a story~” the little girl’s soft voice chimed, as she held out a book.

  Mother’s smile was as warm as a hearth. She sat on the bed, the little girl and boy curling up close beside her.

  “Once upon a time… the prince met a Clawvern.”

  “It was a mystic creature, part dragon, with wings like a bird’s. Though it could not truly fly, its wings gave it a lift, helping it soar to astonishing heights. It was gentle and kind to children, and its cry rang out as sweetly as a song.”

  “Whenever it bows, and its bow is returned… then the claim is truly sealed.”

  “The Clawvern will pledge itself to no one else, until it… or the claimant draws their final breath.”

  The little girl yawned, and the book slowly closed on her lap.

  “Goodnight, Iris… Amiri.”

  “I love you, my dear.”

  Mother hugged them, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads, before slowly rising from the bed.

  The door was left ajar… just enough for the candlelight to spill into the night.

  A piercing roar split the air, alternating with the clanging of metal chains!

  A monstrous creature thrashed in fury, its legs bound tightly by chains.

  The young man stepped forward slowly, his hand trembling on the sword held behind him.

  Fangs filled its mouth, and long, razor-sharp claws gleamed.

  Its tall frame matched Amiri’s height, black scales running along its body to its dark blue wings.

  Its piercing blue eyes stared at him unblinking.

  Blood seeped from a leg caught in a tearing trap.

  Amiri swallowed hard, drawing his sword from its sheath.

  The black figure lunged forward, as if intent on tearing him apart.

  Its claws came within inches… and his heart nearly stopped.

  The young man hesitated… before slowly dropping his sword to the ground.

  It gradually calmed, though its fangs remained bared.

  Amiri stepped closer, one careful step at a time…

  Father’s voice echoed in his mind,

  “Don’t try to match steel with your arms. Use a rod or a dagger. Press the spring down fully, and the jaws will slowly open.”

  Amiri grabbed the dagger Uncle Taylor had given him, slipping it between the trap and the metal frame, then pressing down with his weight.

  CRACK… CRACK…!

  The steel was so strong it barely budged. Clawvern shrieked, Amiri’s ears ringing, its eyes flickering with pain.

  Gritting his teeth, Amiri pressed harder… until the jaws slowly began to loosen.

  The creature pulled its leg free. Blood poured, but it was not severed.

  The moment it was free, the shadow of indigo wings recoiled, its blue eyes fixed on the young man.

  Amiri grabbed the vial of Mother’s potion, pouring it over the wound before tightly wrapping it with linen.

  It hesitated… just as it was about to leave.

  Clawvern stepped forward slowly.

  Its sleek body, like a gust of wind, bowed its wings and lowered its frame.

  A shiver ran through the young man’s body.

  Sunlight filtered through the forest, stirring the new leaves. His hair fluttered in the breeze, and the faint scent of dew drifted through the air.

  All he could hear was the murmur of the stream and the rapid beating of his heart.

  Amiri leaned forward slowly, with a graceful composure.

  The young man crossed the white stone bridge, with Clawvern trailing silently behind. Sunlight danced on the water, glittering like crystal, while small fish darted about as if playing hide and seek. People hurried past, their pace so different from the quiet rhythm of the village where he had grown up.

  Amiri had visited this city once as a child, but now it had grown far beyond recognition.

  The soft rhythm of footsteps mingled with the creak of wagon wheels as a coach rolled down the gray stone street.

  A large bird with dark brown, downy feathers was hauling a cart of goods toward the city gates.

  Once, Father had brought Amiri and Iris here in a coach, for she had been far too small to walk such long roads.

  Father had told them that the birds were called Thalon, strong and swift creatures that could not fly, yet could carry one anywhere.

  “Lunacia sat upon a high plateau, cool and damp, moss clinging to its surfaces all year round.”

  Just as Father had said, Amiri felt the chill brushing against his face, mingled with the scent of moisture and dust. Moss climbed along the edges of walls and the grooves of stone, while bright-green vines twisted over the archways.

  Houses and buildings lined the streets, dark and light shades blending together, old and new merging seamlessly.

  The murmur of people swelled like waves through the narrow alleys, harmonizing with the gusting wind.

  Amiri arrived at a vast pool, almost the size of a small lake, in front of the Whitecastel — a refined, pale-white hotel that curved gracefully along the water’s edge.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  An octagonal building stood nearby, surrounded by lush gardens, with marble walkways gleaming underfoot. A dark wooden sign was carved with the words that read

  “Department of Mounts and Mystic Creatures.”

  Amiri caught sight of a young woman in uniform leading a Thalon past.

  She glanced up at him and offered a polite smile.

  “Welcome, sir.” A sudden male voice came from behind, and Amiri paused.

  “My name’s Charles. I’ll take care of it from here,” the attendant said, reaching for the reins.

  Clawvern bared its fangs, and Charles recoiled at once.

  “Easy, Dusk,” Amiri murmured, running a calming hand along the creature’s head before fitting the bridle in place.

  He then handed the reins back to Charles.

  “Please tend to Dusk’s wounds for me,” he said.

  Charles gave a respectful bow and led the creature away.

  Amiri stepped through the revolving door, gazing up in awe at the ceiling of glass flowers, while people lined up at the front desk, dragging their luggage behind them.

  He came upon the hotel’s grand conservatory, ever-changing with the seasons. The glass ceiling arched over everything like a living sky, bathing colorful flowers, waterfalls, statues, and paintings in natural light, each telling its story like a fairy tale.

  Amid it all, the laughter of small children rang out as they played tirelessly, and every step Amiri took felt like a walk through a dream.

  The scent of flowers drifted through the air, while well-dressed guests sipped wine to the sound of grand piano and violin, beneath chandeliers that seemed to blend day and night together.

  Amiri walked past the tables for Rumble, Blackvault, and Rabbithunt.

  A young woman in an elegant gown glided among the guests, serving drinks with a sparkling smile.

  He arrived at Gistol Hall, grand and opulent, with private rooms reserved for the highest-stakes games. Rows of gaming tables stretched before him, the scent of carpet dust rising to his nose, and the soft clatter of chips marking a quiet rhythm.

  Amiri approached the cage to exchange his chips.

  “Hello, sir, you look a bit too young to—”

  The chip clattered against the marble counter!

  The young man in a blue shirt froze at the sight of the glossy black chip.

  He leaned over to whisper something to another staff member, then returned.

  “Right this way, Mr. River.”

  The man led Amiri into a back office.

  He slid a metal card in front of the innermost door.

  Click… the mechanism shifted slowly, and the door eased open.

  Inside was a small reading room, silent and orderly. Chairs and lamps were arranged with precision, and bookshelves lined every wall.

  The scent of old paper mingled with the damp air.

  “My name is Nolan. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  He introduced himself while shifting the purple and orange books on the shelf.

  Suddenly, the bookshelf slowly parted, revealing a gryphon statue looming over a hoard, bathed in the glow of a lamp.

  Behind the statue’s shadow, a dark stone staircase descended… leading to a path of no return.

  “Welcome to Newmarket,” Nolan said, a cold smile on his lips.

  Amiri’s heart pounded wildly in his chest.

  The young man descended the spiral staircase, surrounded by the flickering glow of lanterns and the echoing murmur of flowing water.

  He entered the grand hall, its muted walls heavy with dampness and shadow, like an underground cavern. The fireplace crackled softly, casting warmth over wooden tables and long upholstered benches. The cold stone floor was partially covered with dark rugs, completing the elegant yet somber atmosphere.

  Amiri looked up, seeing the carved round window casting light down.

  He approached the teal door, but on closer inspection, it was a tall, patterned glass window.

  Before him, sunlight glimmered beneath the water, as if he were slowly sinking.

  “Who are you?” a familiar voice called from behind.

  Amiri spun around.

  “Uncle Will?”

  Uncle Will led Amiri through a dark gray arched doorway. Natural light streamed through the windows, revealing motes of dust floating in the air. The scent of ink and aged wood lingered throughout the hall.

  Soft rustling of paper accompanied the movements of the people inside. An antique clock stood against the wall, and on the arranged desks, documents, oil lamps, and quills dipped in ink waited for someone to use them.

  The walls were covered with maps of Myriel and neighboring kingdoms. Red ink drawn in circular patterns, floor plans and portraits were pinned so densely that little space remained.

  In the center of the hall stood the grandest chessboard Amiri had ever seen. Castles, cities, and resources were arranged with meticulous realism. The pieces trembled slightly, as if awaiting orders, light and shadow danced across the dark wood, bringing everything to life.

  “Ariawood has already been erased from the map.”

  The red-orange-haired woman reached out, moving a piece lightly, as if it were nothing more than a meaningless dot.

  “Where will they go next?” she asked in a flat voice.

  Amiri met her gaze, piercing and unwavering.

  Uncle Will led him into a room cluttered with stacks of disordered papers.

  A pale wooden desk stood prominently in the center, its grooves and scratches speaking of years of use.

  Click! The lantern light revealed the weight of worry etched across Uncle Will’s face.

  “Your father… probably wants you to wait here,” he murmured.

  “Has he sent any message?” Amiri asked, anxious.

  Uncle Will narrowed his eyes, then slowly shook his head.

  “I’ll go after them right now!” the young man said through gritted teeth.

  “They’re hunting you,” a curt voice interjected.

  A suffocating silence pressed down on the room, making it hard to breathe.

  “Stay here until El sends word.”

  Two metal cards, one white and one black, were placed on the table and slid toward Amiri.

  “This hotel is safe enough… but you’ll need to change rooms every week. Nolan will take care of that.”

  “My mother is dead — you want me to wait?!” Amiri snapped.

  “And what about you, Uncle? You did nothing — you let Erik die like that!”

  “SHUT UP!” Uncle Will grabbed Amiri by the collar, his eyes bloodshot.

  “I sent word as fast as I could, but I couldn’t help anyone!” His voice trembled with fury.

  “You’re all I have left — you want me to send you to your death too?!”

  Amiri held Uncle Will’s gaze, unblinking.

  Uncle Will drew a deep, ragged breath, then slowly released his grip.

  Amiri placed the glossy black chip on the table.

  The flickering lamplight caught the engraved letters.

  “Whose signature is this?” he asked.

  Uncle Will picked up the chip and froze for a moment.

  He spoke slowly, his voice heavy with gravity,

  “Sir Arthur… Ashbourne.”

  The clash of steel rang out!

  Amiri attacked relentlessly, like a storm, yet every strike was parried.

  The man swung his sword just once in return.

  The impact sent Amiri staggering back.

  “Not bad, kid,” he sneered.

  “So young, and yet able to wield a sword with both hands.”

  “But that… isn’t enough to save yourself.”

  Amiri’s eyes trembled… at the sight before him.

  The man’s form began to swell grotesquely, muscles bulging with every line visible. His face twisted into a fiend, eyes ablaze. His massive horns arched forward, dark wings piercing the air from his back. Black lava seeped through his skin, razor-sharp claws tore through flesh, and the scorching heat forced Amiri to raise his arm to shield his face. Even a single breath set the ground ablaze, as if inferno was calling.

  Amiri arose, gripping his sword as if his life depended on it.

  Faded crimson scarves tumbled to the floor in scattered lines.

  The emerald-blue stream instantly turned crimson.

  Ash-gray feathers drifted through the air… before igniting into sparks of black flame.