Morning sunlight spilled through the high arches of Harmonia Castle, turning the mist into threads of gold. The clang of steel and the thud of boots echoed across the vast training ground where banners bearing the crest of the crown fluttered against the wind.

  The newly formed band stood in a loose circle—five mercenaries, strangers still, but bound by a shared cause.

  Trieni twirled her bow with a grin. “So, Captain Valeheart,” she teased, “how do you want to do this? A duel? A show of strength? Or are we proving who hits the hardest?”

  Themis adjusted his gauntlets, calm as ever. “None of that. We’re testing how we move together. The moment we fight as five instead of one—we win.”

  Heathcliff leaned his spear over his shoulder, smirking. “You heard the man. Try not to trip over each other.”

  A gong rang from the far wall. The training instructors had set up a simulation field—moving wooden dummies enchanted to strike and flank like real soldiers.

  Themis drew his blade. “Formation test. Trieni, distance. Trish, stay near cover and guard the flank. Tristan, call tactics. Heathcliff—frontline with me.”

  “Understood,” Tristan replied, voice steady.

  The field came alive.

  Dummies surged forward, animated by magic, their weapons clashing in perfect rhythm. Themis moved first—his blade a flash of silver as he cut through the nearest target with precision. Heathcliff followed, spear whirling in wide arcs, intercepting blows meant for his ally.

  “Left flank! Two approaching—archer cover!” Tristan barked.

  Trieni’s arrows flew—clean, deadly, unerring. Each struck its mark before the targets could advance.

  Trish lifted her hand, frost gathering in a pale shimmer. “Keep steady.” Her voice was calm as a healing mist rippled outward, mending a shallow cut on Themis’s arm while freezing the ground near Heathcliff’s feet. The next dummy that charged slipped, impaled by his waiting spear.

  “Efficient,” Tristan noted. “But your defense line’s uneven. Trieni—tighten the angle. Heathcliff—don’t overextend.”

  Themis blocked another strike, then pivoted with smooth precision. “We move as one!”

  The five shifted—blade, spear, frost, arrow, and mind—into perfect rhythm. A final synchronized strike sent the last wave of targets crashing to the ground in splinters and smoke.

  The field went still. Only the sound of their breathing remained.

  Trieni lowered her bow, sweat glinting at her brow. “Not bad, Captain. You might just earn that title yet.”

  Trish smiled faintly, frost dissipating from her fingers. “We all move well together… for people who just met.”

  Heathcliff laughed, clapping Themis on the shoulder. “Give us a week, we’ll look like a seasoned war band.”

  Tristan adjusted his gloves, eyes narrowing slightly. “We’ll need less than that.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Before Themis could respond, a knight in Harmonian silver stepped briskly onto the field, saluting with a fist to his chest.

  “Captain Valeheart!” he called, voice echoing across the ground. “Grand Strategist Caldus summons you. Immediately. The meeting is to be held in the Inner War Chamber.”

  Themis exchanged a glance with Heathcliff, then looked to the others. “Looks like the real test begins now.”

  Trieni slung her bow across her back. “Finally. Let’s see what kind of storm we’re walking into.”

  Together, the five turned toward the castle steps—armor gleaming, steps sure—ready to face whatever awaited them behind those heavy doors.

  The heavy doors opened with a low groan, revealing the flickering glow of a tactical map suspended above a round table. Themis stepped in first, followed by Tristan, Trish, Heathcliff, and Trieni. The air was taut—alive with the quiet pulse of urgency.

  At the head of the chamber stood Grand Strategist Caldus, flanked by two silent aides. His eyes—cold, sharp, and unyielding—met theirs one by one.

  “You’re our fastest unit near the Clef Hills,” Caldus began, voice clipped and deliberate. “That makes you our only line of defense.”

  With a smooth motion, he traced a finger across the hovering map. The image rippled, shifting to reveal a mountainous ridge overlooking the sea. At its center pulsed a faint symbol—a tower crowned with pale light.

  “The Tower of Wind,” Caldus said. “Once a conduit of Harmonia’s spirit resonance. Now, a relic—and Rhapsodia’s next target.”

  Trieni crossed her arms, green eyes narrowing. “Why go after an abandoned spirit tower? There’s no tactical advantage.”

  “Not anymore,” Caldus replied. “But it still houses Priestess Seraphina Caelira of Harmonia—last known keeper of the Spirit Rite. She descends from one of the Eight Arcanians who helped defeat Hadeon in the First Age as we are informed. That lineage alone makes her worth capturing.”

  Trish’s ice-blue eyes flickered with concern. “You think they’re after her… or something she guards?”

  “We don’t know,” Caldus said, his tone heavy. “But if they take her, Rhapsodia gains more than a hostage. They gain a symbol—a divine claim to legitimacy. Or perhaps access to something older still, sealed beneath the tower itself.”

  Themis folded his arms, eyes fixed on the map’s pale glow. “Then what’s our directive?”

  “Simple,” Caldus said. “Reach the tower before the enemy. Reinforce its defenses. Hold your ground until reinforcements arrive. If the priestess refuses evacuation, protect her at all costs. If she’s willing to move—extract her safely.”

  A red timer blinked in the corner of the projection, marking dawn’s deadline.

  “You leave at first light,” Caldus continued. “You’ll take the eastern ravine—steep terrain, but lightly guarded. Avoid direct conflict unless absolutely necessary.”

  Tristan leaned forward, tracing the terrain lines with one gloved finger. “There’s a fog valley running along the Clef Hills. If we move at sunrise, we can use the mist to mask our ascent.”

  Caldus nodded curtly. “Do it. And make every moment count.”

  The group began to turn when Caldus’s voice stopped them cold.

  “And Themis—”

  The young swordsman paused, glancing back.

  “You may find more than soldiers waiting at that tower,” Caldus said quietly. “Unknowns. Old powers. Things Harmonia no longer speaks of. Remember—sometimes a mission isn’t about what we understand…”

  His gaze hardened.

  “…It’s about what we prevent.”

  Themis held his stare for a long moment before nodding once. “Understood.”

  As the great doors closed behind them, the flickering light of the tactical map cast their shadows long across the floor—five figures walking toward a fate shrouded in fog and prophecy.

  Not heroes yet.

  But the first spark of a legend yet to rise.