Siarcanis bowed with solemn grace, his cloak cascading behind him like a wave of midnight silk. Arrayed behind him stood his commanding knights, hunters, huntresses, and archers—each bearing the weight and pride of victory—as they received the honors long owed to them. The hunt for the serpents had finally come to its end. As the third week since Fhena's return to Soleis Castle, Siarcanis ensured the last of the beasts were vanquished, eager to return to Solistia with no more delays. To say he missed his daughter would be a pitiful understatement. In truth, he ached to hold her again, to dote upon her with the affection he had long been forced to withhold.
King Tessus, sovereign of Sidria, rewarded Hammendir's forces with a generous tribute—gold and silver flowed in abundance, livestock was gifted in herds, and gleaming medals were bestowed in full ceremony. To Siarcanis himself, the king offered a rare honor: the coastal lands of Gwark, a seaside province beneath Sidrian rule, gifted as both estate and sanctuary. A place to rest and retreat.
Their parting was one of peace, bound by camaraderie and sealed with a firmer alliance than before.
Now, aboard a high-flying Sky Ship carving through the blush-toned clouds of a descending sun, Siarcanis stood upon the open deck. The wind whispered through his cloak, the sky ahead painted in hues of flame and gold. He had not announced their return—not to the people, not to the court of Hammendir—only the Margraves and Marquesses stationed along the borders were informed. The Grand Duke wished for quiet, not pageantry. Above all else, he yearned to see Fhena.
Clutched in his gloved hand was a letter, carried by a white fairy tern whose feathers shimmered like frost and moonlight. The seal was unmistakable—the personal blue dragon crest of Emperor Velrin Velmorian. Within, the contents were clear: summons to the Imperial Capital, to appear in two days' time regarding the formal case of abuse against Lady Ossaria. Witnesses had been secured, and the Imperial Court had approved proceedings for a trial by order.
"Wallace," Siarcanis called.
There was no sound of footsteps, no rustle of cloth—only the faint shift in the air. Wallace Oumer moved with the quiet precision of a shadow, unseen by most, but never unnoticed by Siarcanis.
"Sire?" came the soft response from behind.
"Any movement from Oswinch?"
"None, Your Grace," Wallace replied smoothly. "The Ironclad Knights have the entire territory on lockdown. Vigilant Knights stand guard around the D'Vorelle estate. Additionally, we've dispatched Spooks to monitor the shadow paths—nothing escapes their eyes."
He paused for a moment, letting the weight of the information settle.
"As of now, no one from House D'Vorelle has entered or exited."
"And Ossaria?" Siarcanis asked, his voice low, his teeth clenched with restrained fury.
"Still under strict surveillance. She remains confined at Velmorian Keep."
Siarcanis exhaled heavily, a long breath that carried both tension and restraint.
"We'll be landing in Hammendir shortly after midnight. Make sure it's done in silence—I don't want the people disturbed. Take the recovering knights straight to the infirmary at the Knights' Castle. The severely wounded must be brought to Haleward. Summon the Healing Mages there without delay."
Wallace inclined his head, listening intently.
"We'll hold a three-day festival beginning two days from now to celebrate the successful conclusion of the Sidria Mission. Announce it tomorrow. Grant the knights a week's leave to return to their families. The wounded and recovering shall be given three full weeks to rest and regain their strength."
"Understood, Your Grace," Wallace said, bowing once more.
"And… inform the household," Siarcanis added, his tone quieting, "that in two days' time, I shall depart for the capital. The Emperor has summoned me regarding the case."
Wallace's expression didn't waver, though his eyes briefly flickered with understanding.
"I shall see to the preparations immediately."
"Thank you," Siarcanis murmured, his gaze drifting toward the fading horizon—where the lights of Hammendir awaited his return, and a promise of reckoning glimmered on the edge of dawn.
TWO HOURS LATER
The Sky Ship touched down upon the Hammendir Skyport—a secluded landing platform carved into the western cliffs of the highlands—just past midnight. Silent and smooth, the vessel's descent stirred only the wind. Awaiting below, the knights of Hammendir disembarked with practiced ease, mounting their horses and boarding carriages that waited along the ridge.
From there, they took to Knights' Road, a forested, winding trail known only to the elite warriors of the duchy. Hidden beneath the canopy of highland trees, this path was strictly reserved for the knights and paladins sworn to Hammendir's cause, diverging entirely from the road commonly used by citizens traveling to the Skyport.
The Knights' Castle stood like a silent sentinel behind Soleis Castle, a sprawling bastion where Hammendir's warriors were trained, housed, and educated under the guidance of seasoned Paladin Knights. As the convoy rode through the night-shrouded woods, not a whisper of their return reached the sleeping town capital.
Siarcanis and Wallace were greeted at the castle gates by Walsh Oumer and Matron Superior Eula, both awaiting their arrival with quiet dignity. The air was cool, and the torches flickered gently in the night breeze.
"They're asleep, Your Grace," Matron Eula informed him softly, anticipating his first question. "Both children have long since retired to their chambers."
Siarcanis gave a small nod, then lifted a brow. "And the cub?"
He had been informed by Walsh, through letter a week prior, that Rheomund and Fhena had somehow adopted a lion cub found wandering the gardens—and insisted on keeping it as a pet.
"The young miss refused to part with him," Matron Eula said with a knowing smile. "So we arranged for a small enclosure in her room. The cub sleeps near her bed, quite contentedly, I might add."
Siarcanis let out a sigh, but the exhale quickly turned to a chuckle, low and warm. The thought of his daughter curled beside a golden cub brought a rare softness to his expression.
"Siar," the Matron said gently, using the familial nickname only few dared use. "Rest for now. The children will be overjoyed—and quite surprised—to see you come morning."
He met her eyes, tired yet filled with anticipation, and gave a solemn nod.
"Very well," he murmured. "Until morning, then."
The Next Morning
In the golden hush of morning, Siarcanis waited in the Grand Dining Hall, sunlight pouring through the tall windows and bathing the long table in warmth. Before him sat two finely wrapped boxes—simple yet elegant gifts prepared for his children. He had arrived unannounced in the night, and by now, Matron Superior Eula would have informed them of his return.
He allowed himself a rare breath of anticipation, fingertips drumming lightly on the polished table—until the heavy doors burst open with a resounding thud.
A blur of golden fur streaked across the floor, followed by the unmistakable voice of his daughter.
"Papa!"
Siarcanis barely had time to react before Fhena dashed into the hall, her arms flung wide, the lion cub bounding happily beside her. Behind them, Rheomund trailed in with a look that could only be described as long-suffering.
Siarcanis rose at once and caught Fhena in his arms, sweeping her into a gentle spin that made her giggle with delight.
"You're back! You're back!" she squealed, clinging tightly to his neck.
He chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek before setting her gently down. Turning to Rheomund, he opened his arms for a second round—only to be halted mid-step.
"Father," Rheomund said firmly, holding up a hand with great dignity. "I must decline. I refuse to be carried… any longer."
Siarcanis blinked in surprise, then broke into a grin. "You've let me before. And the last time was barely a year ago, when I returned unexpectedly from the Southern front."
At this, Rheomund's eyes widened in mortification. "F-Father!" he hissed, glancing quickly at Fhena, who was now eyeing him with wide-eyed curiosity.
Siarcanis laughed, watching his son's ears go pink.
"Let's… Let's just have the morning meal!" Rheomund muttered, hastily taking his seat in a noble huff, cheeks flushed.
At that, Siarcanis gave in and took his place at the head of the table, still grinning. Maelith, Fhena's handmaiden, and Walsh, Rheomund's composed aide, had already withdrawn, granting the family a rare moment of privacy.
Siarcanis turned his gaze to the lion cub nestled beside Fhena's chair. The moment their eyes met, Sager stiffened. The Grand Duke's presence was no ordinary one—there was a depth in his gaze, a silent pressure in the air, like the weight of a mountain bearing down without ever moving. Siarcanis stepped forward and crouched, lifting the cub gently with both hands as if he were lifting a small child.
"What's his name?" he asked, voice calm but edged with authority.
"S-Sager, Papa," Fhena answered softly.
Sager resisted the urge to squirm, caught between instinctive dread and the warmth of being held. He remembered—each head of House Solléonis bore a strange and unmistakable gravity. It wasn't just their bloodline—it was something deeper, older, woven into the marrow of their being. And yet, despite that heavy aura, Siarcanis held him with surprising gentleness.
The Grand Duke narrowed his eyes.
"You," he said with deliberate calm, "must never harm nor betray a blood of this house. Do you understand?"
His words struck like steel cloaked in velvet.
Fhena and Rheomund exchanged confused glances, watching the exchange unfold as if their father had suddenly begun interrogating a house cat.
Sager blinked, heart racing—and then let out a soft, involuntary purr, followed by a short, sheepish huff. Whether it was fear, submission, or accidental agreement, it was enough.
Siarcanis chuckled, a deep and genuine sound that shook the last tension from the room. With a final pat, he set Sager down onto the floor, his tail flickering in little joy.
Returning to his seat, he reached behind and placed two modestly decorated boxes on the table before his children.
"Here," he said, smiling warmly, "gifts for each of you. But don't open them just yet. For now… share a meal with your father."
At once, Fhena's face lit up, and even Rheomund allowed himself a rare, relaxed grin.
The announcement of a grand three-day festival swept swiftly through Hammendir and its four great towns. Banners were raised, shops prepared displays, and laughter began to bubble in the streets as excitement rippled through the duchy like a song on the wind. On the final two days of celebration, neighboring states and allied territories would be welcomed through Hammendir's gates, personally invited by Grand Duke Siarcanis himself to share in the triumph of the Sidria mission.
While the city stirred with anticipation, Fhena and Sager had quietly withdrawn to the solitude of her chambers—though not to rest. For the past week, they had been secretly planning. Now that Sager had returned, it was finally time to seek out the Mage of the Hammendir Magic Chamber—the one whom Aefhen had spoken of.
The third gem's sealed power had already been returned and reawakened within Fhena, restored gradually over the course of her three-week recovery. Only two more remained lost. To find them, she knew she would eventually need to leave the castle grounds. But while the guards within Soleis Castle gave her some freedom, the world beyond was another matter entirely. Hammendir's outer security—though discreet—was dense and unyielding. The Vigilant Knights patrolling the perimeters might as well have been ancient temple wardens, and slipping past them unnoticed was no small feat.
Geography, too, had become a challenge.
Through her studies with Rheomund, Fhena had come to understand that Solistia's lands were not what they once were. In the four centuries since her past life, entire regions had shifted. Noble houses fled, great cities vanished, and natural calamities reshaped the continent. Lakes had dried into meadows, forests had given way to stone cities, and even the capital itself—once Solenne—had all but transformed under Velmorian reign. The maps she studied no longer aligned with the memories buried in her soul. Although only few places remained the same, which brought her some relief.
Without updated knowledge, she would surely lose her way.
Rheomund—despite his growing fondness for her—would never approve of her venturing out alone. And her father? Siarcanis would seal the very skies shut if he thought she might be in danger. As for Sager, though his spirit form once allowed him to move unseen, his current physical state was entirely tangible. He could no longer vanish into thin air—and a golden lion cub was hardly inconspicuous.
True, her magic still extended to Sager, but it was incomplete. With only half her strength restored, she dared not push her power too far, lest she risk unintended consequences for Sager.
If she was to begin her search—truly begin it—she needed guidance. She needed someone And with the three-day festival beginning in just two days, Fhena knew it was the perfect opportunity to set her plan into motion.
She padded over to her bed, carrying a cloth of parchment and a sliver of sculpted charcoal—shaved thin and delicate, unlike the thicker sticks that left her hand sore from extended writing. Settling onto the covers, she flicked her fingers through the air. A hardbound book shimmered into existence and dropped onto the mattress with a gentle thump. Sager leapt up beside her, curling across her lap like a golden cloud of warmth.
"Checking it again, Master?" the lion cub asked through their mind-link, blinking slowly.
"Yes," Fhena murmured, her eyes scanning the pages. "If I am to fulfill Aefhen's mission, I'll need to be prepared. Every step counts."
She paused, tracing a line of script with her finger. "First, we find the Mage. Aefhen mentioned him, so I assume it's a man."
The next two days passed in gentle harmony. Siarcanis, Rheomund, and Fhena spent them in each other's company—laughing over outdoor meals, playing by the fountains, and sharing quiet conversations beneath the rose-lit balconies of Soleis Castle. It was a fleeting calm before the storm of duty resumed; Siarcanis would soon depart for the imperial capital. Until then, he cherished every moment with his children.
On the eve of the festival, Fhena visited her father's chambers. Maelith escorted her there and waited dutifully outside as the door opened.
Within the candlelit room, Fhena climbed up onto the plush bed where Siarcanis sat reclined against the headboard. He welcomed her with a warm smile and brushed a hand over her cheek, his touch feather-light.
"Is something troubling you, sweetling?" he asked gently.
Fhena hesitated only briefly. "Tomorrow, since you've granted Rheomund and me permission to attend the festival… would it be alright if Sager came with us as well?"
Siarcanis leaned back, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "I see no reason to forbid it," he began, "however—" He paused, and Fhena's eager expression began to wilt. "You must place a leash on him."
"A leash?" she echoed, visibly dismayed.
"The townsfolk of Hammendir are gentle, yes—but not all are accustomed to the presence of a lion, no matter how tame he may seem. We in House Solléonis may see Sager as a companion, perhaps even as Aefhen's symbol made flesh, but others will only see claws, teeth, and a threat."
Fhena's lips pressed into a thin line.
"A leash," Siarcanis continued with a kind smile, "is not a punishment. It's reassurance—for them. A gesture of safety. It allows you to protect both Sager and the people you'll meet."
Fhena gave a determined little nod. "I understand, Papa."
"Good girl." Siarcanis chuckled softly, then rose and stretched out a hand. "Come now, I'll walk you back to your room."
Fhena scrambled forward and threw her arms around him with a bright laugh. "Alright, Papa."
Siarcanis rose from the bed and quietly stepped out of the room. In the hallway, he turned to Maelith, who stood waiting with gentle vigilance.
"Return to your chambers and rest. I'll see the young lady to bed myself," he instructed softly.
Maelith bowed respectfully, her hand over her heart, and silently retreated to her quarters.
Inside Fhena's thoughts, a warm haze lingered as she nestled sleepily against her father's shoulder. In her past life, she had known so little of fatherly love—until Mazu. And even then, Mazu's affection had been more like the steady warmth of a fire behind a wall: present, protective, but rarely expressed. He praised her with a firm hand on the shoulder, rewarded her with nods, and showed worry through the simple bump of his forehead against hers.
Siarcanis, however, was a storm of warmth in comparison. His embrace held no hesitation. His hands were gentle, his voice dipped in sweetness. It was a kind of love she hadn't experienced before—at least not from a father. Yet neither kind of affection diminished the other. Mazu's stern love had been irreplaceable. She loved him deeply, even if she had never known her real father in that past life.
Now, having been gifted a second chance, she had found another father—and her heart had room for both.
A sleepy giggle escaped her lips at the thought. Would it be too greedy… to hope I find a mother too, this time around?
Siarcanis laid her down on the soft velvet sheets and gently kissed her forehead. Her breathing soon evened into slumber. Beside the bed, the tented pen rustled softly as Sager poked his head out, blinking lazily. Siarcanis crouched and brushed a hand over the cub's head. Sager purred in contentment before curling back into the warmth of his little den.
At the door, Siarcanis paused and turned one last time, gazing at the girl curled beneath the covers.
"Sweet dreams, my sweetling," he whispered, and with a quiet smile, he slipped out of the room.
The Next Day
After bidding farewell to Siarcanis, Fhena and Rheomund stood side by side at the great castle gates, watching their father's carriage roll away into the morning mist. Inside it rode Siarcanis, flanked by Wallace and an elite retinue of Paladin and Vanguard Knights, bound for the Imperial Capital to meet the Emperor and attend to the legal proceedings concerning Lady Ossaria.
Once their father was out of sight, a second carriage arrived, this one intended for the young heirs. Fhena, Rheomund, Sager, and Maelith would be heading to Hammendir's town capital to enjoy the first day of the festival. Much to his dismay, Sager had been fitted with a sleek leash that wrapped around his chest. He had protested—fiercely—but soon came to tolerate it, finding the fit oddly comfortable, though still indignifying for a lion.
Accompanying them were four Warden Knights, assigned for protection—two for each child. All were dressed in plain townsfolk garb to blend discreetly with the crowd. To passersby, they appeared to be nothing more than a lively family of seven, with a particularly large and well-behaved feline in tow.
The moment they stepped into the capital, Fhena's eyes widened in wonder. Bright pennants zigzagged across streets from lamppost to rooftop, fluttering like birds in the wind. Music filled the air—flutes, fiddles, and tambourines played by street performers on every corner. The cobblestones were painted in vibrant hues, while murals adorned walls with scenes of myth and history. Children ran through the squares laughing, and every shop had goods spilled cheerfully onto the streets in a rainbow of colors, smells, and textures.
"It's so beautiful!" Fhena gasped, her voice full of awe.
Together with Maelith and the disguised Warden Knights, she and Rheomund ventured from one stall to the next, sampling pastries, sweets, and savory dishes. They tried their hands at small festival games, winning tiny prizes that filled Fhena's satchel by midday. She peeked into armories and marveled at polished swords. Rheomund, in his usual fashion, gravitated toward bookshops and small museums—even those he had visited countless times before—but now with his sister by his side.
Surprisingly, Sager attracted little attention. To most townsfolk, he seemed no more than an unusually tame exotic pet. Children and gentle-hearted adults patted him on the head or scratched his ears, and he walked among them with quiet delight. For the first time, he saw humans not as loud or cruel—but warm, smiling, and kind.
When the afternoon sun tilted westward, Rheomund proposed a break for a proper meal. He suggested a quiet eatery nestled between the old walls of the town square—one their father had often mentioned. Siarcanis used to dine there with their mother before they were wed.
It was the perfect opening. Fhena had rehearsed her plan for days, and now every moment was falling into place.
After the meal, Sager would bolt. Fhena would cry out in alarm, claiming the leash had slipped from her hands. She'd beg the knights, Maelith, and even Rheomund to scatter and search for him. With all eyes and effort focused on finding the "missing" cub, Fhena would ask to be taken back to the carriage under the care of one remaining Warden Knight.
Then came the second part of the plan: inside the carriage, Fhena would conjure a shadow double—an illusion to sit quietly and avoid suspicion. While the knight remained unaware, she would slip unseen out the opposite side of the carriage, where Sager would be waiting.
She had timed everything precisely. One hour. That was all she needed. And with a bit of childlike charm, sleight of hand, and a dash of magic, Fhena was confident they could pull it off.
An hour and a half after their late noon meal time, Fhena and Sager stood quietly before the grand iron doors of Hammendir Magic Chamber.
The plan had begun.