The Red Fang moved silently across the northern sea, her hull cutting through waters that grew darker and heavier by the league.
The morning air carried a brutal, biting chill—a cold unlike anything Justus had felt since leaving the southern reach of Blackridge.
A thin crust of pale frost glinted along the ship’s wooden railing and coated the canvas rigging.
Justus stood at the bow, his hands shoved deep into his coat, blowing hot air onto his knuckles.
“How is it this cold already?”
Nearby, Daemon sat on a dry crate, methodically running an oiled cloth down the steel receiver of his rifle.
“Because we’re in the north.”
“I know that,” Justus grumbled, teeth chattering.
“Then why ask?”
Justus shot him a glare over his shoulder.
“I was hoping for a useful answer.
Maybe some geographical insight.”
Daemon didn’t look up from his barrel.
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
Footsteps crunched against the frosty deck planks as Lyra approached, a heavy leather map case tucked under her arm.
“According to the charts, we should reach the Frostmere passage before sunset.”
Justus turned, relieved for the distraction.
“You’re sure?”
Lyra offered a bright, confident smile.
“I’ve been reading nautical charts since I could walk.”
Daemon glanced up, giving a single, short nod.
“Good.”
Justus raised an eyebrow.
“That’s it?”
Daemon paused.
“What?”
“No sarcastic commentary?
No lecture on coastal currents?”
Daemon went back to his rifle.
“No.”
Justus put a hand over his chest, looking aggrieved.
“You’re getting boring, Daemon.”
“I’m getting tired of listening to you complain about the weather.”
Lyra chuckled, leaning against the rail.
“You two haven’t stopped going at each other since we raised anchor.”
“We haven’t been arguing,” Justus insisted.
“You definitely have,” Lyra countered.
Daemon raised a hand, pointing a stern finger at Justus.
“He started it.”
Justus immediately pointed back.
“He started it by existing!”
Lyra shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips.
“You’re both children.
Honestly.”
Daemon muttered under his breath, “I’m beginning to regret accepting this berth.”
Justus grinned, the cold forgotten for a brief second.
“Too late.
You’re stuck with us.”
Lyra suddenly leaned forward, shading her eyes against the pale morning glare.
“Look.
Land.”
Justus turned instantly.
A sharp, jagged line broke the gray horizon—towering, snow-draped mountain peaks rising above dense pine forests.
Nestled in the valley beneath them, sprawling along a natural fjord, stood a settlement fortified by massive walls of pale, frost-covered stone.
Justus smiled, his eyes lighting up.
“Frostmere.”
Daemon stood up, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.
“Let’s hope this port is quieter than the last one.”
Justus laughed aloud.
“You know as well as I do that’s never going to happen.”
By late afternoon, the Red Fang glided into Frostmere’s crowded, icy harbor.
The settlement looked nothing like the sprawling, dust-choked streets of Blackridge.
Snow covered the steep timber rooftops like thick blankets, and half-frozen streams cut through the stone avenues.
High, arched wooden bridges spanned the narrow canals, connecting bustling market districts to the docks.
Plumes of dark woodsmoke rose from hundreds of stone chimneys into the crisp air.
Merchants bundled in heavy furs pushed iron-wheeled carts through the slush, while hunters down from the high northern woods hauled fresh game toward the butchers.
Justus dropped onto the wooden dock, the cold air rushing into his lungs.
“Finally.
Solid ground.”
Daemon stepped down behind him, eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops out of pure instinct.
“Try not to draw attention to yourself.”
Justus looked back, offended.
“I don’t go looking for trouble.”
Daemon stared at him in unblinking silence.
Justus stared back, holding his ground.
Lyra brushed past them both, stepping lightly onto the pier.
“You absolutely attract trouble.
It’s practically your main talent.”
Justus pointed at her accusingly.
“You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“I’m on the side of basic observation,” she replied smoothly.
Daemon’s stoic expression cracked into a faint, satisfied smirk.
“At least she gets it.”
Justus let out a long sigh, tossing his hands in the air.
“Great.
Now you’re teaming up.”
They secured three small rooms at a weathered tavern near the inner harbor docks, where a thick fire roared in a stone hearth.
That evening, Lyra took over the tavern’s side kitchen, borrowing the landlord’s iron pots to prepare a hot, savory stew made from local root vegetables and smoked meats.
The rich, seasoned aroma quickly filled their private dining room.
Justus leaned over his bowl, staring at the thick broth in genuine disbelief.
“You actually made this?”
Lyra set down a tray of baked bread, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes.
“And nothing is burnt?”
Daemon looked up from his bowl, taking a quiet bite before glaring at Justus.
“Have you ever cooked a meal in your life?”
Justus hesitated.
“No, but I used to roast rabbits back in the days when I went hunting.”
“Then don’t insult the person keeping you fed.”
Justus picked up his spoon, abashed.
“Fair point.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a long while.
For the first time since fleeing the northern shipyards, there were no Guardian patrols outside the window, no alarms ringing, and no bounty hunters lurking in the shadows.
Just three companions sharing a warm fire and a hot meal.
Justus leaned back against the wooden bench, letting out a satisfied breath.
“This is nice.
We should do this more often.”
Daemon took a sip of hot tea.
“Don’t get fond of it.”
“Why not?”
“Because tranquility never lasts long around you.”
Justus smirked, resting his chin in his hand.
“Maybe trouble just finds me interesting.”
Lyra laughed, wiping down her hands with a towel.
“You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“It keeps life from getting dull,” Justus replied.
Daemon sighed softly, shaking his head.
“It’s going to get us killed.”
The next morning, Justus woke before dawn.
The air inside the room was freezing, the small window pane coated in intricate ice patterns.
He pulled on his heavy coat, grabbed Gryphon, and slipped outside into the snow-covered courtyard behind the tavern.
The town was dead quiet, wrapped in twilight fog.
Justus drew Gryphon.
The unique purple-hued blade caught the dim morning light, glinting sharp and cold.
He ran his thumb carefully along the flat of the steel.
“You’ve been changing, haven’t you?” he murmured.
The sword remained silent, but he could feel a faint, rhythmic pulse deep within the hilt—like a heartbeat echoing his own.
Justus took a breath, settling his stance in the deep snow.
He closed his eyes, drawing upon the internal well of his Spiritual Energy.
At first, it flowed normally, warm and familiar through his core.
Then, he tried to tap into that elusive, blinding Light he had summoned during the fight at the shipyard.
A faint white aura flickered around his right wrist.
“Come on…” he gritted out, concentrating harder.
He tried to force the Light violently down into the steel, shoving it into Gryphon through sheer will.
The purple blade vibrated violently.
The air around him hissed as the thermal shock hit the snow.
FLASH!
A volatile burst of raw kinetic energy detonated off the guard.
Justus was thrown off his feet, skidding backward ten yards through a bank of deep snow before slamming hard into a timber fence.
“Ow…” he groaned, spitting out a mouthful of powder.
Gryphon lay buried in the snow several feet away, steam rising from its pommel.
Justus sat up, rubbing his sore shoulder, staring at the weapon.
“…Okay.
Forcing it doesn’t work.”
“Clearly,” a deep voice called out.
Justus turned.
Daemon was leaning casually against the back doorframe, his arms crossed, a heavy wool cloak draped over his shoulders.
“How long have you been standing there?” Justus asked, brushing snow off his trousers.
“Long enough to watch you blow yourself up.”
Justus stood up, retrieving Gryphon from the snowbank.
“I was experimenting.”
“I can see that.”
Justus wiped the frost off Gryphon’s edge.
“I almost had it that time.”
Daemon walked out into the courtyard, his boots crunching against the hard crust.
He looked down at the sword.
“You’re trying to hammer the energy into the steel like a blacksmith.
You’re treating the blade like an object outside of yourself.”
Justus frowned.
“It is an object.”
“It shouldn’t be,” Daemon said flatly.
“Not if you want to wield power at that level.”
“And how am I supposed to change that?”
Daemon stared off toward the snow-capped peaks in the distance.
“Figure it out.”
Justus groaned.
“That is utterly useless advice, Daemon.”
“It’s the exact advice Ragnar gave me when I couldn’t control my Iron Body,” Daemon replied, his voice dropping slightly at the name.
Justus went quiet.
He looked down at the purple steel in his hands, processing the thought.
An extension…
He closed his eyes again.
This time, he didn’t try to shove or force the energy down his arm.
He let his breath settle, calming his racing pulse until the cold air didn’t feel like an enemy anymore.
Slowly, he allowed his Spiritual Energy to bleed outward—not as a weapon, but as a river finding its natural path.
From his core, down through his shoulder, into his hand, and seamlessly into the hilt of Gryphon.
The purple steel didn’t shudder this time.
It hummed—a deep, resonant tone that vibrated softly through Justus’s bones.
A gentle, golden-purple glow began to trace the edges of the blade, shining smoothly without flaring out.
Justus opened his eyes, his breath catching in his chest.
“It worked…”
The glow intensified, turning stable and bright.
But as the energy deepened, the ground beneath Justus’s boots suddenly gave way with a sharp CRACK!
A web of small fissures opened in the frozen stone underneath the snow.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed instantly.
“Shut it down.
Now.”
He stared down at the fractured stone in shock.
“I didn’t even push it…”
“It’s getting heavier,” Daemon observed quietly, stepping closer to examine the cracks.
“Your core is adapting to the Light.”
Justus looked at his hand, a small, genuine smile breaking through his awe.
“I think I’m starting to understand it.”
Daemon gave him a long, serious look.
“Good.
Just make sure understanding doesn’t turn into arrogance.”
Far away thousands of miles in the distante sea.
The high chamber of the Guardian High Command was cold, carved out of grey granite that had stood for three centuries.
Rain lashed against the tall, narrow stained-glass windows, but the storm outside felt trivial compared to the suffocating pressure inside the room.
At the end of a long, black stone table sat the three supreme leaders of the Guardian Order—the Commanders.
They were powerhouses whose individual strength equaled whole armies.
Above them were only the Supreme Council, but here, on matters of military doctrine and threat response, their word was absolute law.
In the center sat Commander William, a grizzled veteran with silver hair trimmed close and eyes like hardened steel.
To his right sat Commander Sarah, a quiet woman in white and gold robes whose sharp blue eyes analyzed every detail on the parchment before her.
To his left sat Commander Drake, a hulking man in heavy shoulder plate, his thick arms crossed over his chest, radiating a dense, oppressive aura even while sitting idle.
Standing ten feet back from the table, standing at absolute attention with his head held high, was Captain Voss.
Despite being a feared regional Captain, Voss did not speak until spoken to.
In the presence of three Commanders, the chain of command was absolute, enforced by centuries of tradition and sheer power disparity.
A glowing projection, generated by a mana-crystal in the center of the table, replayed the scrying footage from the northern shipyards.
The image showed Justus standing at the bow of his newly constructed ship—The Red Fang—holding Gryphon.
In one sequence, a blinding, golden-white Light flared off his blade.
A moment later, a suffocating, ink-like Darkness bled out from his body, abruptly shutting down the spiritual energy of every soldier, caster, and artifact within fifty yards.
Commander Sarah tapped a slender, gloved finger against the granite.
“Playback pause,” Sarah commanded softly.
The projection froze on Justus’s face—his eyes burning with a deep crimson glow as the Darkness coiled around his arm.
“A lower-world boy,” Sarah said, her voice smooth, measured, and dangerously calm.
“Manifesting the pure Light of the Bright family line…
paired simultaneously with an energy that swallows spiritual cores whole.”
She looked up, her gaze shifting to Voss.
“Captain Voss.”
Voss immediately offered a crisp, military salute, his fist pressed over his heart.
“Commander.”
“You were the supervising officer on site after the dock incident,” Sarah continued.
“Give us your direct assessment.
Not the official harbor report—your direct assessment.”
“The boy’s control over the Light is crude and unrefined, Commander,” Voss reported concisely.
“However, the volume of raw spirit he possesses is absurd for his age.
As for the second affinity…
the nullification effect is absolute.
When the dark aura erupted, even Highly trained guardian knights spiritual cores were temporarily suppressed.
“Unheard of,” Commander Drake growled, his deep voice vibrating through the stone floor like low thunder.
“Light power is restricted to the noble bloodlines of the Bright family.
It does not simply spawn in a commoner from the lower reaches.
And a dual-affinity core that forces an entire field of warriors into ordinary humans?
That is not just rare, Voss.
That is an anomaly that breaks established spiritual laws.”
“There is no record of a dual-affinity core existing without destroying the host’s body within days,” Commander William finally spoke.
When William spoke, the room went dead silent.
His voice held a heavy, commanding weight that commanded instant, instinctual obedience.
William leaned forward, resting his elbows on the stone table, staring at the frozen image of Justus.
“If his core had collapsed, he would be a corpse at the bottom of the northern sea.
Yet he walked away, boarded his custom vessel, and sailed out into open waters.
Which means his body is adapting to both powers.”
“If the Supreme Council or the public hears of this, there will be widespread panic,” Sarah noted, adjusting her parchment.
“The Bright family will demand the boy be executed for wielding their bloodline’s light without sanction.
The Church will brand him an abomination for harboring the dark void.”
“We do not act on church hysteria,” Drake barked, slamming a heavy gauntlet against the armrest.
“We act on tactical threats.
The boy possesses dangerous martial potential, but we cannot throw a full fleet at him blindly.”
Drake looked toward William.
“We all know who his father is.”
A heavy, solemn silence settled over the chamber at the mention of the name.
“Dragon,” William murmured, his steel eyes narrowing slightly.
“Precisely,” Drake said, leaning back.
“Justus isn’t some stray orphan.
He is the son of Dragon.
If we mobilize an entire Strike Fleet and launch an all-out crusade against his boy, Dragon will view it as a direct act of war.
Do any of us sitting here want to pull the eastern legions out of their posts to fight Dragon’s main force over one teenager?”
“An all-out war with Dragon would shatter the eastern front,” Sarah agreed coldly.
“It is a tactical blunder we cannot afford.”
William raised his hand, silencing the table.
He looked down at Captain Voss.
“Captain Voss.”
“Sir!” Voss snapped to attention.
“This meeting, and everything discussed within these walls, is classified at the highest level of Council secrecy,” William ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority.
“Any soldier, scout, or officer who speaks of the boy’s dual affinity outside this chamber will be executed for high treason.
Is that understood?”
“Understood, Commander!” Voss replied without hesitation.
“As far as the public, the harbor guilds, and the lower ranks are concerned,” William continued, “Justus Tempest and Daemon are high-profile fugitives wanted for assaulting Guardian personnel and evading Council authority.
The ship he built—The Red Fang—is to be flagged as an unregistered hostile vessel.”
William turned his gaze to the Vice Captains standing along the perimeter of the room.
“Deploy three stealth-class reconnaissance sloops.
Do not engage.
Do not provoke a large-scale confrontation that would draw Dragon’s full attention.
Track the Red Fang’s movement across the northern sea passages and report directly to Captain Voss.”
William stood up, his massive shadow stretching across the black stone table.
“We need to know how far that boy’s Light can reach…
and what happens when his Darkness truly awakens.
Dismissed.”
Voss bowed deeply, saluting the three Commanders before turning on his heel and marching out of the granite chamber.
Behind him, the scrying projection flickered and died, leaving the three supreme commanders staring into the dimming light of the storm.