The night air outside the Valenhold estate was crisp, with a faint chill carried by the highland wind. Even beneath the black-painted stone arches and the pristine white banners fluttering above, there was a distinct energy in the streets. Lanterns lined the winding paths of the noble sector, casting a soft amber glow over finely paved roads. But beyond the estate walls, the city was alive in a different way.
Fortis and Ervian walked side by side through the moonlit streets, the stone beneath their boots still faintly warm from the day's sun. Fortis's eyes flickered from the polished lamp posts to the scattered glowing stones embedded in the roads—each pulsing faintly with residual sunlight stored throughout the day.
"Brother," Fortis asked quietly, his tone thoughtful, "do you think monsters can be controlled?"
Ervian frowned, folding his arms behind his back. "No. At least… not naturally. There's never been a case like that."
Fortis didn't respond immediately. He looked ahead as if following a trail no one else could see.
"Still," he murmured, "there's nothing wrong with being cautious. And lately… I don't know. There's this feeling. A gut instinct, maybe."
Ervian's brows furrowed. "Why do you think they're being controlled?"
"I don't know." Fortis's voice lowered. "But something about this feels like it's not chaos. It's designed. Intentional."
They turned a corner, and the city unfolded before them.
The lower district of Valenhold, known as Elmveil Quarter, was vibrant under the twin glows of Elaris and scattered moonlight. Towering structures with carved whitewood balconies leaned protectively over narrow walkways. Vendors sold hot bread, crystal-sugar fruit, and steaming bowls of spiced broth from carts powered by tiny mana furnaces. Children darted between tables, laughter ringing out beneath cloth banners strung between houses.
But what stood out most to Fortis were the luminous stones. Embedded into walls, perched on ornate poles, or set within floating glass orbs—these stones cast steady, clean light.
"I like this territory," Fortis said finally, gazing at the people bustling along. "I've never seen another noble family provide this much for the people. Even one of those light stones could feed a commoner's family for a month."
Ervian nodded. "They're made from lunar quartz. Expensive in most regions. Probably cost a gold coin apiece here. Maybe less."
Fortis smiled faintly. "Good purchase. They absorb sunlight and shine at night. A cycle with no end. Infinite power."
The streets were clean. Stone channels ran along the gutters to carry waste away. Public fountains gurgled with filtered water. Shops were small but vibrant, each decorated with ivy, murals, or wind-chimes.
Valenhold's people were alert but calm. Women wore modest robes dyed in tea-blend colors. Men dressed in long jackets with brass clasps. Soldiers patrolled in pairs, cloaks bearing the Valenhold sigil—a crowned hawk perched atop a tower.
"People seem more active at night here," Fortis said, observing a bustling open plaza lit with silver-lantern trees.
"Elaris is dominant here," Ervian replied. "The Xein moon barely touches this territory. So the madness, the lunar fog… doesn't affect them."
They passed a bakery, the scent of sugar and firewood drawing Fortis's eye.
"Let's try one of those," he said, pointing to honey-dipped rice cakes shaped like moons.
Ervian chuckled. "You look like a child now."
"I am a child," Fortis said, reaching for one. "Even if I act tough. Everyone in this world is. We age, we change… but instinct never leaves."
Just as he bit into the warm pastry—
"Behind you."
The voice struck like a dagger through his mind.
Pain.
A flash of sharp pressure stabbed behind Fortis's right eye. He turned swiftly, one hand already at his side.
Across the street, under a flickering streetlamp, four thugs surrounded two children.
A boy—perhaps eight years old—stood protectively in front of a tiny girl, barely a toddler. He was shielding her with his thin body, arms wrapped tightly around her as the adults towered above them.
The boy's dark red hair was matted and unkempt, standing up in spiked tufts. His clothes were no more than rags, torn and layered with dirt. The girl clung to him silently, her orangish hair tangled over her wide, tear-filled eyes.
Fortis took a step forward.
"Ervian," he said calmly, "I don't like their arms."
In a heartbeat, a blur passed through the street.
Four sharp thuds hit the ground—clean, wet sounds.
The thugs staggered.
And then the screams came.
Their arms had fallen to the ground.
Blood sprayed like dark red mist, and the cobbled stones were suddenly stained.
None of them even saw it happen.
Ervian stood motionless beside them, sword still sheathed.
People screamed. Crowds gathered. Lanterns flickered as silence returned.
The baby girl in the boy's arms began to cry, her small fists pounding softly against her brother's chest.
"She's scared," Fortis murmured. "Ervian."
Without a word, Ervian threw the four howling men into the air and caught them in one wide, gloved hand. He turned.
"I'll deliver them to the patrol. I'll be back shortly, brother."
Fortis gave no reply.
He stepped forward, slow and composed.
The boy didn't flinch.
He stood now, even with his tiny sister cradled in one arm. There were bruises on his ribs. A welt under one eye. But his expression wasn't broken. It was empty. Hardened. Too old for his years.
Fortis knelt, bending his knees until his eyes were level with the boy's.
"Will you become my hand," he asked softly, "as I took the hands of those who hurt you?"
The boy looked at him, then slowly placed the baby on the ground, still holding her hand. His clothes fluttered faintly in the breeze. Dust rose as he straightened.
He stared into Fortis's eyes. Deep. Measuring. Searching.
"If I become your hand," the boy said slowly, "will you protect my sister?"
Fortis didn't hesitate.
"No."