Caleb
The swamp-gold carriage cut through the southern sky like a shard of dusk, its etched rune arrays glowing faintly against the clouds. From the ground, it would have looked regal—imperial, even—but inside, Caleb Zhou couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong.
The wind outside carried the taste of ozone and decay. The remnants of those patchy chaos lands clung to the air—a distinct, acrid scent that refused to fade. There was very little civilization in this part of the world. This corner of the Empire felt empty. While parts of the southern coasts and inland territories were filled with beautiful scenery and natural wonders, there was also a large part of it that smelled like a direbear’s backside.
He tried to ignore both the smell and his anxiety.
“Faster,” he said.
The pilot adjusted the flight controls, and the carriage tilted forward. The engines pulsed brighter for a heartbeat. They flew in silence, the only sounds the hum of empowered glyphs firing periodically and the steady rush of wind outside.
Before long, the pale outline of SummerTower Estate began to form out of the mist. The Zhou family’s southern holding sat quietly, half-hidden against the cliffs above the dark ocean and starlit horizon.
Caleb frowned. The whole area was too quiet.
He leaned closer to the glass. “Where are the border wards?”
He should have felt them by now. His father had set them up personally.
Beside him, Claire Wang crossed one leg over the other and looked up from her message crystal. She was still the picture of elegance—fine silks of green and silver, hair pinned in precise waves, her faint perfume cutting through the metallic air.
She was also clear-eyed and focused—a far cry from the woman who had been ignoring him for the last several weeks.
She glared at the crystal, clearly annoyed by how spotty the service was this far south. Caleb’s eyes flicked toward her belly, and he shook his head.
“If you’re not feeling the wards, they might simply be conserving mana,” she said, not looking up. “The southern provinces have been trying to conserve energy for weeks now. Apparently, there was a problem with one of the crystal mines up north—some kind of shortage. There were notices.”
“This isn’t a savings measure,” Caleb muttered. “The wards aren’t dim for lack of power. They’re gone completely. I can’t even feel their outline.”
Claire’s brow arched slightly, though she didn’t seem alarmed. “You always imagine the worst. Perhaps the Matron dismissed the spell-crafter servants for the season. You know how expensive those men can be.”
He didn’t answer.
The longer he watched the approaching cliffs, the more the silence pressed against his skin. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting—signal flares? Air beacons? Of course not. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been expecting any kind of air traffic control. Despite their recent return to prominence, the Zhou household couldn’t afford regular flight operations. Even if they could, the family rarely visited the southern estate often enough to justify maintaining landing platforms or flight terminals.
Still, even without mage-tech, there should have been something—house lamps tracing the cliff face in blue fire, signaling the wards’ activation.
He felt the weight of it in his chest—a stillness that wasn’t peace.
“Captain,” Caleb said.
The Wang Family Squad Seven commander seated opposite bowed his head. “Yes, Young Master?”
“Signal the escorts. I want three of our elites down with us. The rest land and then form a perimeter.”
“As you command.”
Claire sighed, setting her crystal aside. “Really, Caleb, this is excessive. We’re visiting your family’s estate, not storming a battlefield. I know you’re worried about the twins, but we don’t even know that anything’s wrong yet.”
Caleb looked at her, jaw tight, and forced himself not to snap. He was learning—he had to communicate differently with Claire now. Arrogance and irritation wouldn’t get him anywhere. He took a deep breath.
“I wish I could relax, Claire. I just have a bad feeling.”
Stolen story; please report.
Claire studied his face but didn’t respond.
When the carriage began its descent, the coastal winds screamed against the hull. The estate courtyard came into view in fragments—glimpses of upper terraces and tower peaks carved from the unique black-and-gray stone of the south: a kind of obsidian-granite hybrid found only in the mountains near the chaos rings. Near the peaks, glass atriums reflected faint moonlight and the sea below.
Still, not a single lantern burned.
The carriage landed in the main courtyard with a hiss of vapor and displaced mana. The door opened, and humid air rushed in—heavy with the smell of salt, char, and something faintly metallic. Caleb stepped out first, hand resting on his sword. The guards fanned out instantly, weapons ready.
The courtyard should have been alive with attendants. Instead, only shadows stretched between the colonnades. The moss gardens were unlit. The water mirrors were still. Somewhere far off, the surf rolled and crashed, the only sound breaking the hush.
“Lady Wang. Second Master Zhou.”
The voice came from the grand staircase.
Lady Yalin descended the steps with her usual regal calm, though Caleb didn’t miss the tension in her shoulders. Her twilight robes were immaculate, but the circles under her eyes were deep.
Caleb smiled faintly. “Lady Yalin, what a relief. I was beginning to think we were about to walk into some kind of zombie horror.”
The matron returned the smile, bowing slightly to Caleb, then to Claire. “That only happens in theater, Young Master.”
Caleb looked at her with affection. “You say that, but why take the chance?”
Lady Yalin’s expression softened, almost amused. “What do we owe the pleasure, Young Master? Should we prepare the master wing for you and your wife? I doubt your parents would mind. We’re delighted to have Lady Wang and your retinue here—it’s been lively with your sisters and their honored guests.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Caleb blinked. “Yes. The honored guests. Well, Lady Yalin, we’re excited to see everyone. But before I forget—can you tell me where my sisters are? I’m anxious to see them.”
His voice came out too fast, betraying his unease.
“They aren’t back yet, Young Master.” Yalin’s tone remained polite but hard. “About a week ago, your sisters and Miss Lin arrived with Lady Vivian Li of House Li, Liu Anmei of the Emberflower Pavilion, Princess Sophie Virelyn herself, and her lady-in-waiting, Lady E’lanta. They appeared at our gates as if on some kind of school trip.”
Claire and Caleb exchanged a look, both alarmed. Caleb’s stomach dropped. “That isn’t exactly a group that runs in the same circles. How on earth did they all end up here?”
Lady Yalin glowered. “I thought the same thing. They said something about exploring. They wanted to visit some of the old ruins. I insisted on providing them protection—had to threaten them, in fact, to get them to allow it.”
Caleb blanched. She had forced the Imperial Princess to back down? Was she insane? “You threatened the Princess? With all due respect, Lady Yalin, everyone knows her reputation. How are you still alive?”
She paused, collecting her thoughts. “Honestly, I think the prospect of my calling her mother naturally unnerved her. I don’t know exactly what they’re doing along the Cliffs of Moher, but she was desperate to reach them—and to accomplish whatever she came here for.”
Caleb’s expression darkened. He didn’t like this. Not one bit.
Lady Yalin’s face went grim. “That’s where things get complicated. The mercenaries we sent—some made it back.”
Claire and Caleb exchanged looks. “Some?”
The matron’s gaze flicked briefly toward the sea. “Well. One. The ones that returned spoke of red orcs. And a Murai. A powerful one. I have called it into the Captial with no response.”
The words hit Caleb like a blow.
Behind him, one of the Zhou elites swore under his breath. The others instinctively shifted formation, weapons drawn. Even Claire froze, her usual poise faltering.
“Good calling it into the-- Wait, What? That’s impossible,” Caleb said. “High orcs don’t exist.”
He turned to Claire. “Do they?”
Yalin replied quietly, “I thought the same thing. Until I saw what washed ashore this morning.”
She gestured toward the courtyard’s far end.
There, draped beneath a sheet of mana-resistant cloth, lay something long, broken, and scorched—a spirit barge.
Its runes were burned out. The hull blackened with spellfire.
Scattered around it were blades and cargo crates, all bearing the faintly scorched symbol of the Master’s Guild.
“Coverage and communication have been sporadic,” Yalin continued. “But the mercenaries’ reports differ slightly—they sent their messages through spirit contractors instead of the mage-net.” Her eyes darkened. “I believe the Master’s Guild fought a group of high orcs—and that the Princess’s entourage headed north.”
Caleb stood, turning to Claire. “We’re not staying.”
Her eyes widened. “We just arrived—”
“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice sharp now. “They’re out there—my sisters and three of the most important women in the Empire. We’re not waiting.”
He turned toward the carriage. “Lady Yalin, if you can spare additional food stores, mana potions, or health regeneratives, they would be appreciated.”
Yalin’s voice stopped him. “I can do that. But if you go north now, you’ll be flying blind. The gorge is crawling with residual mana from the battle. Sensors won’t read properly. The sky’s thick with interference.”
“I’ll take the risk,” Caleb said. “Better that than sitting here waiting to die.”
Lady Yalin’s expression didn’t soften, but she inclined her head. “Then at least let me send you with a guide.”
“Who?”
She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that meant she already knew how bad this would get. “The only one left who knows the old valley paths.”
From the shadows behind her, a young soldier stepped forward—lean, scarred, uniform marked with the Zhou crest. His arm was bandaged, his eyes sharp despite exhaustion.
“Name?” Caleb asked.
The man bowed. “Adam, sir. I was with the barge team.”
Caleb’s breath caught. “You survived?”
“Barely,” Adam said. “The others didn’t.”
He didn’t need to ask who “the others” were.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the air from the courtyard.
Then Caleb nodded once, decision set. “Lady Yalin, I need the carriage refreshed with mana crystals. I don’t care what it costs.” His voice was grim, resolute.
He turned to his elites. “Rest up. We move in twenty four hours.”