In a chamber dimly lit by fading candlelight, the young man sat alone on his bed. The flame sputtered, casting restless shadows that writhed across the cold stone walls like silent, watching phantoms. A stack of reports and sealed letters lay beside him—messages filled with names, alliances, betrayals. His hands trembled slightly as he unfurled one scroll, eyes scanning its familiar contents, but his mind was elsewhere.
He exhaled, as if trying to push away the weight suffocating his chest. But the pressure did not ease. With a frustrated flick, Jack cast the scroll aside. The stack of papers toppled against the table, landing in disorder — like the world itself.
He leaned back, collapsing onto the bed. The ceiling offered no comfort. Only the silent pull of sleep remained, creeping toward him like a predator.
Suddenly, the world fractured.
He stood beneath a pale, unnatural morning sun. The air was still, heavy, unnervingly quiet. In the distance, a garden bloomed in unnatural precision — rows upon rows of snow-white flowers, opening one after another, as though summoned.
Drawn forward, Jack extended his hand and touched a single petal.
The instant his skin made contact, the flower bled. The red stain spread from petal to petal, consuming them in a slow, deliberate wave until the entire garden was soaked in crimson. The sweet scent of flowers twisted into the bitter iron tang of blood.
As the corruption spread, his legs grew heavier, locked by an invisible weight. He looked down to find blood-soaked hands emerging from the earth, grasping his ankles, pulling, as though the dead themselves sought to drag him beneath.
Then came the sound — faint, metallic — a small silver sphere rolling from the shadows. It stopped at his feet, splitting open like a hollow egg.
From within, a familiar face emerged — pale, expressionless, with vacant, empty eye sockets.
A voice escaped his throat in a fragile whisper."M… Mother…"
His knees buckled. He fell back, frantically crawling away, but the world shifted again.
Now before him lay a vast lake, once pristine — now blackened and thick with blood. At its center stood a grand manor engulfed in flames — a memory of home, now lost. Its proud walls collapsed one by one as the inferno consumed it.
The surface of the lake rippled, and bodies slowly rose, floating face-up in a grotesque, endless procession. Familiar faces—friends, servants, even kin—stared back at him with lifeless eyes.
And atop a growing mountain of corpses stood another figure, half-buried but unmistakable — silver-haired, crimson-eyed, mirroring his own reflection. The eyes glowed faintly beneath the blood.
Jack jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, breath ragged and uneven. The reports and scrolls lay scattered around him like fallen soldiers on a battlefield. The candle still burned, its flame reduced to a single struggling ember.
His crimson eyes remained fixed on the dark ceiling above, but his mind lingered elsewhere.
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The morning sun rose, its first rays slipping gently through the window, casting faint golden streaks across the room. Jack sat on the edge of his bed, his crimson eyes dull with exhaustion. A long yawn escaped his lips — he hadn't slept a wink. Not after that abominable nightmare.
To keep his mind from sinking further into the haunting images, he had buried himself in a novel throughout the night. Now, with the morning light pouring in, fatigue finally began to catch up with him.
"Maybe I should catch up on some sleep now…" he muttered under his breath.
But just as he slumped back onto the bed, a knock echoed from the door. Jack sighed and pushed himself up once more, dragging his tired feet toward it.
As the door creaked open, Garren stood on the other side, holding a folded paper in one hand. His eyes briefly scanned Jack's disheveled appearance, one eyebrow arching with mild amusement.
"So," Garren said, smirking slightly, "did you forget how to sleep again?"
Jack rolled his eyes at Garren's remark.
"What have you come for? Just out with it," he said, waving his hand dismissively as if shooing away a fly. He slowly began to close the door.
Before the door could shut, Garren slid the folded paper into Jack's hand."It came from the Duke," Garren said, turning to leave. But as he walked away, his voice carried back in a mockingly cheerful tone, "Have a good night under this beautiful sunlight, Your Grace. Must be nice to sleep whenever and wherever you want… like a sloth."
Jack shut the door with a sharp thump.
With a tired sigh, he unfolded the paper, revealing the familiar crimson crest of the Ignis family stamped at the top — the Duke's seal. The message inside was brief but carried the weight of something far larger.
It was a summons.
He was being called back to Pyraethis — the heart of the Duchy. And he wouldn't be going alone. The Princess was ordered to accompany him to the capital as well.
The letter mentioned that the royal investigation team had completed their assignment. But more importantly, a royal delegation had entered Pyraethis — headed by none other than Minister William, the same man who had once come bearing the marriage proposal.
No reason for their arrival was written. The letter was silent on that part.
But Jack had his suspicions. And none of them were good.
Folding the letter back, Jack slumped onto his bed once more. This time, no one came knocking to disturb him.
He slept until noon. Though he was summoned to Pyraethis, the journey itself would take weeks by horse-drawn carriage — and with the Princess accompanying him, her security measures would stretch that timeline even further. Preparations for the long trip were already in full swing. Servants bustled through the manor, hurrying to gather supplies, arrange guards, and finalize the caravan. By tomorrow morning, everything would be ready.
Until then, Jack had time. Plenty of it. And nothing in particular to fill it with.
With a sigh, he left his room and made his way toward the training chamber.
"Might as well put some work into refining the fireball," he thought.
The training chamber had been specially reinforced to endure his explosive spells — a necessary renovation after one of his earlier mishaps had nearly demolished an entire wing. Standing in the center of the room, Jack got to work. Flames gathered at his fingertips, swirling into dense spheres of fire. He hurled them one after another at the rows of training dummies, occasionally shifting his focus to form fire lances that pierced through targets with searing precision.
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In the quiet of her chambers, Seraphine sat by the window . The soft rustle of curtains was the only sound until a gentle knock came at the door.
"Enter," Seraphine said, her voice calm.
The door opened and Tracy stepped inside, a folded letter in her hand. She closed the door behind her, her face composed but carrying the weight of the message she bore.
"A letter, Your Highness. It came from the Duke's estate," Tracy said, offering the paper.
Seraphine took it without haste, unfolding the letter with deliberate grace. Her crimson eyes scanned the few lines written upon the parchment — brief, but heavy in meaning.
"The summons has arrived," she murmured, her voice calm, almost distant. "The investigation team has completed their task."
Tracy nodded slightly. "There is also news, Your Highness. A royal delegation has arrived at Pyraethis. It is headed by Minister William himself."
Seraphine let out a faint, humorless smile. "Of course it is. The very same man who once came bearing a marriage proposal now arrives with a different agenda."
"Your Highness," Tracy spoke hesitantly, "the journey to Pyraethis will be long. With the investigation closed, do you believe it's safe for you to travel now?"
"For now," Seraphine answered, her gaze drifting back to the window.
"—everything is unfolding as it should. This is but another step."
The morning sun had barely risen when the courtyard of Greenriver Manor buzzed with activity. Servants rushed back and forth, loading crates and supplies onto the waiting carriages. Horses neighed, their breath visible in the crisp morning air, while knights in polished armor stood in neat formation, ready for the long journey ahead.
Jack stood near his carriage, adjusting the cuffs of his traveling cloak. His expression was calm, but his eyes held the weight of what lay ahead. The letter from the Duke still echoed in his mind — a silent reminder that what awaited them in Pyraethis was more than a simple summons.
A few paces away, Seraphine approached with Tracy by her side. Her attire was elegant yet practical, a royal cloak draped over her shoulders, embroidered with the faint insignia of the royal family.
Their eyes met briefly.
"Looks like everything's ready," Jack said, his voice light but edged with quiet seriousness.
Seraphine nodded. "Time waits for no one, Your Grace. The longer we linger, the more eyes turn toward us."
Tracy stood silently behind her, scanning the knights and guards around them — their personal escort, handpicked from both the Red Blades and the manor's elite guards. Among them, Garren barked last-minute orders, ensuring every detail was accounted for.
Jack glanced toward the road that stretched far into the horizon, disappearing into the forested hills that marked the beginning of their route. It would take them weeks to reach Pyraethis, passing through villages, fortresses, and border watchpoints.
"Let's hope the weather stays kind," Jack muttered. "We'll need all the luck we can get."
Seraphine allowed a faint smile. "Luck?" she repeated softly. "Luck plays little part in matters like this. Only preparation... and timing."
Jack offered a half-smirk in return. "Then let's see whose preparation is better."
At Garren's signal, the convoy began to move. The creak of wheels and clatter of hooves filled the air as the long procession of carriages, knights, and supply wagons began their slow journey toward Pyraethis — and toward the storm that awaited them at the heart of the kingdom.