At the head of the escort, Ceasar Arkellis rode his black steed with practiced ease, his emerald eyes locked on the road ahead, scanning for danger. Behind him, Jugo kept pace with the rear guard, ever watchful, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Inside the first carriage, Helga sat beside Laisa and her maid, Kaisy, her gaze drifting beyond the window. The land was not what she expected. She had heard of Nek-Asrof, the forsaken land, but seeing it now… it was worse than the stories.

The roads were nothing more than cracked dirt paths, lined with crumbling houses and skeletal remains of once-thriving villages. Emaciated figures lurked in the shadows, their hollow eyes filled with suspicion and resentment. Children ran barefoot across the broken streets, their clothes little more than scraps of filth-covered fabric. Some watched in silence. Others dared to wave, their faces alight with something resembling hope—a fragile thing, long since abandoned in these lands.

Helga’s chest tightened.

"Father… you wanted to save them. But look at what they have become."

Kaisy, noticing her expression, whispered, “It may be the first time they’re seeing such opulent carriages.”

“Yes,” Laisa murmured, waving at the children. “They look so stunned…”

Helga did not wave. Her hands curled into fists on her lap.

The carriage rumbled on, passing a half-ruined school, where a handful of thin, ragged students stood in the doorway, staring in silent awe.

A memory surfaced—her father’s voice, warm and full of purpose.

---

A Memory

"Father, why are you always working in the study room? Why don't you come see me?"

A deep chuckle rumbled in response.

"Oh, my little princess… did you miss your father?"

Before she could answer, she was lifted into strong arms, her tiny body nestled against her father’s chest. King Willard pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his expression gentle, yet burdened.

"I am sorry, my dear. But I have important duties to fulfill."

Helga pouted. "What kind of duties?"

King Willard reached for a map, spreading it before her. His fingers traced the wasteland at the center.

"Do you see this land, Helga? This is Nek-Asrof, the unclaimed land. Do you know why no king dares to claim it?"

She had shaken her head.

"Because no king wants to bear its burdens."

His voice darkened, sadness creeping into his eyes.

"The people here are castaways. The forgotten. The starving and the broken. Some steal to survive. Others kill. And some… are forced to become the monsters we fear them to be. But they are not demons. They are simply… lost."

Helga had listened, too young to understand the full weight of his words, but not too young to hear the sorrow in them.

"I wish to change that," he continued, voice thick with conviction. "I want them to be my people. I want them to have homes, food, education… a future."

He had smiled then, his golden eyes alight with hope.

"One day, I will make them Loistavians."

---

The memory burned in Helga’s chest.

"And yet, father… all your dreams were stolen. Our home was stolen. And these people were abandoned once again."

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress. She would not let it end like this.

She would find her brother. She would take back their kingdom.

For father. For her lost siblings. For her people.

---

The First Stop: Nightfall in the Wasteland

The caravan came to a sudden halt.

Helga peered through the window. They had reached a vast, barren plain, far from the last village. The land stretched endlessly, nothing but sand, thorned shrubs, and the occasional crumbling ruin in sight.

Outside, Ceasar dismounted, barking orders to his men. A camp would be set here for the night.

Helga’s gaze lingered on the knight standing tall in the moonlight, his golden hair catching the soft glow of the stars. Even after all these years, he still blushed when speaking to her.

"He hasn’t changed at all…"

She knew Ceasar’s feelings. She had known for years. And yet, she had never spoken of it.

"Not now. Not yet."

The door to her carriage opened.

Ceasar stood there, clearing his throat before speaking.

“My lady, we have arrived at our first resting place. A tent has been prepared for you.”

Helga stepped out, her sapphire eyes catching the emerald of his. The moment stretched between them, silent and charged.

The full moon bathed them in silver light, and for the first time in a long while, Ceasar found himself mesmerized.

"She’s… beautiful."

He quickly composed himself, bowing his head.

“It is cold at night in these lands. Please, keep warm.”

Helga smiled.

“Thank you, my lord.”

She turned and entered the tent, leaving Ceasar standing there, his heart hammering in his chest.

The Hunter in the Dark

The ruins of an old fortress sat in the heart of Nek-Asrof, its crumbling walls barely standing against the harsh desert winds. The once-great stone citadel had become home to outcasts, thieves, and deserters—a lawless den where power was dictated by strength, wit, and the sharpness of one’s blade.

Inside the largest chamber, torches flickered against the cold walls, their light casting long shadows over a group of men gathered around makeshift tables. Laughter and the clatter of dice filled the air.

At the center of it all, Mazzi lounged lazily upon a throne of mismatched cushions and looted silks, one leg thrown over the armrest. His crimson eyes gleamed with mischief, his ever-present grin dancing between amusement and chaos.

A girl sat at his feet, curled against his knee, playing absentmindedly with the hem of his coat. Unlike the other women in the camp, she was not afraid. Mazzi was unpredictable, but he wasn’t unnecessarily cruel. He liked his games, his bets, his wild adventures—but he was no butcher.

At least, not unless he had a reason to be.

“Roll it, Salvo,” Mazzi said, stretching lazily as he pointed to the dice in the hands of a trembling bandit. “Come on now, don’t be shy.”

Salvo hesitated, fingers slick with sweat.

“Your luck’s been bad tonight,” Mazzi mused, tossing a small knife between his hands. “Maybe you’ll finally roll something decent. Or maybe… well.” He smirked. “You’ll have to part with a finger.”

The other men roared with laughter, clinking their mugs together in delight.

Salvo swallowed hard and rolled.

The dice hit the table. Snake eyes.

The room fell silent.

Mazzi stared at the numbers, then at Salvo’s horrified expression.

And then—he laughed.

A loud, careless burst of laughter that made even the girl at his feet chuckle.

“Salvo, Salvo, Salvo,” Mazzi said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I swear, you have the worst luck of any man I’ve ever met! It’s almost impressive.”

Salvo let out a nervous chuckle, relieved that Mazzi seemed more entertained than angry.

“Tell you what,” Mazzi leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Since I’m in such a generous mood tonight… I’ll let you off easy.”

Salvo sighed in relief—

“—If you let Bruno punch you in the face.”

The giant of a man sitting across from Salvo cracked his knuckles.

The laughter exploded again as Bruno swung his fist, sending Salvo toppling off his chair with a loud grunt.

Mazzi grinned, throwing his head back against the cushions. “Ahhh, I love this life.”

The joyful chaos was interrupted by the sudden entrance of a panting scout, his face flushed from running.

Mazzi sighed dramatically. “Oh no, here we go. I can already tell it’s bad news.”

The scout hesitated.

“Come on now, out with it,” Mazzi urged, wiggling his fingers. “Or are you just here to admire me? Happens a lot, you know.”

The scout exhaled sharply. “They’re coming.”

Mazzi blinked. “They?”

“The former queen of Loistava. Her daughter. Their knights. They’re traveling through Nek-Asrof.”

Mazzi’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.

And then—he whistled.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, rolling the words on his tongue like a fine wine. “Would you look at that?”

The scout stepped forward. “They’re stopping at Aroo tonight. They’re traveling with two carriages filled with valuables—but they have a problem.”

Mazzi raised a brow. “Do they now?”

“Ceasar Arkellis is with them.”

Silence.

Then—Mazzi burst out laughing.

Not just a chuckle, but a full, delighted howl of laughter, slapping his knee in amusement.

The men looked at each other, some confused, some grinning.

“Ohhh, now this is just… too perfect.” Mazzi wiped at his eyes, shaking his head. “Ceasar Arkellis. The golden knight. The perfect nobleman. The man who never makes a mistake. The one who stole my prey.”

His grin turned wicked. “Oh, I have to see this.”

Bruno crossed his arms. “So? What do we do?”

Mazzi stood up with a dramatic stretch, rolling his shoulders.

“Brothers,” he called out, voice smooth as silk. “What do we have here?”

“The exiled queen.” One man grinned.

“The Loistava princess.” Another chuckled.

Mazzi’s red eyes gleamed. “And Ceasar Arkellis.”

A slow, dangerous grin spread across his lips.

“We could ransom the queen. Sell the princess to the highest bidder. Take the gold for ourselves.” He shrugged. “Or…”

He turned to his men, spreading his arms wide.

“We could have a little fun.”

The bandits cheered, raising their weapons.

Mazzi grinned.

“Ohhh, Ceasar, my dear, dear knight. I hope you’re ready.”

He clapped his hands together, his excitement palpable.

“Tonight, we hunt.”

---

(To Be Continued…)

---