Michaelli listened to the rustling leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. The canopy above cast shifting patterns across the forest floor as the royal hunters advanced with practiced stealth. The snort of a horse broke the tension, every ear pricked for the faintest sound.

  The Prince led the group astride a jet-black stallion, its muscles taut and coiled like a bowstring, mirroring its master’s anticipation. This was no ordinary hunt—they sought the Onyxariel, the legendary black griffin. Its wings were said to stretch as vast as shadows, capable of blanketing the sky, with a golden beak gleaming brighter than any royal seal.

  “Nightfall, let’s go,” Michaelli muttered, urging his steed forward. To him, this was more than a hunt; it was prophecy taking shape. Tonight, I will claim the Onyxariel.

  “Awoooo…”

  Michaelli raised his hand, signaling the group to halt. Silence swallowed the woods, thick and absolute. Then, a sharp, piercing cry shattered the stillness, reverberating like a spectral warning.

  Michaelli’s grin turned predatory as he gestured for his riders to spread out. The thrill of the hunt coursed through his veins. “It’s close,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with challenge. The air seemed to grow heavier, the forest holding its breath.

  “Awoohuhu…”

  Michaelli froze mid-step. The sound, once fierce and wild, now wavered into a strange, whimpering wail. Suspicion replaced his thrill as he crept toward the source, dagger ready, senses razor-sharp. Leaves crunched underfoot as he carefully parted the branches.

  “Awohuhu…aah! Your Highness? Oh, thank goodness!”

  Michaelli’s jaw tightened. For a long moment, he simply stared, his sharp mind noting the oddity of the sound before he fully processed the sight in front of him. Dangling upside-down from a crude rope trap—meant for small hunt—was Tuk, his hapless advisor, swaying back and forth like a deranged pendulum.

  “You…what are you doing up there?” His tone was flat, his patience hanging by a thread.

  “I—I was looking for you, Your Highness!” Tuk stammered, flailing slightly. “But, uh… first, could you help me get down? I think all the blood is rushing to my head.”

  Michaelli pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh so long and deep it seemed to ask the heavens for strength. Slowly, he unsheathed his dagger, tilting it lazily in Tuk’s direction.

  “Wait, Your Highness!” Tuk yelped, his eyes widening with alarm. “You’re not seriously going to throw that, are you?”

  Michaelli arched a brow, his expression neutral but his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you think so little of me? If I wanted you dead, you’d already be on the ground.” He twirled the dagger deftly. “Now hold still. I’m an excellent shot—when people don’t wiggle.”

  “It can kill me! I’ll die both ways! If I fall headfirst—”

  Before Tuk could finish his frantic protests, the woods shifted.

  A shadow passed overhead, blotting out the dappled light. A rush of wind swept through the trees, bending branches and sending a cascade of leaves swirling in gold and green. Michaelli’s steed, Nightfall, whinnied and danced nervously, its hooves stamping into the earth.

  Michaelli stiffened, his grip tightening on the reins. His dagger lowered, momentarily forgotten as his sharp gaze swept the darkening sky.

  A low hum built in the air—deep and foreboding, like the rumble of distant thunder.

  “Y-Your Highness…” Tuk’s voice cracked as he pointed a trembling finger skyward. “That’s not a dragon, is it?”

  The Onyxariel descended, circling above them like a storm-given flesh. Its wings carved through the air with an ominous grace, sunlight glinting off dark feathers threaded with veins of gold. Its golden beak gleamed—a warlord’s crown forged for battle, fierce and unyielding.

  Tuk stared at the flying beast—a creature that was clearly not a dragon but more like the body of a lion with wings, its massive shadow blotting out the sunlight as it descended from the skies. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, with a resigned sigh and watery eyes, she muttered, “Why is it always me?”

  Tuk, clinging desperately tried to hold to the rope that makes his body wave frantically. “Don’t just stand there! Do something!” he shouted desperately forgetting for a moment that he was talking to a prince, not a stupid friend.

  “Calm down. You’re perfectly safe.”

  “Perfectly safe? It’s LOOKING at me!” Tuk screeched, her gaze locking onto the griffin’s piercing eyes. The beast’s head tilted, studying her dangling form with unnerving intent. The forest seemed to hold its breath as Tuk’s legs flailed uselessly in the air. “Oh no, no, no…”

  A deafening roar snapped her out of her panic. Michaelli urged Nightfall into the clearing, his posture regal but brimming with lethal intent. His gaze locked onto the griffin, a silent challenge emanating from his smirk.

  He drew his black dagger, its obsidian runes pulsing faintly with an otherworldly glow. Uttering a sharp command in an ancient tongue, the blade began to shimmer, dissolving into a swirling, liquid form. The dark substance writhed like a living entity, twisting and coalescing until it solidified into a gleaming sword. Without hesitation, Michaelli slashed through the air, the blade emitting a low, resonant hum of restrained power as he surged toward the beast.

  The Onyxariel twisted in mid-air, dodging his strike with infuriating grace. It dove, talons extended like jagged spears now aiming to the prince. Michaelli ducked just in time, the claws raking deep into the earth behind him.

  The beast lunged again, its wings stirring a gale that whipped through the clearing. Michaelli then took one step forward and swung his sword. The runes glowed faintly as the weapon rippled and reshaped in his hands, flowing like liquid metal. Michaelli narrowed his eyes, and his weapon rippled, shifting from a spear into a gleaming whip blade. The segmented metal extended and coiled like a serpent, glowing faintly as it responded to his movements.

  “Okay, what the hell is happening?” Tuk muttered, wide-eyed as she watched the prince manipulate the weapon like an extension of himself.

  The whipblade struck with precision, coiling around the griffin’s talons. A furious roar echoed as the beast faltered, its wings churning the air into chaos. Michaelli pulled sharply, his movements fluid and unrelenting, dragging the Onyxariel into a spiraling descent.

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  Michaelli released the whipblade, letting it retract and reform into a sword just as the griffin lunged again. Its beak snapped dangerously close to his head, but he sidestepped with an ease that made the battle look more like a performance.

  From above, Tuk watched the exchange with a mix of awe and disbelief. Michaelli moved like a dancer, every strike and dodge calculated to perfection. She couldn’t help but notice the faint smirk on his lips even as the griffin bore down on him.

  “Why does he look so smug?” she muttered under her breath.

  The griffin lashed out again, forcing Michaelli to leap back. He landed gracefully, his expression unshaken.

  “Stop enjoying this!” Tuk yelled, her voice carrying over the chaos.

  Michaelli finally glanced up at her, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I told you to stay still. Do you always talk this much? You’re as noisy as a gaggle of gossiping noblewomen.”

  Tuk bristled, swallowing the sharp retort bubbling in her throat. Arguing with the infuriating prince wouldn’t free her. Deciding it was wiser to focus on escaping while the two beasts clashed below, she tightened her grip on the rope and scanned her bindings, searching for a solution.

  Her thoughts screeched to a halt.

  “Wait… why is it coming at me?!” she shrieked as the Onyxariel’s piercing gaze snapped to her. Dangling helplessly, Tuk’s heart thundered in her chest as the creature flared its colossal wings, its muscles coiling like a spring ready to strike.

  “No… stay back!” she yelled, thrashing against her bindings, panic seizing her chest.

  Michaelli’s smirk deepened, the faint glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as the beast lunged. Before it could reach its target, Michaelli intercepted it mid-charge. His whipblade shimmered in his grip, morphing into a curved, scythe-like blade. With one sweeping arc, he clipped the creature’s wing, sending a cascade of black diamond-like feathers spiraling down.

  From her precarious vantage point, Tuk’s frantic eyes tracked the Onyxariel’s movements. In the chaos, she noticed something—a subtle shift in its hind legs before each attack. “Its balance!” she blurted out without thinking. “It shifts its weight to the back legs before it strikes!”

  Michaelli’s eyes flicked to her for the briefest moment, a sharp smile tugging at his lips. “Lucky guess,” he murmured, turning back to the beast.

  In one fluid motion, his whipblade lashed out again, slicing with surgical precision through the tendon of the Onyxariel’s hind leg. The creature screeched in pain, its wings flailing wildly as it faltered in the air.

  “Bye,” Michaelli said with a smirk, surging forward with the grace of a predator. He leaped onto the thrashing griffin’s back, his movements as fluid as water despite the chaos. The Onyxariel bucked violently, but Michaelli used the momentum to vault higher, closing the gap to the dangling figure bound by tangled ropes.

  His weapon shifted seamlessly back into a dagger. With a single, decisive stroke, he severed the rope that held Tuk captive. She plummeted with a yelp, and before she could hit the ground, Michaelli caught her mid-air with a firm grip.

  But something made him falter. His hand pressed against her chest briefly, his fingers brushing something unexpected—a shape too soft and out of place. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he quickly adjusted, sliding his grip to her waist with practiced ease, his expression unreadable.

  Tuk, too stunned to speak, clung to his arm as he landed gracefully, her heart pounding from more than just the fall. She was too shaken to notice the subtle shift in Michaelli’s demeanor or the sharp focus in his golden eyes as they lingered on her.

  “You…” Michaelli began, his voice low but cutting through the chaos around them. He set her down gently, yet his hands didn’t release her immediately. His grip was firm, deliberate, as if anchoring her in place.

  Tuk blinked, her instincts finally kicking realizing their position. “What?” she blurted, her voice shaking as she attempted to break the moment. But the question hung awkwardly in the air, unanswered.

  “You’re heavier than I thought,” Michaelli muttered, finally letting go of her.

  Tuk’s mouth fell open, her indignation flaring like a struck match. “Oh, you’re welcome, Your Highness,” she snapped, brushing dirt from her arms with exaggerated flair. “Happy to risk my life so you can look good in front of your warriors.”

  Michaelli raised a brow, his calm demeanor entirely unshaken. “Risk your life? You were dangling like bait.”

  Tuk glared, a flush of frustration coloring her cheeks. “Bait is useful! You’re supposed to thank bait.”

  A corner of Michaelli’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, though he quickly buried it. “Thank you, bait,” he said dryly, inclining his head.

  She groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. You know what? Next time, let the griffin eat me.”

  His golden eyes glinted, more amused than annoyed. “It probably wouldn’t. You’d give it indigestion.”

  Tuk froze, her indignation melting into stunned silence. “Did... did you just make a joke? Was that an actual joke?”

  “I don’t joke,” Michaelli replied smoothly, though the faintest smirk betrayed him.

  Her mouth twitched, an involuntary laugh escaping despite herself. “You’re insufferable.”

  “And you’re cursed,” he countered, his tone suddenly more serious. “You keep finding yourself in trouble—it’s almost impressive.”

  Tuk rolled her eyes but hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Maybe I am cursed,” she said, her voice quieter now, the humor dimmed by something heavier. The thought lingered, uncomfortable and familiar, before she shook it off with a shrug.

  For a fleeting moment, Michaelli paused, his gaze flickering toward her before he shifted his attention back to her bindings. “Then stay closer next time,” he said curtly, letting the rope snap free on her feet.

  Tuk glared at him as she dusted herself off. “Closer? So I can be bait again? Great plan, genius.”

  “You’re still alive. Against all odds, I might add,” Michaelli replied.

  “Are you saying you care?” Tuk asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “I’m saying I’d prefer not to carry you again.”

  Tuk clenched her fists, shooting a quick prayer to the heavens. “For the love of god, grant me patience not to slap the back of his head. As tempting as it is…” she muttered under her breath, glaring at Michaelli. He was crouched, inspecting his ankle with an infuriating calmness, utterly oblivious to her frustration.

  A furious roar from the Onyxariel shattered her thoughts, yanking her attention back to the battlefield. The beast’s claws tore into the earth, leaving deep, jagged scars as it struggled to rise. Its massive wings beat the air in desperation, each stroke echoing like thunder.

  Michaelli’s grip tightened on the hilt of his blade, his expression unflinching. With a swift motion, he severed the final rope tangled around his sore ankle. Rising to his full height, his voice cut through the chaos like steel.

  “Move back,” he commanded, sharp and unyielding.

  Tuk didn’t hesitate; she bolted toward the cover of a towering tree, pressing herself against its rough bark as if it could shield her from the chaos.

  From her vantage point, she caught a glimpse of Michaelli’s golden eyes, their predatory gleam locked on the faltering creature. The Onyxariel let out a guttural, defiant roar, its battered form coiling as it gathered strength for one last, desperate bid for escape.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Michaelli growled, his weapon shifting fluidly into a bow, the transformation smooth as if it were an extension of his will. A black, viscous liquid oozed into the weapon’s center, forming an arrow that pulsated like a heartbeat.

  With a sharp exhale, he fired. The arrow streaked through the air, its sleek form glinting in the light before twisting into a sinuous, living chain. It wrapped around the Onyxariel’s neck with a serpentine grace, tightening with every thrash of the griffin’s wings.

  The creature let out a guttural screech, wings flapping frantically but Michaelli stood firm. With a sharp yank on the chain, he dragged the beast back to the earth, its enormous body crashing into the dirt in a flurry of leaves and dust.

  The griffin struggled, its movements growing erratic as it tried to shake off its captor. Michaelli wasted no time. In one fluid motion, he surged forward, the chain in his hands dissolving back into the form of a sword. Its blade shimmered with a menacing, dark glow, humming with latent energy.

  The Onyxariel locked eyes with Michaelli, a final, defiant glare. With one decisive strike, he drove the blade into the beast’s chest, the impact reverberating through the clearing like a thunderclap. It let out a final, haunting cry, its voice echoing across the battlefield before it fell silent. Its colossal form slumped to the ground, lifeless, the forest eerily still in its wake.

  Standing atop its lifeless form, Michaelli surveyed the fallen creature, his hand brushing its dark feathers. His voice was quiet but firm. “If only it had chosen a worthier path for its might.”

  From behind a tree, Tuk peeked out, her hair a disheveled mess. “Why do I have to watch this action scene instead of a romance arc?!” she muttered, half-hysterical while closing both her ears.

  The warriors erupted into cheers, scrambling to claim feathers from the beast as trophies. Michaelli, ever composed, sheathed his weapon and turned to Tuk. She was slumped against a tree, glaring at him, her hair wild and disheveled, like a ruffled bird caught in a storm.

  She really does look like a little lark, he thought, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “Get up,” Michaelli commanded, his tone cool and matter-of-fact.

  Tuk weakly pushed herself halfway up, her voice dripping with exaggerated drama. “Your Highness, can’t you just tell the court and the historians that I fell nobly in battle, valiantly trying to avoid—”

  “You’re embarrassing yourself,” Michaelli cut in, his words dry as he reached down and hauled her up without ceremony. “And me.”

  She yelped as he pulled her to her feet, brushing dirt off her clothes with an indignant glare. “You could at least pretend to appreciate the sacrifices I make for your royal hunt agenda.”

  Michaelli smirked, his expression entirely unapologetic. “Sacrifices? You were hanging from a tree.”

  Tuk crossed her arms, tilting her head toward the warriors who were busy admiring the fallen beast. “Well, at least they appreciate me. I’m basically their good-luck charm for seeing that legendary beast.”

  “Good luck for them, maybe,” Michaelli quipped.

  Tuk gasped in mock offense, then grinned slyly. “And here I thought you cared.”

  The prince shot her a sharp look, though the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Care is a strong word. Let’s stick with ‘tolerate.’”

  She laughed, shaking her head as the tension of the battle finally melted away. “Well, Your Highness, if I’m such a burden, maybe I should just stay behind next time.”

  Michaelli paused, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Stay behind? And deprive me of the endless entertainment?”

  The nearby warriors, overhearing the exchange, burst into laughter. Tuk groaned, covering her face with her hands. One of them, a burly figure with a mischievous grin, clapped her on the back so hard she nearly toppled over.

  “Welcome to the team, Advisor!” he bellowed, his voice carrying a teasing warmth. “We’re lucky to have you!”

  Tuk stumbled, shooting a glare at Michaelli, who was already walking away with an air of smug satisfaction. She sighed, muttering under her breath, “I really need to renegotiate my role in this mess.”

  As the group began to move out, the griffin’s massive body was left behind like a trophy, Tuk found herself chuckling at the absurdity of her situation. This wasn’t the adventure she’d expected, but somehow, it was starting to feel like her own.

  "What a cruel curse it is to be Isekai'd," Tuk thought, unaware that her greatest trial was yet to come.

  The secret she had guarded so fiercely was no longer hers to keep.

  What fate awaits Tuk as her world begins to unravel? Stay tuned to find out.

  Chapter closed—for now.

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