(Lexo's Point of View)
The scene before me is a brutal dance. Borin—my burly, good-natured "uncle"—moves with surprising agility for his size, advancing and retreating fluidly, his strikes never losing their ferocity. His war axe, summoned moments ago from the very earth beneath us, whistles through the air in devastating arcs as the enemy shatters it repeatedly—as if it were made of paper.
But the six-armed beast is… unreal. Not only does it match Dad's friend in height, its abilities border on the absurd; it glides and dodges with the grace of a macabre dancer. Each of its six arms moves independently—blocking, deflecting, counterattacking. The same weapon that has split logs like butter is repeatedly halted by forearms that seem carved from gray marble. The dull, heavy thuds of impact resonate like destructive drumbeats.
"Return… the eggs… your… child!" the creature grunts between blows, its voice rough as grinding stones. Each word is labored, but the intent is clear.
"You'll have to go through my dead body, you scum!" Borin roars, launching a low sweep that the beast evades by leaping backward with astonishing speed.
Pietro stands beside me, pale and trembling, yet his analytical eyes never stop taking in every detail. "Hide, Pietro!" I shout urgently. He nods and slips behind a cluster of water barrels.
My mind races a mile a minute. Chronos! I could stop time, give my ally an opening—or even try to attack. But what if the beast is faster than my activation? What if it anticipates my move? One mistake… I don't even want to think about it. It's an enormous risk. What would Dad do? Lyra? Kael? I have to evaluate, look for the right opportunity—never rush in blindly.
As I hesitate, a nearly inaudible whisper brushes through my mind. It isn't Eos. It's… Lyra.
"Borin, move! NOW!"
There's no delay. The moment her command registers, Borin—trusting our years of fighting side by side—throws himself backward, rolling across the lawn as if his life depended on it.
In that instant, reality warped. With the scent of damp, feverish air, the sky tore open in inert, tearful droplets. I was utterly astonished.
It wasn't a rain of arrows. It was a deluge—a storm of projectiles summoned from thin air. A hundred, two hundred arrows—maybe more—fell like deadly hail onto the spot where the beast had stood just a second before. The air filled with sharp whistles as the impact was deafening. Half of the arrows glowed with an unnatural chill, coating the ground and the creature in instant frost. The other half burned with a hissing steam, melting the frost and searing its grayish skin. Astonishing precision. Terrifying power. Lyra!
A guttural, agonized shriek tore from the beast as the steam and frost dissipated in a gusty breeze—perhaps courtesy of Kael. The scene was brutal: three of the creature's six arms hung uselessly, either severed cleanly or shattered by direct hits. Its once-ivory skin was now burned, frozen, and perforated.
But it hadn't fallen.
As the beast roared in fury, its feet began to sink. Borin, having recovered from his roll, slammed his foot down hard, and the earth beneath the creature turned to thick, sticky mud. The water from Lyra's melted ice arrows mixed with it, creating an almost inescapable trap. Every move, every calculation, had been forced upon it.
Then, from an impossible height above the creature, Dad descended like a hammer. His sword—no mere wooden practice prop, but a blade of living steel—burned with a fire so intense it glowed cyan, reminiscent of my earlier experiment yet infinitely more stable and powerful. He landed softly, the sword whistling as it stopped just a millimeter from the creature's thick neck.
Wait… what about Mom? I scan the chaos until I see her. She didn't run over; she's standing next to Dad, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her face serene, but with a coldness in her eyes I've never seen before. She appeared in an instant. Her speed… it's not normal. That's when I realize: she's much more than just a healer.
Mom fixes her gaze on Pietro and me, her expression softening for a fleeting moment before hardening. "Lexo, Pietro. Get inside. Now! This isn't a place for children." Her tone brooks no argument.
We obey, sprinting toward the back door while Kael silently joins Lyra, both watching the immobilized and mutilated beast.
(Borin's Point of View)
Damn it, that thing was fast. And strong. Six arms… filthy bastard. It blocked every strike I threw. Smart, too—it even spoke, demanded something about the tadpole's eggs. It knew what it was after, but attacked with unbridled, irrational fury—no strategy, just brute force and speed. Weird.
Now, it's here, growling and cursing us in some strange tongue as Garen and I haul it through the tunnel into the cells beneath the guard post. Lyra and Kael cover us, just in case. Elara already went home after checking that none of us were hurt, giving us a look that promised a serious talk about the state of the yard.
"Did it say anything else, Borin?" Garen asks as we shut the heavy, reinforced cell door. The air down here is cold and damp, reeking of wet stone and ancient despair.
"Nothing useful," I grunt, wiping some grayish mud from my axe. "Just curses—and something about a 'Lost Legacy.' No names, no origins."
Kael materializes beside us, making Lyra flinch slightly. In his hands, he holds a rough cloth bag. He opens it to reveal three golden eggs and one multicolored diamond egg.
"They were never buried in the yard, Garen," Kael says with that evasive smile of his. "Too obvious. I had them hidden under a minor concealment enchantment in my room."
I snort. Typical Kael—paranoid, but effective.
"Good thinking," Garen admits, nodding.
"They finally showed their hand," Lyra murmurs, eyes fixed on the cell door behind which the beast now pounds rhythmically. "We knew the eggs would eventually attract attention. They couldn't wait any longer."
A few hours later, after Lyra had offered to interrogate it alone, Garen decided it was time to press further. "The honor of my family is sacred," he declared, without hesitation.
We exchange looks—the calm we hoped for was shattered. The past, the very reason we abandoned our life as adventurers, was always lurking. And now, it has come calling.
We return to the cell. The beast glares at us with pure hatred from the gloom.
"Let's talk," Garen says, his voice calm yet edged with steel. "Who sent you? What is this 'nomadic tribe' that seeks the 'Legacy'?"
The creature laughs—a horrible, grating sound. But under the combined pressure of Garen's imposing presence, Lyra's cold threat, Kael's unsettling demeanor, and my own raw determination (with a dash of less-than-subtle "encouragement"), it finally breaks.
The information comes out in fragmented, reluctant bursts. It speaks of the "Children of Twilight," a nomadic tribe that roams the deepest, wildest forests, rarely seen by civilized eyes. They worship dark, ancient entities and are actively searching for a child they call the "Legacy of the Fallen Star"—a prophecy, a being destined to bring great change. A being, according to their shamans, who has recently awakened—a being of primordial power who will rouse the seven ancient gods from their slumber. And so begins the end.
A child…
We look at each other, and the same chilling realization is mirrored in every face: The Legacy is most likely… Lexo!