The orange sun sat low on the horizon, beams of warm light casting its last embrace on the land as night approached. Within the capital, groups of men and women who had been celebrating Queen Milina’s coronation started to go home, their tired yet hopeful faces a contrast to the last couple of months. Outwardly, everyone was confident that the new Queen would solve all their problems, but buried deep within their hearts, most of them only wanted her to help their doctrine, ignoring the plight of the other side. The years of religious conflict were not something that could be fixed by crowning a new Queen.

  Miles Nazau jumped off his horse, shaking his legs to get the blood flowing again. The ride hadn’t been that long, but he was still tired from standing all day. After the coronation, Cripton had insisted on visiting a newly opened pub in the city.

  Staring up at the three golden rings of Maliri, Miles grinned. It was reported that Ashely Maliri had bought this building, turning the once rundown blight in the capital into a luxurious pub fit for royalty.

  “I can't wait!” he heard Cripton exclaim as his elder brother threw his arm over Ryker’s shoulder, a twinkle of joy in his eyes. “I heard that they have a wild berry wine that is out of this world!” he boomed, laughing loudly as he dragged the protesting Ryker into the building. Out of all the Nazau children, Cripton was a devotee of wine, his appreciation for the craft well known. If Miles had to guess, Cripton would still love wine even if it didn't get him drunk.

  Making sure that their horses were handed to the stable boys who had run out to greet them, Miles followed his brothers inside.

  The newly opened pub reflected the grandeur and wealth of Maliri, its polished Rosewood walls decorated with paintings of famous battles and breathtaking landscapes. Chandeliers made from lightstones hung from the ceiling, their brilliant light shining down on the patrons below. In the corner of the room, a string quartet played a lively tune, allowing for dancing and singing.

  Stepping inside, Miles took in the vibrant interior, nodding in admiration at the bright and friendly atmosphere. “This place is much better than I expected,” he said, raising his voice to make sure that Ronan could hear him over the lively hubbub of the crowd.

  “From what I can tell, Ashely Maliri is just as competent as her father when it comes to making money,” Ronan shouted over the loud singing that had erupted from the center of the room. “I heard she recently got married. Around a month or two ago.”

  “Just as competent as her father?” Miles echoed in surprise, his brows lifting. The Merchant King was not someone to be taken lightly; his skill and instincts were legendary. If what his brother said was true, Vanura might be on the verge of producing another legendary merchant.

  “A private table for us brothers!” he heard Cripton yell before he could say anything else.

  “Yes, my Lord. Right this way!”

  A skinny server rushed over, his head bowing deeply as he used his arm to point in the direction they were going. “The private tables are on the second floor.”

  Following the bowing server, Miles and his brothers climbed a set of steps to a grand table made from walnut wood that overlooked the first floor. From here, they would be able to see everything that was happening below.

  Pulling out a chair and sitting down with an exaggerated sigh, Miles craned his neck to look down at the first floor. Watching the dancers step in tune with the music, he couldn’t help but grin. He had always enjoyed observing people having fun, their enthusiasm easily infecting him, making him feel happy. For people like him who wanted to see what was happening in the pub without being directly involved, this was the ideal location.

  Sitting down across the table from him, Cripton turned to the bowing server.

  “Bring out two of your most famous bottles, the ones that were just introduced to the capital. And something to eat on the side.”

  “Yes, my Lord. Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now, but we will be ordering more once we finish the bottles.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  As the server left, Cripton placed his hands on the table, leaning on them as he paused for dramatic effect. “I heard that the berries used in the new wine are only found in the mountains of Arioria,” he excitedly reminded them for the hundredth time, his childlike elation causing Miles to grin from ear to ear. “We are in for a treat, my brothers!”

  Laughing at Cripton’s anticipation, Ronan leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth turned up. “I must admit when it comes to wine, you know more about it than I do,” he said.

  “The Scholar of the North admitting that he knows less than I do?” Cripton grinned, causing Ryker and Miles to join in on the conversation, their wide smiles reflecting their joy.

  In no time at all, the server returned holding two bottles of chilled wine. Opening the bottles, he passed the corks around for inspection.

  “Are the bottles satisfactory?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Excellent!”

  Produced four crystalline cups from seemingly nowhere, the server placed them on the table and poured the wine into them. As the red liquid crashed into the crystalline cups, the aroma of berries, with a hint of oak, spread out, reaching everyone’s noses.

  “Please, enjoy, My Lords.”

  Lifting their glasses, the Nazau brothers brought their cups together, Ronan toasting loudly. “Let us forget all the troubles of our Kingdom for now and drink! Let us enjoy this moment!”

  Cheering along, Miles took a sip of the wine, his eyes widening. Just as Cripton had promised, the berry wine was better than anything they had in the north. Sweet hints of wild berries added a pleasant aftertaste. Smacking his lips, he felt better than he had in a long time, the atmosphere causing him to forget his troubles.

  “Wow, this is good! I'm glad you know your wines!” he said, raising his glass to his brother.

  “Hear! Hear!” Ryker proclaimed, slapping the hard wooden table in agreement.

  “Drink more! Drink more!” Cripton cried, draining his glass.

  In between cups of wine, Miles scanned the other patrons of the pub who shared the second floor, trying to figure out where they had come from. Near them sat a table of merchants. A pretty woman sitting with them caught his eye. Noticing the exotic dress she was wearing, he blushed slightly.

  Something about the way she dressed reminded him of stories he had heard about the dancers from the West. In every tale, they were depicted as beautiful performers who could bewitch young men with a single glance.

  Quickly turning his head to make sure he wasn’t caught staring, he settled on the group of people on the far side of the merchants. Frowning, he tilted his head. He recognized them but couldn’t remember where.

  “Ronan, who are those people sitting over there? I think I saw them at the coronation,” he said, pointing with his chin.

  “Humm? That’s Kornel Bovera, the first son of Lord Bisconti Bovera. The one who just left the table is his uncle, Tulka Bovera—they call him Soul Light. The one sitting with his back to us is Shyldis Galra, the first son of Lord Essen Galra, and the loud drunk one is his brother, Bricks Galra.”

  Noticing the hostile tone his brother used when talking about the Galra brothers, Miles turned to his brothers, a questioning look on his face.

  “The rumors surrounding Bricks are nasty,” Ronan finally explained, filling his wine cup and taking a long drink—his face was red from the wine.

  “What are the sons of those two Great Houses doing together?” Miles asked, following his brother's example and taking a long drink of his wine.

  “I heard Kornel got married to Lord Galra’s daughter, Lancia,” Ryker replied, his unusual knowledge of gossip once again coming in handy. “They are probably getting to know each other.”

  Shaking his head, Miles finished his drink, groaning slightly as some of the wine dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt.

  Brushing at the stain with his hands, he sighed, then turned to more important matters: when was the food getting here? Should he get another drink in the meantime? Drumming his fingers on the table, he glanced at the ceiling, trying to decide.

  “Let go of me! Don’t touch me!” A sharp cry broke Miles’ idle thought, the shout coming from the direction he had just been looking at.

  Whipping his head around, he watched as Bricks grabbed the hand of the pretty merchant woman who had been sitting with her group, pulling her close to him.

  “Please, Sir, please let my daughter go!” an older merchant frantically stood up from the group, rushing to his daughter, his face white from fear and concern.

  “Do you know who I am?” Bricks yelled, spit flying everywhere, his voice amplified by his drunken sense of invincibility. “I am the son of Lord Essen Galra! I am not someone a mere merchant is permitted to touch!” Kicking the merchant to the ground, he towered over him, the screaming daughter still clutched in his arm. “Do you know the difference between nobility and peasants?” he demanded. “Your daughter should be honored to be chosen by me!”

  Feeling the blood rush from his face, Miles sat there paralyzed, his hand gripping his wine glass, panic overwhelming his mind. Screaming internally at the situation, he sat there wishing someone would step in.

  “Enough!”

  Hearing Ronan shout beside him, he snapped out of his trance.

  His brother violently stood up, his chair clattering to the floor.

  “How dare someone from a Great House display such antics! You sully all our names!”

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  Striding over, Ronan stood in front of Bricks, his face twisted in rage. “Apologize to this merchant and his daughter. Then I want you to leave this place,” he demanded, hands clenched into tight fists.

  “Are you ordering me?” Bricks looked taken aback, a dumb expression crossing his face, before a wicked smile replaced it. “If you beg for their forgiveness, I might let them go,” he said at last, shoving the merchant's daughter to the ground.

  “Bricks, that's enough!” his brother, Shyldis, said quietly, setting his cup down and glancing over at him.

  “I don't think so,” Bricks whispered, a mocking tone entering his voice.

  Miles watched in horror as Bricks pulled his sword out, the light from the candles reflecting off its mirror-like blade. Almost as if it were a bad dream, Bricks plunged his sword deep into Ronan, the tip of his sword exiting Ronan’s back, the mirror-like blade painted with blood.

  If Ronan were an Arcane Warrior, the thrust would have been simple to dodge—almost effortless—but he was born without a Crest. The slow thrust was still too fast for him.

  There was a split second of silence before the pub erupted in noise, the shocked screams and angry bellows drowning out the merriment that had just been present.

  The sight of Ronan falling to the floor, gasping in shock, caused Cripton and Ryker to bellow in rage, both pulling their sword out and charging at Bricks. Miles heard his own voice screaming out of his control.

  “Ronan!”

  Before he knew it, he was on the floor, his dying brother's head in his lap, blood covering his hands.

  “Bricks, what have you done!” Kornel yelled, meeting Ryker’s sword with his own, the two fighting wildly, a whirlwind of sparks and Arcane light.

  Standing there in confusion, Bricks was looking down at the blood that covered his sword, a stupefied expression on his face. “Why didn't he block?” he lamely stammered, looking around at the chaos he had caused.

  Cripton and Shyldis exchanged blows, Aether billowing off them—the Tiger of Nazau fighting the Peacock of Galra—both trying to end the fight as quickly as possible. As the power of the two battling Arcane Lords tore through tables and shattered tableware, the merchants fled, their terrified bodies pressed against the walls, desperate not to get caught within the devastating display of strength.

  Miles knew his brother had only recently stepped into the realm of Arcane Lord, and by judging how Shyldis fought, he instinctively realized Shyldis had just entered that realm as well. The fight was evenly matched; neither could overpower the other to gain an advantage.

  “How dare you attack our family! Father will make sure your House is razed to the ground!” Ryker shouted, swinging his sword at Kornel. The colliding blades rang out in a disjointed song of battle.

  “Please stop! This is just a misunderstanding. An accident. We can talk it out!” Kornel cried, deflecting Ryker’s swing and stepping into a defensive stance.

  “Accident! Our brother is dying!” roared Ryker, his eyes red from bloodlust and rage, spit flying from his mouth.

  “STOP!! WHAT IS GOING ON!”

  A shout filled the pub. Lord Tulka Bovera had returned, his gray eyes eerily taking in the situation. “Kornel, explain!” he shouted, stepping in between the two sides, his hands outstretched.

  “Uncle, this fool stabbed Lord Nazau’s son,” Kornel spat, anger causing his voice to growl.

  “He what?!”

  Disbelief filled Tulka’s voice as his eyes narrowed, settling on Miles cradling his brother’s head. With eyes befitting his nickname, Soul Light, he turned to Bricks, his gaze boring into the stammering man.

  “What have you done?”

  “Why didn't he dodge? He’s from one of the Great Houses,” Bricks sputtered, still looking down at his red sword, face pale from what he had done.

  “Lord Tulka, we demand the head of Bricks.” Cripton had paused his fierce battle with Shyldis, both Arcane Lords backing off from each other, their swords still pointed at each other.

  “Unacceptable!” spat Shyldis. “Bricks, what are you doing? Hold your sword up! We are in this situation because of you!”

  Seeing Bricks finally raise his sword from his brother’s command, Cripton turned to Lord Tulka.

  “Lord Tulka, you are fully aware that even if House Bovera and Galra form an alliance, you will not be able to stand against the might of Nazau. Do not overestimate your power! Help us capture the son of Lord Galra. As the first-born son of House Nazau, I give you my word that we will not destroy your House over this incident!”

  Lord Tulka Bovera stood in the center of the room, all eyes on him. Miles knew that Cripton was right; the current state of House Bovera and Galra couldn’t stand against the might of Nazau. As the only Great House competing with House Leora for the title of the strongest Great House, Nazau couldn’t be crossed. Determination filled Lord Tulka’s face as he looked at the three remaining sons of Lord Falkan Nazau.

  “Kornel, Bricks! Block the entrance to the pub. Don't let anyone out. Kill everyone! We can’t leave any witnesses; both our Houses depend on this!” he finally said.

  Miles felt his already numb mind sink deeper into the depths of despair. Lord Tulka had chosen a path he did not even imagine, a path no sane man would ever choose.

  Stumbling to his feet, he clumsily drew his sword, his brothers’ drying blood causing his hands to stick slightly to the handle.

  “You have chosen death!” Ryker screamed, clashing with Shyldis, leaving Cripton to fight Lord Tulka.

  Hands shaking in fear and anger, Miles turned to look in the direction Kornel and Bricks had gone. Both had jumped down from the second floor to the first, cutting off any escape for the other patrons of the pub.

  “Help Ryker!” shouted Cripton, circling Lord Tulka, carefully testing the veteran warrior.

  Gulping with determination, Miles stiffly walked to where Ryker and Shyldis were facing off. Stepping to the other side of Shyldis, he tried to put pressure on the Arcane Lord, his arms shaking with fright.

  A few houses down from the pub stood the sturdy headquarters of the Diamond Guard. Constructed from the hardest wood that could be transported in, the building was designed to stay as inconspicuous as possible, its dark exterior painted to blend with the surrounding structures.

  Yet to those who knew what to look for, the building was a small fortress; cleverly arranged doors and passageways ensured defenders always held the advantage. Within its walls were housed the local riches of Maliri, guarded at all times by his elite soldiers.

  Ever since Ashely opened a couple of new pubs in the capital, Zenrom had brought a few of the Diamond guards with him to establish order. They were laying a foundation for the selection, training, and organization of the new guards who would oversee the pub's protection, which was simple in theory but exhausting in practice.

  Normally, he wouldn’t oversee such matters, but since the failed rebellion, the capital had been simmering with an undercurrent of hidden violence. The two religions were still hurting each other in the shadows.

  Dangerous rumors of kidnappings, arson, and even murder between followers of Alumus and Gera were whispered throughout the city, with the common people slowly being dragged into the conflict. Zenrom had never imagined the capital would once again sink to the level it had been under Queen Kina and her father, but reality was bleak. Just the other day, a small church of Gera had been set on fire, the flames destroying more than just the church.

  Sitting at a table inside, Zenrom let his mind wander as he watched June fit an arrowhead to an arrow. The young boy meticulously glued and tied the arrowhead in place, bringing the arrow to his eye to make sure that it was properly aligned. Nodding once he was satisfied with his work, he placed it in the pile of arrows he had finished. Reaching for the next shaft and arrowhead, he repeated the process, each motion deliberate and controlled.

  Cracking his neck, Zenrom sighed, “You got good at making arrowheads,” he commented, putting the capital's problems aside and picking up an arrow. He could think of the problems later. Examining the arrow, he whistled. “How did you manage to learn to make them so quickly?”

  “Honestly? I don't know,” June replied, scratching his head.

  “When I focus on making arrows, the next thing I know, it’s done. I don't really remember making them. It’s weird but also kind of comforting.”

  “Huh,” Zenrom muttered, raising an eyebrow. “I think I know what you mean. Sometimes, when I train with the sword, I lose all sense too.”

  Putting the arrow back, he stretched mightily. “I think I’m going to head to bed early,” he said aloud.

  “COMMANDER! COMMANDER!”

  A loud voice abruptly shattered the calm atmosphere, causing everyone in the room to tense, their eyes snapping to Zenrom.

  What is it now? Zenrom thought, his hand touching the knife he kept hidden in his sleeve.

  San came sprinting in, still shouting, his long, dirty blond hair streaming behind him. Scanning the room, he quickly spotted Zenrom.

  Rushing over, he saluted sloppily—almost as if it were an afterthought—before reporting. “There’s a report of Arcane Warriors fighting at one of our pubs! None of the other guards can intervene,” he explained, his square jaw tight, his face a mix of excitement, anger, and urgency.

  “What!” Zenrom exclaimed, standing up. “Gather the men!” he shouted, causing the whole room to jump into action, the sounds of scraping chairs, and roused guards bouncing off the walls.

  Cursing internally, he grabbed his armor, all weariness gone. If they were fighting Arcane Warriors, everyone would need to be properly equipped.

  “I want everyone to wear their armor!” he commanded, his deft fingers putting on his armor. “We may fight Arcane Warriors! I want everyone to prepare accordingly. Move as a group, never fight alone. Prioritize the safety of the civilians and most of all, stay alive!”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  In less than three minutes, the group of armored mercenaries rushed towards the pub, Zenrom leading the way, June and San at the back.

  Normally, at this time of night, few people would be walking about, just the occasional drunkard stumbling about. But tonight was different. A crowd of people had gathered around the pub, their confusion, excitement, and unease thick in the air.

  Pushing through the milling people, Zenrom raised his voice, letting the power-enhanced sound carry far.

  “MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”

  Shoving a large man out of the way and giving him a glare that made the man back off as if confronted by a wild animal, Zenrom cleared a path for his men.

  Reaching the pub, he surveyed the area. The door was shut, but the sounds of fighting leaked from inside. Streaking of Arcane Light lit up the darkness from the upper windows; a clear sign that this situation was beyond what the average city guard could handle.

  “June, San,” he said, signaling them. “Try to get to the second floor from the outside. I don’t want the front door to be our only way in.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “The rest of you follow me!” he commanded, pointing to where June and San could climb to the second floor.

  Taking a deep breath, Zenrom pulled more Aether into his body, holding the raging power for a second longer than necessary. Coating his sword in energy, he exhaled and kicked in the door.

  The force of his kick split the door with a deafening boom; shattered wood pieces scattered across the interior of the room.

  “NO ONE MOVE! This pub belongs to Maliri! All violence within it will not be tolerated!” he shouted. His power-laced voice bounced off the walls as he blitzed inside, his men following close behind, their armored forms a stark contrast to the cowering patrons.

  Scanning the interior, Zenrom quickly assessed the situation and locked onto the most dangerous individuals. On the first floor, two young men stood with swords raised, Aether radiating off them, blood on their faces, and bodies on the floor around them. On the second floor, five people circled each other, weapons drawn.

  Zenrom frowned; he recognized some of them from his days as a First Pillar of the Salizian army.

  “Lord Tulka, I demand an explanation!” he shouted, keeping an eye on the two near him. From what he could tell, he was stronger than them. With his armor and backup, they could be overpowered without much trouble. But the problem was Lord Tulka! Even with armor, subduing him without killing him would be hard.

  “This has nothing to do with you! Stay out of this!” one of the men on the first floor shouted. His words caused the terrified people to cry out. If his men weren’t blocking the exit, Zenrom was certain they would’ve already fled.

  Remaining alert, Zenrom studied the speaker, calculating how dangerous he was. The man was a few fingers taller than the average man, his pointed eyes giving him an air of a bully. He held a sword in his right hand, the tip wavering ever so slightly. Tracing the blade to his arm, Zenrom saw blood staining the floral embroidery on his sleeve.

  House Galra!

  Almost as if he sensed Zenrom’s recognition, the young man began to move, sword rising. As he stepped forward, a small, dark arrow flew past his flushed face and buried itself into a nearby pillar.

  “Do not move!”

  A cold, flat voice drifted down from the second floor.

  Zenrom grinned. June and San had made it in. June’s arrows gave him another advantage.

  “This is your last warning!” he shouted, his sword crackling with Aether, pointed directly at the advancing man. “I don’t care if you are members of the Great Houses. Do not force me to kill you!”

  The man’s eyes locked onto the arrow that had just passed inches from his face, his bravado visibly faltering. As more men rushed into the pub, led by Winks, Zenrom turned his attention back to Lord Tulka.

  “Lord Tulka, take your men and leave this place. We’ll overlook the destruction you’ve caused the pub. However, be warned, we will be submitting a formal complaint to Queen Milina about this incident and every House involved.”

  A tense silence followed. Lord Tulka’s eyes narrowed, his eyes meeting Zenrom’s; the unnatural gaze caused Zenrom to grip his sword tightly.

  Maybe I should just arrest everyone present, he thought. But with at least two Great Houses… possibly three, he wanted to avoid escalation if possible.

  As the silence grew oppressive, Lord Tulka finally spoke.

  “The fault lies with us. Take this as an amends.”

  Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small bag of gold coins and tossed it at Zenrom’s feet.

  Then, turning to the second young man on the first floor, he spoke words that caused everyone to pale.

  “Kornel, let us go. We must send word to your father. We must prepare for war.”