The young fae stood at the outskirts of Highhaven, his heart pounding. In his hand, he held a bronze key, its weight almost ceremonial. His name—Wyn—was etched into its surface, a small mark but one that carried a weight far heavier than it seemed. This key, this trinket, would be the ticket to everything he had longed for.

  He glanced at his home before him, the wooden spires rising into the sky, like the ancient trees of old—before they were burnt by the humans.

  "That new Guardian," he muttered to himself. "She’s done everything to try to hold me down, to stifle my greatness."

  "But she recognizes me, doesn’t she?" He ran a finger along the engraved name on the key. "I am the first of the many to receive the rank test key."

  It was a symbol of everything he was destined to become. Bronze first, then eventually the white cloak was his.

  His road ahead was clear, his path straight. There were no obstacles that could keep him from achieving what he was born for. And once he took that title, the power, the respect—it would all be his. Soon, he would be the one issuing orders, not the one taking them.

  Wyn let out a small, maniacal laugh, his voice echoing in the stillness of the night. When that day came, he would be rid of Lyanna and her silly affections for the humans. The old grudges never forgotten, the ancient conflicts never ending. His grand ambition.

  He chuckled to himself again and raised the bronze key, his fingers tight around its handle. The faint glow of red flickered around the metal, and he smiled. He had waited long enough. He had earned this moment.

  The key was inserted into the air and red light with hints of gold flickered to life. Wyn stepped forward. Forward to his future.

  When Wyn stepped out of the glowing light, he was greeted by something unexpected. The trees here were too short, their trunks thin and spindly, the branches barely thicker than his arms.

  He looked back and his wings were gone. It shocked him at first but was quickly replaced with confidence.

  He didn’t need them.

  He raised his arms, holding his twin curved swords in front of him. The blades gleamed with a lethal intent, the metal sharpened for Master killing. They were his true strength, not the wings. These babies were enough.

  The sounds of battle reached him before the gravity of the situation sunk in. The clash of steel, the blasts of magic, the cries of pain. Wyn heard it all and relished in it.

  “Started without me, them fools,” he muttered to himself, a gleam of arrogant confidence in his eyes.

  Wyn pushed forward, intrigued by the chaos and eager to see what lay ahead. He walked with purpose, his boots crunching against the underbrush.

  Then he saw it.

  An Arduran.

  He recognized the familiar shape of the stone-skinned species immediately. But this one was different. Its limbs had been cleaved, the head partially severed, a stump where the neck had once been. White blood poured out of the wounds, pooled on the earth beneath the body.

  "Ardurans," Wyn muttered under his breath with a smug grin. "Slow and fat. Of course they get killed."

  He had never thought much of the Ardurans. They were big, sure, but the slowness of their movements had always made them easy targets, creatures of brute strength with little in the way of wit or agility. Things he had plenty of.

  A growl broke his thoughts. Wyn’s hand twitched instinctively, his swords ready at his side, but he didn’t need to act.

  Emerging from the underbrush, was a creature he had never seen before. It was small—half his size—too small to be a threat. A lizard-like monster, its scales glimmering in hues of red, its form lithe and wiry. It held a sword, shaped like a spine with jagged, serrated edges.

  Wyn's laugh echoed through the clearing, a sharp, arrogant sound that seemed to belong only to him.

  "This little guy?" he sneered. "Easy as honeywine cake."

  He had barely finished the thought before the creature moved. Faster than he had anticipated, its body a blur as it closed the distance between them.

  It was relentless, a savage flurry of slashing strikes aimed at his face, his chest, and his exposed sides. Wyn barely had time to react to the creature’s sword.

  “What in Mother Crystal?” he said, his confidence drained.

  The lizard didn’t pause, its eyes glowing with hunger as it pressed forward, its sword cutting through the air faster than Wyn could parry. Despite being the best among the brown cloaks, Wyn was forced to retreat step by step.

  He tried to regain control when a thick fog appeared on the tree top. The swirling white mass moved with unnatural speed, flowing between trees, closing in on him.

  Before he could process what was happening, a dagger shot out from the fog. The cold steel embedded itself deep into Wyn's left shoulder with a sickening thunk.

  He gasped, the pain radiating through his arm, and the sword in his left hand dropped from his grasp, clattering against the ground.

  "Damn it!" Wyn growled.

  The fog had already passed. It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving him with the pain in his shoulder and the immediate threat of the lizard before him.

  The creature didn’t stop. It was still charging, still slashing. Wyn couldn’t fight this thing with one arm, one sword.

  There was no time for pride now. Fight smart, not hard.

  He turned on his heel and ran.

  Wyn’s feet pounded against the forest floor, his breath ragged. He couldn’t hear the growling anymore. But he heard something else.

  A sound that wasn’t from the lizard’s pursuit. It came from above.

  There was a crash, the sound of something heavy and fast breaking through the trees. Wyn barely had time to react, barely avoiding being crushed under the weight of whatever had just fallen from the sky.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He hit the ground, but when he looked up, his eyes widened in shock. The creature that had fallen from the canopy was a bird-like humanoid, its body sprawled on the ground like a broken doll.

  An Owl Birdfolk.

  Wyn recognized it immediately. The Owl Birdfolk were a part of the Beast Kingdoms known for their sharp eyes and sharp minds, specializing in messengers or wizards. This one, though, was nothing like the proud, dignified creatures he’d heard about in stories. This one was dying, rapidly, its body shrinking as if the very essence of its life was being drained away.

  The creature’s feathers were falling out in clumps, bare patches of skin wrinkled and withered. Its eyes were cloudy and sunken, its light fading. Three green spots on its chest pulsed with an eerie, unnatural glow.

  "Help me..." it whispered, as it tried to lift its head, only to slump back to the ground, lifeless.

  His mind struggled to comprehend the scene before him. This isn’t normal. Everything about this isn’t normal.

  Wyn kept running, his breathing fast as he entered the clearing. The sight before him made him freeze, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him.

  The ground was littered with carnage. Bodies scattered in twisted, unnatural positions. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death.

  This wasn’t a test, Wyn thought.

  This was war.

  Giant arrows stuck from the ground, their shafts marred with splintered wood and blood soaked tips. Broken Ardurans lay in shattered heaps, their stone-like bodies reduced to icy rubble, limbs torn from their forms.

  And there, at the base of a gnarled tree, lay a lion humanoid, its body peppered with daggers. The once-proud creature’s golden mane was matted with blood, its chest still rising and falling with weak, ragged breaths before finally stopping.

  In the sky, Wyn noticed, was another Birdfolk, warding off blue lights that crackled around it. There were blasts of lightning and the Birdfolk succumbed to the barrage, falling like a stone from the sky. Its body hit the ground with a gruesome thud, its wings twisted and broken.

  Wyn swallowed hard, his mind reeling from the sight.

  This wasn’t a rank test, he thought again. And not a war.

  This was a massacre.

  This was a purge, a slaughter, a show of utter dominance by the Master.

  Wyn’s sword was heavy in his grip, not out of arrogance, but necessity. There was no glory to be won here. Only survival.

  He had to survive. He had to—

  Wyn’s breath was knocked from his chest with a sudden, violent force that crushed him entirely. The air around him rushed out as something massive landed directly on him, the impact enough to drive him into the dirt. His vision blurred, pain radiating through his limbs.

  The world spun violently around him, the edges of his vision darkening.

  Everything went black.

  ******

  Skrindle, hovering lazily beside Kael, let out a chuckle. "That was the last of them, wasn’t it?" he asked, the imp’s grin wide.

  Kael stood motionless. Just a moment ago, Jello had just landed with ridiculous speed, crushing the last of the invaders.

  It was the end of the battle, the end of the onslaught.

  Yes," Kael finally replied. "But the last one was a fae."

  “Why does it matter that one was a fae?”

  "The invaders were groups of Ardurans or the strange animal creatures," Kael said. "I think more fae might come. Or are already coming."

  As if his companions could hear his thoughts, Jello and Three Arms began to patrol the perimeter. Regardless if the fae came or not, it was still a much needed break.

  Kael’s gaze shifted to Gerry next to him, the massive mechanical golem, who was holding a cat humanoid in his arms. The creature struggled futilely against Gerry’s grip, its sharp claws raking uselessly at the golem’s steel cogs.

  Goober appeared beside him, and Kael took a moment to sit down on the slime’s squishy form. The cool, slimy texture beneath him was almost comforting amidst the chaos of the battlefield.

  He looked at the cat, still squirming in Gerry’s grasp, and raised an eyebrow. "Where are you from?" Kael asked.

  The cat paused, its yellow eyes flashing with defiance. But the creature’s energy was slowly draining under Gerry’s unrelenting grip.

  "The Master talks?" It was a defiant but hesitant inquiry.

  Kael couldn’t suppress a small chuckle at that. He glanced at Skrindle briefly, then turned back to the prisoner. "How strange," Kael said. "Everyone says that about me. Were you all expecting me to be silent? Or stupid?"

  The cat didn’t respond, its narrowed eyes still wary.

  "What’s your name?" he asked the cat.

  No reply.

  "My name is Kael.”

  Still no answer.

  "Do you know why you’re a prisoner?"

  The lack of response didn’t surprise him.

  “The Ardurans and the other animal people. They were too strong to be prisoners. Except you. The weakest."

  The silence was growing.

  “Pity,” Kael said, standing up from Goober. "The hard way then."

  The temperature dropped sharply as Mush appeared, his body composed of cold and ice. Mush’s cold aura spread out like an invisible frost, freezing everything close. The cat’s eyes widened in fear as the chill seeped into its limbs.

  "Where you come from," Kael asked the cat, "is it cold?"

  The cat's body shuddered, and it let out a sharp, ragged breath. It had no answer for Kael. There was only pain. And then the screams began.

  Kael watched with detached curiosity as the creature’s body began to crumble, unable to withstand the relentless chill. He looked around his square, his eyes sweeping over the fallen invaders, their bodies still, broken, and cold.

  A feeling of pride surged within him. His defenses had held strong. His square, once vulnerable and barely defended, had been transformed. The invaders had come with their strength and their numbers, but it had not been enough.

  The cat’s body convulsed violently as the cold freezed its bones, its breath coming in gasps. Its screams grew more frantic, more animalistic.

  It didn’t take long before it begged for mercy. It told Kael everything he knew.

  The Beast Kingdoms was an ancient and proud collection of tribes. The Leonids species, like this cat, were one of the dominant tribes among them, their warriors feared across the continent for their strength and ferocity. There were other tribes too, but the cat knew little of them.

  The Beast Kingdoms themselves were located in the heart of the land, to the north of the Isseri Desert, a vast stretch of harsh, unforgiving terrain. But more importantly, they were south of the Northern Kingdoms, a place Kael had heard far too much about—the bitter cold of those lands, the politics, their soft fur coats.

  With a single thought, Kael summoned Skrindle, the imp’s mischievous form appearing almost immediately.

  “Master?"

  "Which of my companions needs experience the most?"

  "Xal," Skrindle said. "He’s only had two kills so far. He could do with more.”

  "Xal," Kael called. Kael gestured to the cat humanoid held up by Gerry, its legs still frozen. "Finish him."

  Xal jumped. He landed on the cat’s throat, his sharp fangs sinking deep into the flesh with a savage growl. The cat’s body twitched in its last moments, a gurgled scream escaping its throat before its life drained away.

  Experience, Kael thought, his gaze never leaving the cat’s corpse. You get it through blood.

  Kael’s gaze shifted upward. With the cat’s death, the red-tinted walls of his square flickered, turning a deep blue with the faintest hint of gold. The walls that defined his world.

  Beastfolk. Ardurans. Fae. Humans.

  It was a world far beyond this square, a world he had never truly touched.

  One day, he thought. One day, he could leave. One day, when the walls no longer held him prisoner. One day, when he got the wish.

  But for now, he was trapped.

  The walls flickered again, as if mocking him. Trapped. Always trapped.

  One day. One day, he would leave.

  And he would tear the walls down.

  ******