Without a word, Alaric spun toward the polished brass pole—Lara’s unconventional idea, once scoffed at by his generals, now a vital escape route in moments . He grasped it and launched himself downward, descending all twelve stories in a blur of speed and muscle. Wind roared past his ears. In seconds, he landed with precision on the ground floor, his boots thudding softly on the polished stone.
Outside, his warhorse Arion stood waiting, a majestic black stallion with eyes like embers and flanks rippling with power. Alaric mounted in a fluid motion, and with a sharp kick, they were off—galloping through Calma’s winding cobblestone streets like a bolt of lightning cutting through the early morning.
The mansion had once belonged to Calma’s mayor. Now, it was Lara’s home—a betrothal gift Alaric had given her, not for luxury, but as a fortress of freedom. A symbol of her independence.
He burst through the gates without pause. Servants scrambled as Arion skidded to a halt in the courtyard. Alaric dismounted, cloak flying behind him, and strode into the drawing room.
Lara stood waiting, hands clasped, as if she had sensed him coming. Her copper brown eyes met his with immediate concern. No words were exchanged as he pressed the rolled paper into her hand.
She read silently, her expression darkening with every line. Her hands trembled just slightly.
"I need to go to the capital," she said quietly. "My father... my brothers..." Her voice tightened. "But I am worried about my mother in Carles. And Arabella... she is heavily pregnant. She cannot be left alone, not now."
Alaric nodded, already thinking two moves ahead. "I’ll send Angus and your uncle to get them. Gideon and Peredur will go as well. They’ll take the hidden route through Mount Ourea—it’s faster and keeps them off the main roads."
Lara hesitated. She didn’t want to leave, not when so much was at stake here. But the truth was in her voice—clear and cutting: "If I don’t act now, I’ll lose them all."
"I’ll go with you," Alaric said softly, taking her trembling hand in his. "Every step."
Their eyes turned north—toward the capital. Toward the firestorm rising.
The air in the marketplace that led to Narra Alley was thick with smoke and the smell of baked bread. Vendors shouted their wares to attract customers.
Lara had walked these streets before—years ago, under a different name. But now she moved openly, commanding attention even in silence.
The pair rode through Narra Alley until they reached the end, where the House of Mendel stood proudly, flanked by a martial arts school on the right and sprawling garden at the left.
She sought out her master and shared the message with him, outlining her plans to return to the capital to rescue her father and brothers.
"The trial is tomorrow," Jethru warned. "Even if you travel nonstop, you won’t reach the capital before the verdict."
"There’s a way," Lara said firmly. "We’ll travel day and night."
Jethru blinked in confusion. "How? Even with the fastest horses—"
"I’ll check on Uncle Hephastus," Lara interrupted, already moving.
Two hours later, preparations were complete. Alaric, Lara, Redon, Aramis, Agilus—and, unexpectedly, Jethru, who insisted on joining—mounted their swiftest steeds.
The team of Angus and Primo had already set out for Mount Ourea to rendezvous with Lara’s family in Carles.
The group rode hard, stopping only for brief meals and necessary rests. As night fell over the rugged plains, Lara unveiled a creation long kept secret.
A strange, black canvas dome, reinforced with midnight-colored sails and cables—Hephastus’s latest invention. Half airship, half sail-powered glider, it looked like a dark creature born of sky and fire.
"We’ll fly at night," Lara explained. "The color will keep us hidden."
They boarded the gondola—sleek, reinforced, with room for ten. Each passenger wore a compact parachute, just in case. As the burner hissed to life, fire flared beneath the balloon, and the contraption slowly lifted into the dark sky.
Gasps and wide-eyed grins filled the gondola as the earth fell away. Stars glittered above. Below, the land slipped past like a dark sea. The thrill of flight—and the unspoken urgency of their mission—kept them alert.
They worked in pairs, taking turns at the helm, steering the balloon through the night using the sails and star charts. The air was cold, crisp, and tense with purpose.
By the time dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, they had already descended in the outskirts of Parane—five days of travel collapsed into a single day and night.
They refreshed themselves at a nearby river, borrowed fresh mounts from a trusted merchant ally, and pressed on without delay.
Three nights after receiving the message, they reached the capital under the cover of darkness. The airship descended behind the dense bamboo forest behind Orion’s quaint cottage, hidden from the palace’s watchful towers. The balloon deflated silently, folding in on itself like a creature going to sleep.
Alaric and Lara stepped onto the ground, their hearts racing. The capital lay before them, shrouded in silence.
The storm was coming. And they were finally here to meet it.
After a few hours of rest at Orion’s house, the group disguised themselves as commoner. They learned that the trial had dragged on for three days as the Norse father and sons would not accept the accusations against them.
Today was the day the verdict would be read.
Guards patrolled the perimeter of the justice hall. The once-ceremonial armor they wore now gleamed with the cold efficiency of a kingdom preparing for purges, not parades. Reuben’s paranoia had multiplied in their absence. It was no longer safe to walk openly, not even for a noblewoman with royal blood.
The guards opened the wide doors of the justice hall so the commoners from the outside could watch the proceedings.
Prince Reuben was sitting arrogantly on the throne. At his right was Crown Princess Amielle whom he married last year while on his left was Mira.
Lara’s eyes narrowed as her gaze landed on Mira.
Mira felt as if someone was watching her and she could not help but shiver.
"What’s wrong?" Reuben asked with concern.
"Nothing, Your Highness." She replied casually, but her gaze scanned the crowd and landed on spot where Lara stood earlier.
Mira shook her head. She must be hallucinating.
Streets that once teemed with market stalls and laughter were now grim and quiet. People hurried past with eyes to the ground, as if afraid to speak. The posters plastered on the walls told the story: General Odin and the War Generals—Charged with High Treason. Trial Commencing at First Light.
"They made it public," Alaric muttered, scanning the propaganda. "To control the narrative."
"They’re preparing to execute them without a real trial," Lara replied bitterly. "Reuben’s building a spectacle."
"Maybe not execution, but banishment. The people will riot if Reuben declares execution."
Lara looked at the disguised Alaric with heartache. Was he comforting me that my family will not be killed but will just be banished? Then better not to offer any comfort at all.