The scent of tea drifted through the halls, carried on a grey tray in the hands of a well-dressed butler. A sweet jasmine blend. Only one guest ever requested it.
"Raza Nifilhem," said Grant Yorker, owner of the manor, stepping into the room just as the butler arrived. He greeted his guest with a firm handshake as the tea was carefully set on the table.
The butler bowed and exited, kettle in hand.
"To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" Grant asked, taking a seat and gesturing for Raza to do the same.
"Nothing urgent," Raza said, settling in and reaching for a cup. "Just the forest."
That got Grant's attention. He leaned forward slightly. "Any change in the barrier?"
"Unfortunately not." Raza sipped the tea. "Mehr was a powerful bastard. Breaking his enchantments isn't exactly easy."
"So you got my hopes up for nothing."
"Not entirely." Raza's gaze narrowed. "My ravens picked up movement, something's happening near the Fenrir."
Grant raised a brow. "Let me guess. The minotaurs again?"
"They're making their move. Preparing to wipe out the Fenrir clan."
Grant scoffed. "Idiots. A hundred years and they still haven't learned a thing."
"There's more," Raza continued, setting his cup down gently. "Near the Spiderfolk's cavern, I sensed something... unusual."
"Unusual how?"
"A human. Just for a moment—but I swear, I felt it."
Grant laughed. "You must be imagining things. If the barrier was broken, we'd be the first to know."
"Perhaps." Raza leaned back, shaking his head slightly. "No, you're probably right."
"I am." Grant glanced toward the door as his butler returned, whispering something urgently in his ear.
"What horrible timing," Grant muttered, rising from his seat.
Raza started to stand, but Grant waved him off. "Finish your tea. Leave whenever you like—I've got something to handle."
"Of course," Raza said, watching the man disappear through the door, closing it behind him.
Still...
He stared into his cup, the jasmine scent no longer comforting. He and Grant had worked for the kingdom for years, tasked with monitoring the forest. Normally, any disturbance had to be reported directly to the king.
But this—this he kept quiet, bringing it to Grant first. He didn't want to sound paranoid. And yet...
He knew what he felt... It wasn't a beast or monster, or even a mistake. It had felt human. He was sure about that fact, yet so unsure at the same time.
He sighed, downed the rest of the tea, and rose from his seat. Moments later, he was descending the manor's steps and merging into the flow of morning traffic.
Vancrest was the largest city across the four nations. It wasn't just the heart of the kingdom, it was the center of the economy. Most crops and goods were produced locally, then shipped across the world by cargo.
Its importance to human civilization was undeniable.
And yet, a hundred years ago, all of that had nearly crumbled.
The demi-humans had launched a brutal assault on the city, razing its outskirts in what many believed was an attempt at human extermination. Raza hadn't been alive then, but the tale had been passed down for generations.
In a final act of defense, Mehr Vasli—one of the greatest sorcerers of the age—had driven the demi-humans back, sealing them within the great forest beyond the city walls. With the last of his power, he created a barrier to trap them, a prison that had held for over a century.
Mehr died soon after, succumbing to mana sickness. A hero to some, a myth to others—but his legacy lived on, as the one true reason humanity had survived.
And yet the threat was never truly gone.
As a member of the kingdom's board, it was Raza's duty to monitor that barrier. Because when it finally broke—when the forest was no longer sealed—the demi-humans would return. And humanity had to be ready.
He walked through the streets of Vancrest, past merchants hawking wares and travelers loading wagons.
A group of adventurers passed him, armor clinking, weapons gleaming under the morning sun. Upon spotting the royal crest on his coat, they nodded respectfully. He returned the gesture.
Even with the demi-humans sealed, the world was far from safe.
Demi-beasts and monsters still roamed wild. Liches, basilisks, ghouls—threats that no barrier could contain.
That's why his work mattered.
He climbed the stairs of a nearby building, boots thudding softly against marble floors. This was one of many institutions born from the old war: a training academy, built to prepare the next generation of defenders.
In response to the lingering dangers—both inside and outside the forest—academies and guilds had been formed across the kingdom.
Students were trained in swordsmanship and magic, taught to wield power and discipline alike. Many would become instructors like him. Others would join the guild.
The guild attracted two kinds of people: academy graduates and freelancers looking to make a living from combat. Motivation didn't matter—only skill did. If you could fight, you could be hired.
And with each passing year, they would need more fighters than ever before.
Because the barrier wouldn't last forever.
Raza approached the door to his classroom at the academy, but before he could touch the handle, it swung open.
Four students stood there, grinning up at him like they'd been waiting all day.
"Why'd you miss today?" said Paula, arms folded, a pout already forming. "You promised to teach me earth spells!"
"And you said you'd help me get a new sword!" chimed in Griffin, a white-haired boy with a stubborn look in his eye. "That's the third time you've bailed this week!"
"You also said you'd train with me," added Ronan, the quietest of the four.
"And don't forget my lesson," Marie said, frowning. "You promised to teach me your binding spell, remember? I'm not letting you off the hook!"
Raza didn't say a word. He just tilted his head to the side and clenched his jaw. In all the stress of monitoring the barrier and the strange feeling in the forest, he'd completely forgotten the promises he'd made to his students.
He let out a long sigh. "Look, I love being your teacher—but I'm a court mage first. I've got responsibilities outside the academy."
"But sir!" Paula whined.
He sighed again, softer this time. He had a soft spot for these four. And while he wasn't a superhuman, he could at least try to make good on his word—starting today.
"Alright, alright. I'll get to each of you—one at a time," he said, holding up a hand. "And we're starting with..."
He turned his head.
"Griffin."
"Let's go!" Griffin whooped, grabbing Raza by the sleeve and tugging him down the stairs. "Time to get a new sword!"
Vancrest, being the heart of the nation, boasted no shortage of blacksmiths, having some of the finest weapon crafters in the four kingdoms. But unless you had backing from someone with a name, someone like Court Mage Raza Nifilhem, you'd be lucky to get a second glance, let alone a masterwork blade.
Today, Griffin wouldn't have to worry about that.
The bell above the door chimed as Raza and Griffin stepped into the blacksmith's shop. The choking scent of smoke and metal hung in the air, mixing with vapor that drifted in from the back room.
The hiss of boiling water echoed faintly, followed by a sharp burst of steam. Water droplets half-clung to the display weapons mounted behind the counter, only adding to their prestige as the sun struck them.
"Welcome to our shop!" chirped the receptionist—a girl so short she barely reached the counter's edge. "What can we do for you today? Full armor set? Enchanted rune staff? Or perhaps the finest weapons gold can buy? We sell it all!"
"I'm looking for a specially made weapon," Raza said, his crest shining under the dull overhead lamps.
The girl's eyes widened slightly. "Ah! Of course, one moment, I'll fetch our blacksmith." She disappeared through a doorway behind the counter.
Griffin stood beside him, fingers tightening anxiously around the edge of a nearby display table. For someone so naturally gifted, the boy rarely looked nervous. Out of all four students in Raza's class, Griffin was easily the strongest—maybe even strong enough to give him a run for his money, given time.
Raza glanced at him. The boy's white hair shimmering like quartz from an underground mine.
Griffin wasn't like the others. He wasn't born into status or plucked from a noble house with promising talent.
He came from Nox—the third nation, infamous for its crime-ridden slums and decaying outskirts. Griffin had been found starving in an alley, curled beside his mother's corpse.
That was six years ago.
Since then, he'd grown stronger, sharper, more determined than anyone Raza had ever taught. And if he kept going at this pace, Raza wouldn't be surprised if Griffin became strong enough to shift the course of a war singlehandedly.
A door opened at the back of the shop. The blacksmith emerged, a mountain of a man with soot-stained welding glasses over his eyes and thick, scorched gloves on his hands.
He didn't waste time. "What kind of blade are you looking for?" he asked, voice low and gravelly.
Griffin turned to Raza for guidance, but the man simply shook his head, signaling him to decide.
"I want a katana," Griffin said, his gaze locked on a display case behind the counter. A single ingot of Arrudite hung inside—silver-black and pulsing faintly with mana. Known for its lethal efficiency against demi-humans.
"I want that," he said, pointing.
The blacksmith gave a grunt. "You'll have it in a few weeks." He was already turning away. "My daughter will handle the payment."
"Thank you," Raza said with a nod, then turned back to Griffin—whose hands were clenched tightly around the edge of the counter. The wood cracking slightly beneath his grip.
"Griffin..."
"If I get that weapon," the boy said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can kill them all." His eyes narrowed. "All those monsters that killed Mom."
Raza exhaled slowly.
That's right, he remembered now. Griffin's mother had been murdered by a rogue elf—one of the few demi-humans who hadn't been sealed by Mehr's barrier. The boy had been there when it happened.
That trauma... it was the fire behind his blade. His hatred. His hunger to become strong.
Raza didn't speak.
He didn't console him.
He simply watched, silently allowing the fury to smolder, to twist, to burn hotter in the shadows of the boy's heart.
Because he could feel it now. Mehr's barrier wouldn't hold much longer.
And when it finally fell, the kingdom would strike.
And when they did...
Griffin would lead them.
------------------------
Ears twitched at the sound of footsteps, soft, steady, and multiplying.
Within seconds, they were surrounded.
Hundreds of Fenrir emerged from the caverns, their snarls filling the clearing. Eyes glinted like silver blades, and saliva dripped from bared fangs as they circled, closing in like the predators they were.
From the far end of the clearing, the immense mana presence stirred. It shifted forward, slow but deliberate, each step like thunder in Sirius's chest.
He raised his hands slightly, daggers at the ready.
Then, silence.
The snarling stopped.
The wolves halted mid-step, as if frozen by instinct. And one by one, they lowered themselves, front legs stretched forward, foreheads to the dirt.
They bowed.
A figure stepped from the mouth of the cavern.
The Fenrir King.
Sunlight spilled across his fur, a glistening silver mane stretched across a body built for combat. Towering. Regal. Primal. But despite ruling for over three decades, despite surviving countless battles...
Not a single scar marked his body.
Sirius felt his throat tighten.
He gulped.