As Esma raced around the fortress perimeter in search of the infiltrators, she glanced up to see the sky bruising into a deep violet.
“I need to hurry; it's getting dark!” she hissed to herself, rounded a corner, and vanished into the shadows of the stone corridor.
Meanwhile, at a postern gate, a rift of golden light tore through the air. A triangular gold earring swayed in the wake of the magic, humming with a soft, melodic chime.
Ding.
Donal touched down with cat-like grace, his purple cloak and mantle settling around his shoulders. He scanned his surroundings.
“Looks like I’m either tragically late or precisely on time,” he muttered. He reached up and rubbed his temple, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve got to be more discreet. That drunkard nearly lost his skin when he saw me blink out of existence back there.”
The sound of frantic, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the distance. He turned just as Esma skidded into the courtyard. She stopped short, her brow furrowed in suspicion.
He doesn't look like a civilian, nor a dragon in human guise, she noted.
Donal tilted his head, his gaze dropping to the red pendant swaying from her waist. His eyes narrowed.
A Red Convert, he thought, a predatory glint in his eyes. You’ll be quite the asset.
He stepped into her path, his posture deceptively relaxed. Esma bent double, her chest heaving as she struggled for air.
“Whoever you are, move!”
“Eager to impress your ‘Eternal’ superiors?” Donal asked. His voice was smooth, draped in mystery.
Esma straightened, her confusion clear.
“What are you talking about?!”
Donal offered a sharp smile. He slipped a hand from beneath his cloak and opened his palm to reveal a shimmering red pin, the sigil of the Red Converts.
One of us? Esma wondered, searching his eyes for the truth.
“I can help you,” Donal said softly, “but first, you need to tell me exactly what’s happening here.”
Esma’s gaze flickered back to the pin.
His disguise is flawless. I didn’t even realize he was a brother-in-arms!
“Malachite and I were given strict orders to monitor the dragon prince, Lionel,” she whispered urgently. “We suspect he bears a Star Curse. Malachite is supposed to lead us through the palace; he’s our expert in infiltration.”
Donal tilted his head, processing the information.
So Malachite is the architect of this little play? He felt a grin spread across his face. Let’s see if we can’t introduce a little chaos.
***
Malachite fell to his knees, his face pale with disbelief. “Then... where is she?!”
Donal’s smile was wide and cruel.
“She’s on her way to tell your masters that you’ve betrayed them. I convinced her that you were playing everyone for fools, setting your own comrades up for the fall. And while she was away, I stepped into her role.” He spread his arms wide, a short, sharp laugh escaping him. “You’ll return to your headquarters a dead man walking, Malachite.”
Zorn and Khor gasped, their eyes darting between the two men.
“Where the hell did you get that sacred pin, you cretin?!” Malachite roared, his frustration boiling over.
Donal chuckled and pulled the red pin from his pocket.
“Oh, this?” He opened his hand and let it fall.
Tink.
The moment it hit the floor, the red light flickered and died. The pin elongated and shifted, transforming into a simple silver ring set with a tiny, mundane diamond embedded within the metal.
“A simple illusion,” Donal shrugged.
Zorn stared at the ring, his mind racing.
Wait, something isn’t adding up...
Malachite growled, a low, guttural sound of pure rage.
He hauled the unconscious women over both of his shoulders, staggering as he found his footing.
“It’s a good thing I am very persuasive, bastard! I’ll clear my name with the higher-ups. This is not the last you've seen of me! We have your prince and your Star Ranger. Next, we’re coming for your King’s head!”
Donal turned toward King Abad, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb at the retreating Malachite.
“This guy really loves a good monologue, doesn't he?”
Abad raised an eyebrow, his expression weary.
So casual.
Despite the gravity of the situation, the strange remark seemed to ground Abad.
Malachite snarled one last time before disappearing through a shimmering portal, the rift snapping shut behind him.
Donal turned his attention to the fake guards. They stood frozen, paralyzed by the memory of how he had dismantled the masked women earlier.
“What would you like done with these frauds, Your Majesty?”
Abad’s gaze was icy as he looked upon the men who had delivered his son to the enemy. Their pleas for mercy were nothing but white noise; the buzzing of insects.
“Execute them,” the King commanded, his voice as hard as iron.
The guards broke, turning to flee for the throne room doors. Donal’s grin returned. He gave a mocking, performative bow, and then the world seemed to stall.
Time slowed. A sharp, crimson flash zigzagged across the room, faster than a blink of an eye.
The guards’ steps faltered. Then, with a lack of ceremony, their heads slid from their necks, thumping onto the black marble and rolling away.
Their bodies collapsed, and a pool of deep crimson began to spread toward Donal’s boots.
Zorn backed into a pillar, his chest heaving as he stared at the carnage.
“AAAAHHHH!!!” A raw, piercing scream tore from his throat. He gripped his hair, his eyes wide with pure horror.
Khor moved instantly, wrapping an arm around Zorn and pulling him away from the sight. He can cleave? Khor thought, his pulse racing.
Sidhes aren't capable of that kind of raw power. What else is he hiding from me?
Donal stared at the floor, the smirk gone. His expression was hollow, echoing a profound sadness Khor hadn't seen before.
“Zorn—” Khor started.
“No, I’ll be fine,” Zorn interrupted, his voice trembling as he wiped his eyes. “I have to... I have to toughen up.”
Khor sighed, a heavy weight in his chest, but he nodded.
King Abad straightened his back.
He looked down at the three of them, his eyes reflecting the bullet holes and the blood that stained his once-holy lunar room. He exhaled a long, tired breath.
“The man in purple,” Abad said.
“Who are you?”
Donal placed his right arm over his chest and bowed his head deeply.
Can’t hide from the man chosen to guard the Relic, he mused.
“I am the Planetary Mage of Mercury,” Donal said, his voice ringing through the hall. “Donal Groom.”
Zorn and Khor froze, their minds joining in a shocked internal chorus: He's a Planetary Lord?!
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