EPISODE 27
CINDERGUARD

Sterlla's underground dragons—those fearsome beings of violet stone and infernal breath—had shattered the obsidian dome surrounding the bloodbinders.

The sound of that barrier breaking was like the sky itself being torn in half.

And then the bloodbinders—those cloaked figures who had radiated cold amusement—were finally exposed. Their cloaks disintegrated into ash in the wake of dragonfire, revealing twisted forms beneath.

Their faces were warped, burnt and peeled to sinew. Hollow eyes sunken deep into flesh that looked more dead than living. Gory, ghastly expressions twisted with panic. Creatures not born—but returned—from death.

The four cloaked men snarled, their sunken eyes glaring at Linone and Sterlla as they floated high above the blood-soaked forest floor on the trembling purple orb. Their growls were guttural, feral—inhuman. A stench of death surrounded them, riding on the air like a warning.

Without hesitation, Linone gathered his breath and launched himself off the orb, descending like a shadowed falcon. He landed with a controlled thud—one knee striking the cracked earth—his magic softening the impact with a faint grey shimmer. Dust curled around him as he rose, eyes hard as obsidian.

With a swift motion, he slashed his hand in the air. A wave of grey light burst forth, wide and sharp as a crescent moon, striking the four men in a clean arc. The force sent them stumbling, their corrupted feet slipping against the earth as they collapsed onto their backs.

They groaned—low, animalistic sounds. But quickly, they rose, their movements twitchy and unnatural, like puppets pulled by cursed strings. And then one of them—a figure with a cracked, pale face and soulless black eyes—opened his mouth.

The voice that came out didn’t belong to a man. It was hollow, distant, as if spoken from a well of the dead.
“Even without our dragons,” he hissed, his lips moving but his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. “We can deal with you.”

In a burst of speed, the figure leapt into the air, his cloak flaring behind him like torn wings. Linone raised both arms and a translucent grey dome shimmered into place just in time. The corrupted mage twisted midair, his body arching unnaturally before his dark magic collided against the dome with a resounding crack. Sparks flew—like shattered moonlight—and the attacker was thrown several feet away, landing hard against the forest floor. Linone had managed to negate a large part of their magic but it would seem corrupt magic had more reserve than one would expect.

Linone dropped his arms, the dome vanishing in a whisper of ash. Without delay, he reached behind him and drew his sword—a long, obsidian-forged blade etched with silver sigils that shimmered under the tainted moonlight. He surged forward, his feet barely touching the ground.

The corrupted man met him with bare hands—flesh no longer soft but transformed by corruption magic into jagged steel. Fingers now claws. Palms turned into living blades. They clashed.

Metal screamed against metal.

Linone grit his teeth, holding his ground, veins glowing faintly from the toll of his magic.

From the corners of his eyes, he saw the remaining three bloodbinders rushing toward him like shadows given form.

Before they could strike—

A shimmering blur descended beside him.

Sterlla.

She landed in a crouch, the moment frozen in eerie silence as her hair fell forward like a war banner. Her eyes—glowing with ancient fury—lifted to meet the attackers. She stood in a single breath and drew her sword, its violet edge glowing as if it carried the breath of dragons.

With a swift upward slash, she intercepted one of the rushing men, blades sparking with chaotic light.

Sparks flew. The corrupted man hissed at her, veiny, discolored eyes glowing beneath torn flesh. Sterlla pushed him back with a slash to the chest—deep enough to stagger, not kill.

But two more were rushing toward her.

She spun on her heel, eyes darting to the trembling ground.

A whisper. A rumble. A crack.

Boom.

From the earth erupted the massive underground dragon again, its armored hide pulsing like a beating heart. With a roar that shook the trees, it lunged at the two bloodbinders. They leapt back, snarling, twisting in the air, but the dragon coiled after them like a serpent of fury, wings unfurling underground as it snapped its jaws.

Sterlla didn't stay to watch.

She turned toward Linone—who had locked swords again with his earlier opponent, both grunting under the force of every blow.

Their gazes met.

A silent agreement passed between them.

A glint of strategy in shared defiance.

They both ran—toward the trees flanking them on either side.

Linone leapt first, boot hitting bark. Sterlla followed a heartbeat later, her fingers brushing against his as they climbed the adjacent trunks with synchronized fluidity, their bodies moving like they had trained for this all their lives.

Halfway up the trees, they looked at each other.

Held hands across the gap.

And jumped.

In the air, time slowed—Sterlla's cloak flared like phoenix wings, Linone’s grey magic trailing like smoke. They soared past one another, switching sides mid-leap.

Sterlla now faced Linone’s opponent, Linone faced hers.

Steel met claw.

Sheer fury met fate.

Their swords sang in the air—swings fast enough to slice wind. Their blades moved like poetry born of pain, every step echoing in the forest's soul. The bloodbinders were strong—but not stronger than two hearts fighting for their empire.

At once, Sterlla slashed her blade upward, sending a blast of purple magic spiraling toward her foe. Linone swept his arm across his chest and cast a sweeping arc of grey energy. The magics converged—collided—amplified.

A detonation erupted, a mighty blast of smoke and light, purple and grey flames curling into the sky like a divine eruption. The forest trembled. Leaves fluttered down like ash. Silence followed the noise, but only for a moment.

Because then…

Screams. Hisses. Steel.

The battle raged still in the clearing across.

The army men fought valiantly—arrows pierced the air, swords shone in firelight—but the snake creatures were relentless. Over two dozen remained. Their bodies slithered across the earth, half-human, half-nightmare. Snake arms lashed out, snake legs launched them across the battlefield, and their hair—living, snarling serpents—bit at anything living.

But then—

They appeared.

From above, two figures shimmered into view, standing atop glowing orbs of power—one violet, one grey.

Sterlla and Linone.

Descending like celestial warriors, they dropped into the heart of the battlefield, cloaks billowing like banners of vengeance. The moment they landed, the earth cracked, magic rippling outward.

Together, they unleashed their combined magic—purple flame meeting grey light in a furious wave that cleaved through the snake creatures. Some burst into smoke, others screeched as their forms shattered.

Still, some remained—wounded but hissing with rage.

Just then, a shadow fell over them.

The aerial soldier, who had been launching spells from above, descended with a heroic flair atop Sterlla’s aerial dragon. He leapt off midair, landing beside the royal duo with his bow raised high.

The army roared.

Together, they charged.

Soldiers flanked the royals, weaving between magic and fire. The sky was violet. The air—full of ash and glory.

The enemy was pushed back—one by one, the snakeborn fell. Until none remained.

Silence.

Then cheers.

Deafening. Wild. Beautiful.

Victory.

Lionella finally let out a long, trembling breath, the tension in her limbs visibly softening. From atop their towering thrones, Emperor Serox and Empress Seradole released the rigid postures they'd maintained throughout the ordeal, shoulders sinking as the air around them grew calm. They exchanged a brief glance, silent but weighted with understanding—the storm had passed, even if the skies remained uncertain.

Around, the immense viewing grounds erupted in a wave of jubilant noise. The crowd, blissfully unaware of the dark edge that had threatened their empire, cheered as floating orbs emerged in the sky—fourteen of them, each glowing with a unique color, each carrying a warrior who had fought in the shadows. At the front, Sterlla and Linone, flanked by the brave soldiers of the royal army, descended toward the dais. Their figures bathed in golden sunlight, shimmering atop their magical platforms.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Names were chanted. Cheers for Sterlla, for Linone, and for the army rang out like music that could purify even the darkest taint of war. The soldiers waved modestly. Sterlla offered her graceful smile, regal yet warm, as she raised a hand in acknowledgment. But Linone—stoic and still—kept his eyes ahead, his expression unreadable.

As the orbs hovered just above the ceremonial dais, each warrior flicked a hand and their glowing platforms vanished into the air. Boots met stone. Sterlla stepped forward, her shoulders squared with royal pride. But before the healing mages could approach her, a sudden flurry of motion stole the attention.

"Sterlla!" Lionella's voice cracked as she launched herself forward. Her figure blurred as she leapt from behind the healing mages and collided into Sterlla, who instinctively caught her friend mid-air. Their forms spun in a gentle arc before landing, Lionella clinging tightly, her face buried in Sterlla’s shoulder.

"I... I was so scared for you..." she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

Sterlla exhaled, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she stroked Lionella’s head with comforting fingers. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of friendship before the duties of royalty reclaimed her.

She gently untangled from Lionella and looked at the waiting healers. “I will go to the camp for my healing. Prioritize the commander and our army first,” she said, her voice composed, commanding.

A voice cut through behind her. “I’ll come with you,” Linone said, already stepping forward, his eyes never leaving her.

Sterlla turned, her gaze meeting his. She nodded. “Alright, Commander.”

Lionella's hand tightened around hers. “I’ll come too!” she cried out, unwilling to let go.

Sterlla smiled at her fondly, her voice gentle. “No, my dear friend. Return to the forest. The other exams are yet to finish. I promise I’ll find you this evening.”

Lionella hesitated, eyes full of reluctance. “We must talk about what happened today. Your father and mother know, Sterlla. This can’t be kept quiet--”

A third voice interrupted. “We would have come there.”

Shane descended from his own orb, landing beside them with a steady grace. He wore thin-rimmed glasses now, an unusual addition that prompted Lionella to arch a brow.

"You think your glasses will make you look smart and erase your despicable attitude?" she snapped.

Shane sighed, adjusting them calmly. “Not now, Princess Lionella,” he said with a weary glance, before addressing Sterlla directly. “Crown Princess Sterlla. Those men were not part of the exam. Many of us knew. But when you said the mages had created a brilliant test, you convinced the people. I believe that was your intention—to prevent chaos, to keep the Empire's citizens from panic.”

Sterlla met his eyes, her voice respectful. “I understand your concern, Sir Shane—”

He cut her off with a small bow. “Commander Shane, at this moment, Crown Princess.”

Sterlla straightened and saluted him with a playful sparkle in her eye. “Yes, Commander Shane!”

His stoic face broke. A laugh escaped him—light, brief, but real.

Sterlla giggled, the weight of the day slowly lifting.

Lionella blinked at him in disbelief. “This man... can laugh?” she muttered under her breath, unable to hide her surprise.

Before another word could be spoken, a roar of cheers thundered across the air. The sound struck like a war drum, swelling in waves from the coliseum. All heads turned sharply toward the floating magic screen, its surface still flickering from the static caused by earlier magical disruption.

And then—there it was.

Simore stood tall in the middle of a smouldering battlefield, the severed head of an ogre held high in one hand. Black blood dripped from its slack jaw and down his gauntlet, steaming where it struck the scorched ground. Behind him, a field of fallen monstrosities littered the forest floor—each with grotesque limbs twisted in unnatural death.

Atop the largest ogre’s still-twitching form stood Renan, her stance proud and unshaken, her blade glowing with crimson residue, thick as wet paint. The fire spells that had been cast had scorched the trees into curved, black silhouettes. Even through the screen, one could smell the bitter tang of iron and charred leather that clung to the air.

The magic screen crackled and vanished.

Sterlla, still winded, gave a slow nod. Her voice, soft but rich with weariness, carried to Lionella beside her. “Seems like brother is done too.”

Lionella returned the nod wordlessly, her gaze sharp, following the streaks in the sky that announced their approach. Simore, Renan, and the twelve soldiers floated in formation atop glowing orbs, each one a different shade of deep elemental hue—scarlet, steel blue, amber, moss green. Any you could possibly name. Their presence struck like thunder. The crowd erupted once more. Cries of joy, of names shouted with reverence. Victory chants.

As they neared the royal dais, they raised their hands, and with elegant flicks of their fingers, the orbs beneath them shimmered and dissolved into ash and spark. Their boots hit the marble of the raised platform with the force of legends.

Healing mages rushed forward. Many swarmed to Renan and her men, casting intricate glyphs of renewal that glowed across their wounds.

"Ah. Crown Princess Sterlla," Renan greeted, voice formal but edged with exhaustion. She gave a swift, deep bow. "Crown Princess Lionella," she added, offering a second bow.

Lionella, half-smirking, barely inclined her head. Her eyes darted to Shane, who stood at her side with an unreadable expression drawn on his visage. She smiled at Renan but said nothing, and Shane sighed audibly. Whatever tension simmered between them, it crackled beneath the public calm.

Renan rose from her bow as Simore strode forward like a hurricane dressed in black and blue.

“Sister dearest!” he beamed, his grin wide as he reached Sterlla, brushing her sweat-slick hair aside. “That bun has come loose.”

Sterlla blinked in surprise, then giggled softly, swatting his hand. “You never change.”

But Simore’s expression shifted in an instant. His eyes darted to the side of her face, narrowing sharply at the sight of a fresh cut trailing from the corner of her lips down to her jaw.

“You seem… wounded… a lot,” he muttered, his voice barely containing alarm.

Sterlla cleared her throat. “N-nothing, brother. Just a battle wound… haha…”

“A battle wound?” Simore’s voice darkened as he turned his furious gaze toward the healing mages still clustered around Renan’s company. “Why is she not healed yet?”

Before the mages could speak, Shane stepped forward calmly. “Crown Princess Sterlla requested to be healed at the camp.”

Simore’s clenched fists trembled at his sides. “Ah…” he muttered, visibly trying to contain his emotions. He stepped closer to his sister and laid his hands gently on her shoulders.

Sterlla’s breath hitched—a sharp intake of pain escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Simore froze.

His eyes scanned her, truly looked at her—soaked cloth at her ribs, sleeves dark and heavy with dried blood, her stance slightly unbalanced, and the weariness in her magic aura. Her mana—usually a radiant signature of power—was barely there. Not hidden, not cloaked. Faint. Flickering.

“You… you are very… immensely… wounded,” Simore whispered, his voice unraveling. He released her shoulders like they were molten steel. “I… I shall take you to the camp myself. I—I shall look after you. Nothing will happen to you again, dear sister. Never again…”

His hands shook. His eyes welled, though no tears fell. His voice cracked, stammering with grief he had never allowed himself to show.

“B-brother…” Sterlla reached out and gently took his hands in hers. “Calm down. Please. These are just battle wounds. I’ve endured worse. I’m alive. I’m fine. Do you hear me? I’m well. Look at me…”

But Simore’s eyes had gone glassy. He was staring through her now, not at her. Somewhere distant. Somewhere darker.

He couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t feel her hands. All he could see was the flash of a memory—her body, limp in her fiance's arms after a picnic recent moons ago. Her lips pale. Her chest unmoving.

He could feel that cold again. The terror. The fear that she had died.

Then—

SLAP.

A sharp sound split the air, fortunately unnoticed by the crowd for they were more focused on the screens. Lionella’s palm had struck his cheek.

Simore blinked, jolted.

“Simore!” she barked, grabbing his shoulders with both hands, her voice commanding. “Snap out of it!”

He staggered slightly, staring at her, stunned.

Sterlla let go of his hands as Lionella steadied him. The cold sweat on his forehead gleamed in the light of the floating crystal orbs around the arena.

“Compose yourself,” Lionella hissed, though her voice trembled with empathy beneath its authority. “She is alive. We all are. This is not the time to fall apart.”

Simore closed his eyes slowly and exhaled a shaky breath.