Justus strolled casually along the snow-dusted dirt path, hands folded lazily behind his head as he hummed a mindless tune to himself.
Daemon Ironside followed a few paces behind, his rifle held loosely across his shoulder, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding ridge line.
“You know we’re being followed, right?” Daemon asked quietly.
Justus didn’t bother turning his head.
“Yeah.”
Daemon stopped dead in his tracks.
“You knew?”
“Since yesterday actually.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“You looked busy.”
“Busy doing what?!”
“Being paranoid,” Justus smirked.
Daemon stared at the back of his head, his eye twitching.
“You are completely unbelievable.
So what’s the grand strategy?”
Justus rested his palm casually against Gryphon’s crossguard, a sudden flash of pure mischief lighting up his crimson eyes.
“We run.”
“Run?” Daemon frowned.
“Justus, we can take whoever—”
Before Daemon could finish, Justus sprinted full-speed off the trail and vaulted over a fallen pine log.
“Hey!
Wait up, you idiot!” Daemon yelled, frantically grabbing his rifle as he took off after him.
They kicked up a storm of loose snow and leaves, ducking under branches like madmen.
Justus was practically howling with laughter, dodging through the thick trees while Daemon stumbled over buried roots, cursing loudly with every step.
Within thirty seconds of complete, chaotic sprinting, the two vanished entirely into the thick forest mist, leaving zero trace behind.
A hundred meters back, perched precariously on a pine branch, a Guardian scout wearing a dark woolen cloak lowered his spyglass.
He stared at the empty trail in utter, stunned silence.
“Captain Voss.”
A calm, deep voice echoed back through the device: “Report.”
Rian swallowed hard, rubbing his temple.
“I lost them, Captain.
It…
well, they just started sprinting like lunatic deer and vanished into the woods.”
There was a long, heavy pause on the other end.
“Do not pursue,” Voss ordered, his tone flat.
“If they spotted a scout of your caliber, pushing further will only force a confrontation.
Pull back.
We will have to devise new tactics.”
“Understood, Captain,” Rian sighed, deactivating the stone and slipping away into the frost.
By noon, the mountain path opened up into a small, bustling trading post.
Several merchant caravans were gathered around a stone fountain, resting their horses and trading supplies.
Justus walked up to a fruit stall, pointing at a ripe red mountain apple.
“How much for that?”
The merchant, an elderly man with a weathered face, looked up from his ledger.
“Five copper coins.”
Justus tossed three coins onto the wooden counter and snatched two apples with a sly grin.
“Three.”
“Hey—!” the old man shouted, but Justus was already strolling away, tossing one of the apples over his shoulder to Daemon, who caught it effortlessly.
“You’re going to get us banned from every trading post in the North,” Daemon deadpanned, taking a bite.
“It’s called negotiating,” Justus laughed around a mouthful of apple.
“Come on, let’s keep moving before your paranoia catches up to us again.”
They melted smoothly into the crowd, disappearing up the winding road toward the northern peaks.
Hundreds of miles away, deep inside the iron-fortified war room of the Guardian Garrison, a suffocating tension hung in the air.
Five Captains sat around a massive round wooden table, illuminated only by the faint amber glow of lanterns.
At the center lay a drawn portrait showing a rough sketch of Justus—his crimson eyes and black-hilted blade unmistakable—alongside a file on Daemon Ironside.
Captain Caelum Voss stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Is this report confirmed?” asked Captain Kaelen, a scarred veteran sitting to Voss’s left. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
He stared at the picture of Justus with visible unease.
“The boy traveling with Daemon Ironside…
he’s really Dragon’s son?”
“The intelligence from the southern border is undeniable,” Voss replied grimly.
“His name is Justus Xavier Tempest.”
A heavy silence descended upon the room.
The mere mention of Dragon made the air grow noticeably colder.
“This complicates everything,” another Captain muttered, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his forehead.
“Daemon Ironside walking away from Ragnar’s service was already a headache, but if Daemon is guarding Dragon’s boy…”
“Daemon isn’t guarding him—he’s following him,” Voss corrected flatly.
“It doesn’t matter who is following whom!” Kaelen snapped, leaning forward.
“If Dragon Tempest has a son walking these roads, we are playing with active explosives.
What are our orders?
Do we deploy the elite vanguard to bring the boy in?”
“Are you out of your mind?!” a female Captain slammed her hand onto the table, her eyes wide with genuinely terrified anger.
“You want to send a strike team to draw blood against Dragon’s own flesh and blood?!
If that man decides to step out of the shadows because we scratched his kid, he won’t just destroy this garrison—he will erase the entire Northern sector from the map!
Dragon is a force of nature!”
“She’s right,” Voss said, his authoritative voice cutting through the rising panic.
“We do not draw blood.
Under no circumstances do we provoke or injure that boy.
If we anger Dragon, there won’t be a single Guardian left alive to regret it.”
Voss leaned over the table, his gaze locking onto the rough sketch of the youth with the crimson eyes.
“We observe from a distance,” Voss commanded firmly.
“Handle any encounter with extreme caution, and pray the boy gives us no reason to cross him.”
That ending though…
What do you think is going to happen next?
Let me know in the comments, and stay tuned for the next chapter!