Nestled in a hidden plain between two towering, jagged mountains, the tribe lay like a secret whispered by the wind. The land was remote and untouched, shielded from
the world by the steep cliffs and winding paths that led into the highlands. Snow had already begun to fall on this side of the range, dusting the rocky slopes and evergreen trees with a soft white coat. The chill in the air bit at the skin, but the silence was profound, only broken by the distant howl of the wind as it raced through the ravine like a restless spirit.
The mountain tribe's settlement was simple yet strong, tents made of thick hides,
circular huts of stone and wood, all anchored against the harsh winter. Smoke curled from central fire pits, and warriors wrapped in furs moved with purpose, their breath visible in the cold.
Craige rode at the front, astride one of the barbarian war-beasts, a hulking, thick-coated creature resembling a horse but wilder, broader, with horns curling back from
its brow. Its hooves crunched against the snowy ground, steady even on the uneven terrain. The beast snorted, steam pouring from its nostrils, and Craige leaned slightly forward, guiding it with confidence. Around him, the barbarian warriors rode their own mounts, their eyes sharp and faces stern.
He had entered their world now, where the air was thinner, the rules older, and the people as untamed as the mountains they called home.
They stopped in front of the largest stone house in the hidden village, its walls thick and weather-worn, standing proud like a fortress carved by time.
"This is my home," Mor'Vekar said warmly, offering a smile. "I will guide you to our oldest
elder. He is an omega, he knows the history, and he lived through it himself."
Before Craige could answer, Velzra stepped forward, her tone both concerned and
assertive. "Father, let me take the Duke to Elder Zoran. You shouldn't leave the tribe right now. My brothers are still in Seravelle. What if someone tries to attack while you're gone?"
Mor'Vekar hesitated, then nodded. "If that's okay with you, Duke Craige? Elder Zoran
lives deep in the mountains. It's quite a hike, and you may need to spend the night there, snowstorms often come without warning after sundown."
Craige looked up at the snowy peaks in the distance, then gave a slow nod. "That's
fine. I need to finish what I came here for, and settle our treaty."
"I'll prepare the documents while you're away," Mor'Vekar added, already turning
toward his home.
With that, Craige and Rolen followed Velzra. They mounted the large, horned beasts, creatures that looked like a mix between a horse and a mountain ram, and began the ascent into the rugged terrain.
The wind picked up as they climbed higher, brushing snowflakes through Craige's dark
hair. Beside him, Velzra kept glancing his way, his eyes sharp and curious.
"You know," he began, his voice softer than before, "most people don't last more than an
hour riding these beasts, but you handle it like you were born to." His smile curved with subtle admiration. "Is that a Seravellan trait… or just a Craige Evron thing?"
Craige gave him a sidelong look, unreadable. "I've dealt with worse," he said simply.
Velzra laughed lightly, pushing a strand of windblown hair from his face. "I like that. You're not like the others, too stiff or too proud. You're... dangerous in a way that's hard to look away from."
Rolen raised an eyebrow but kept silent, sensing the tension and choosing to let it
play out.
Craige didn't answer immediately, his eyes scanning the narrowing trail. "Danger has a
cost," he finally said. "Especially when it's mistaken for something else."
Velzra's gaze lingered on him longer this time, his expression unreadable. "Maybe… but sometimes, that danger is worth the risk."
"The snowstorm is coming early. We need to stop for now," Velzra said, guiding the
beast toward a rocky ledge where a stone house stood half-buried in frost.
"We can stay here for the night," he added, dismounting. The others followed suit,
their boots crunching on the hardened snow as they approached the house.
Inside, the air was still and cold. Velzra moved with ease, lighting a fire and preparing tea while the others settled on a rough wooden bench.
"You own this place?" Craige asked, noticing how familiar Velzra was with everything, the
way his hands knew exactly where to reach, how he moved without hesitation.
"Yes," Velzra said quietly. "It's my hideout. A place I come to when I need to escape…
the weight of my duty." He handed Craige a steaming cup. "Here. Drink this. It'll warm you up."
They drank in silence, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Velzra
stared into his cup, watching the steam rise and curl, while the others had already finished theirs.
"I'll show you to your rooms," he said at last, breaking the quiet. "There are three bedrooms in this house."
He led Rolen to a room on the first floor. "You can take this one," Velzra said with a nod.
Rolen nod and entered the room without a word.
Then Velzra turned to Craige and guided him up the creaking wooden stairs. He stopped in front of a door just across from his own.
"This will be your room, Duke Craige," he said, pushing the door open.
Craige glanced inside, then stepped in with a nod. "Alright."
Velzra lingered at the doorway, he smile sweetly
"Enjoy the night, Duke," he said, his voice soft, almost too soft, and laced with
something hidden.
Rolen felt his head grow heavy the moment he reached the bed. As soon as his body touched the mattress, he collapsed into unconsciousness.
Later that night, Velzra silently entered Rolen's room. Seeing him sleeping soundly, a faint smirk crossed his lips, he knew the medicine had worked. Without
hesitation, he bound Rolen's hands and feet to the bed and carefully poured another dose of poison between his lips, this one designed to keep him asleep for several days. Locking the door behind him, Velzra moved quietly toward Craige's chamber.
To his surprise, Craige was still awake, undressing for the night.
"What are you doing here?" Craige asked, startled but calm, his sharp gaze meeting
Velzra's.
"I just wanted to check on you," Velzra replied smoothly, masking his anxiety. He had made the potion extra strong, knowing how resilient the Duke was, why hadn't it
taken effect yet?
"I'm fine. You can leav—" Craige's words faltered as his limbs grew heavy. A sudden wave of dizziness overcame him, and he stumbled toward the bed.
"W-What…did you put in the tea?" he managed to say before collapsing onto the mattress, unconscious.
Velzra exhaled deeply, a mixture of relief and guilt twisting in his chest. He knew Craige would kill him if he ever found out—but this risk had to be taken. His father had no idea about his secret plans. This wasn't about politics or duty—this was personal.
He wanted to carry the child of the Duke of the North.
Velzra lay down beside the sleeping man, his heart racing. Though he had only met Craige
in person today, his scheme had been in motion long before. He had prepared
himself to walk away if the Duke didn't meet his expectations but the moment he
saw him in the flesh, it stirred something deep inside him.
"You're the perfect royal blood to father my child," he whispered, brushing his fingers
across Craige's bare chest, reverently tracing the lines of muscle and warmth.
Behind the bone mask at their earlier meeting, Velzra had admired him in silence, hiding a growing desire he could no longer suppress.
No one…not even his own father, knew this hidden side of him, or that he was secretly
practicing alchemy.
He retrieved a small vial of crimson potion, holding it delicately between his fingers. Placing it in his mouth, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Craige's, gently forcing the liquid between them. The Duke unknowingly drank it, his body completely still beneath him.
But Velzra didn't pull away.
He lingered, kissing him deeper, savoring the taste of his lips, the sweetness mingled with bitterness, both of the poison and of the betrayal. His hands trembled slightly as they brushed through Craige's hair.
"I'm sorry," he whispered against his mouth. "But this is the only way I can have you… even if it's just for a moment."
---
Luren jolted awake in the middle of the night, his heart pounding. A nightmare had shaken him, perhaps triggered by the last letter Keith sent.
It had been three days since Craige was left with the Barbarian tribe, and still, not a single letter had arrived.
Tuk tuk tuk.
A soft tapping sound drew his attention. He turned toward the window and saw the
silhouette of a large bird against the moonlit glass. Luren's breath caught in his throat.
"Habek!" he gasped, hurrying to the door. His heart leapt, tomorrow would be the sixth day. Maybe… maybe Craige had returned just as he promised.
But when he flung the door open, there was no one.
No torchlight. No movement. Only the cold night wind brushing against his skin and
the gentle rustle of leaves. Habek didn't come in, he just circled above the window like a restless spirit.
A chill ran down Luren's spine.
Something had happened.
He could feel it in his bones, in the unease that hadn't left him since Keith's letter arrived. Without a second thought, he changed clothes and dashed down the
corridor toward Roan and Clara's room.
Roan swung the door open the moment Luren arrived, already alert.
"What's wrong?" he asked, eyes scanning the hallway for danger.
"Habek's back, but Craige isn't with him!" Luren said, panic rising in his voice.
"Luren?" Clara's soft voice came from behind Roan. She had just woken, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, her face full of concern.
They all walked outside and saw Habek still roaming in circles.
"It looks like Habek wants us to follow him," Clara said. "He knows you as the Duke's
lover."
Luren couldn't tell if she was teasing or not, but she was right, Habek clearly wanted him to go to Craige.
But how?
"I need to go to the Barbarian tribe and check if Craige is okay… but how?" he muttered, feeling hopeless.
Suddenly, Roan whistled. The sound cut through the air, and both Luren and Clara turned to look at him.
"You called, General?"
A woman with braided hair, tanned skin, and a tattoo on her left arm appeared seemingly
out of nowhere.
"Get the Cryaroc ready," Roan commanded.
Mara hesitated. "But the Duke is away. We can only use it if he gives the order."
"Tell the others that the Duchess commands it, we need to go to the Duke. He's in danger," Roan said firmly. "Mobilize the army. We march toward the barbarian tribe."
"Master Luren, what is happening?" Butler Serio asked, clearly alarmed, having been
roused by the sudden commotion.
"We're leaving immediately for the barbarian lands. Tell Axel to finish the project while I'm away." Luren's voice was brisk, urgency etched in every word. He turned and hurried to his room, quickly changing into thick winter clothes suited for harsh travel.
"I leave the manor in your hands," Luren said as he passed Serio again. The butler gave
a stiff nod, still bewildered by the sudden turn of events but too loyal to question it further.
They rode swiftly on horseback through a narrow, snow-covered trail toward Roan's
military camp, hidden high in the mountain and cloaked in pine and frost.
When they arrived, Clara and Luren both gasped in disbelief. Before them stood a colossal bird, easily twice the size of a horse, with vast, snow-dappled wings and
bright, intelligent eyes. Strapped to its back was a large, reinforced basket-like carriage made of leather and wood, swaying slightly in the wind like a floating balloon tethered to the earth. It hovered above the ground as
if waiting for them.
"This… is how we'll fly?" Clara whispered, her breath fogging in the cold air, equal
parts fear and awe in her voice.
"Yes," Roan answered. "She's trained to ride the mountain winds. Hold tight. It feels like
flying inside a drifting cloud."
Roan turned to a woman in military armor beside him. "Mara, take half the army and head directly to the barbarian tribe. Use the snowy terrain, go fast and quiet. I want you there before nightfall."
"Yes, General," Mara replied, saluting crisply. She mounted her war sled, a fierce chariot of iron and leather pulled by massive, snow-coated wolves bred for strength and speed. With a command whistle, her division charged into the snow-covered forest, the sleds gliding effortlessly over ice as if flying just above the ground.
Luren,Clara, and Roan, along with half of his army, soared into the sky atop the Cryaroc, following habek, ten colossal birds slicing through the clouds with powerful wingbeats.
Far below, Venn peered through the dual-lens scope, his breath catching at the sight. He shook his head with a smirk, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
"Roan has finally showcased his army," he murmured, a mix of pride and disbelief in his
voice.
Ione chuckled, tapping the ash off her cigar.
"The boy and the Duchess must be getting along just fine," he said with a crooked grin.
"The barbarians are in for a surprise," Borg added with a grunt. "Even His Grace won't see this coming."
They moved like shadows, hidden in the outskirts, silently guarding the manor as their
eyes swept across the surrounding land-ever watchful, ever waiting.
Venn exhaled slowly, still watching the Cryaroc vanish into the distance.
"I already sent word to Keith," he said with a short laugh. "He's probably choking on his
tea right about now."