Aithur stretched until his shoulders cracked, a long yawn echoing through the courtyard like the call of a lazy lion. His navy-blue hair caught the late morning light, shimmering like a restless ocean, while his black eyes, sharp but weary, scanned the palace courtyard.

He leaned against the side of his carriage with the air of a man who regretted waking up that morning.

"Boring," he sang out in a low hum, drawing the word until it dripped with irritation.

A loud snort came from the side.

Prince Eilan strode in, straight-backed and proud in his silver uniform, his emerald cloak fluttering slightly in the palace breeze. His blond hair was neatly brushed—as always—and his sharp green eyes were filled with disapproval.

"What did you expect, Duke?" Eilan's tone was sharp, but there was exhaustion behind it.

Aithur tilted his head lazily, his lips curving into a grin that promised trouble. "Action," he said. "Or, I don't know—an ambush maybe. Something interesting. The road was too quiet. I almost fell asleep standing."

Eilan's face turned red instantly. "You're impossible! Do you realize this mission was to retrieve a traitor from the temple? We were not supposed to seek chaos, Duke Aithur!"

"Oh, please," Aithur drawled, waving a hand. "The traitor was a sniveling apprentice who folded faster than wet parchment. At least if someone had tried to stab me, I'd feel alive again."

"Alive?" Eilan repeated, his voice rising. "You make it sound like we came here for your entertainment!"

Aithur smirked, eyes half-lidded. "Didn't we?"

That was enough to make Eilan groan. He covered his face with one hand. "Saints preserve me… Duke, you're impossible. I'm not going to argue with you. Try not to blow something up before we reach the throne room."

"No promises," Aithur replied.

As Eilan stormed off toward the palace gates, muttering something about "barbaric northerners," Aithur chuckled under his breath. "Still as uptight as ever, that brat."

His amusement faded when his gaze drifted to the line of knights escorting the prisoner through the courtyard.

Harold.

The apprentice-turned-traitor was bound in chains that shimmered faintly with magic. His hair, once light brown, now hung limp and dark with sweat, his face pale but eyes sharp and venomous. As he passed, he lifted his head and locked eyes with Aithur.

A slow, eerie smirk crept across Harold's face.

Aithur's own smile vanished. His black eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing across them. "Oh, you're one of those," he muttered under his breath.

"Keep moving!" one of the guards barked, shoving Harold forward.

Harold chuckled lowly as he disappeared into the hall.

The doors snapped shut.

Aithur's grin returned—but this time, it was sharp and cruel. "Cocky little rat."

The knights standing nearby exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a younger soldier with freckles, leaned toward Aithur.

"Milord… should we—uh—keep an eye on him?"

Aithur shrugged. "If he tries anything stupid, cut his other hand off. Or better, let me do it. I could use the exercise."

The soldiers blinked.

Then one started laughing, trying to stifle it as the Duke gave a mock glare. "What? I'm serious. My magic's bored."

That got another laugh out of the group, breaking the tension just enough. Aithur smirked to himself. At least someone appreciated his sense of humor.

But as the last laugh faded, a strange unease settled in the courtyard.

Aithur straightened slightly, feeling a faint pulse beneath his feet—like the earth had sighed. His expression darkened, the grin slipping away.

"…That's odd."

He turned his head slightly, scanning the horizon beyond the palace walls. Everything seemed too still. The banners weren't moving even though he could feel the wind brushing his coat. The air itself felt heavy, pressed down with something unseen.

His mind began to race quietly behind his calm expression.

No ambushes on the way here. No monsters. Not even a stray thief on the road.

It had bothered him since they left the temple—but now it clawed at his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch.

This entire retrieval was too easy.

Aithur crossed his arms, muttering under his breath. "The last time things went this smoothly, I ended up knee-deep in exploding frogs."

The knight beside him blinked. "Exploding frogs, sir?"

"Don't ask," Aithur said flatly. "You wouldn't sleep tonight."

The guard coughed awkwardly, stepping back.

Aithur sighed, rubbing his temples. The more he thought, the more his head hurt. He felt that dull ache of intuition that came whenever the world was about to dump a mess in his lap.

"Maybe I'm overthinking," he murmured. "Or maybe I'm cursed. Probably both."

His gaze flickered toward the palace towers.

"Still… why would anyone paint a death threat in blood just to let the target stroll into the capital without resistance?"

His thoughts trailed to the others.

"Count Liliana and her knights should be halfway to Noia by now," he said to himself.

"Lucky bastards. They get all the fun things—strange red skies, monster sightings—while I get stuck playing bodyguard for a lunatic and a brat prince."

He groaned dramatically. "The gods really do hate me."

A faint breeze rolled through the courtyard then. Aithur frowned. The horses nearby began to snort and shuffle, stamping the ground nervously. The faint pulse beneath his boots grew stronger.

Then, a small stone at his feet began to shake.

He blinked down at it. "Oh, great. An earthquake?"

Another pebble rattled beside it—then another. Soon, the entire line of stones near the fountain was trembling like they were alive.

The knights began murmuring, looking around in confusion.

"Sir Duke?" one called out, hand on his sword. "What's happening?"

Aithur didn't answer at first. His instincts were screaming. He slowly raised his hand, stopping the soldiers from moving further.

"Quiet," he said. "Listen."

The courtyard fell into silence.

The birds perched along the walls suddenly screamed, wings flapping as they took off into the sky.

And that's when Aithur's stomach sank.

"Oh, that's not good."

A soft hum—barely audible at first—vibrated through the ground. It was followed by a crack, like lightning splitting stone. Then another.

Aithur exhaled sharply. "Well… at least I got my wish."

The guards looked at him in confusion. "Your wish, my lord?"

"For something fun."

The next moment, the world erupted.

A deafening BOOM!

The palace was under attack.

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