Chapter 25: Elves

The hospital door burst open with a loud clang against the wall, startling both Magali and Conrad. Ryu stood in the doorway, panting, eyes wide with panic. His usually immaculate blazer was wrinkled, one of his shoes was half untied, and his phone was still clutched tightly in his hand—like he'd run all the way from the other side of the city.

"Conrad!" he gasped, scanning the room as if to make sure it wasn't a dream. His gaze landed on the pale but very much alive boy sitting upright in the hospital bed. "You're alive…"

The color drained from Ryu's face as the weight of the moment sank in. His knees wobbled, and he stumbled into the room, half-collapsing into the chair beside the bed. "I thought… they said you might not make it," he whispered, voice cracking.

"Geez, Ry," Conrad said, managing a lopsided grin through the lingering pain in his chest. "You look worse than I do. Did someone stab you, too?"

Magali let out a laugh, and even Ryu managed a weak chuckle through the tears welling in his eyes.

"Don't joke about that, you idiot," Ryu muttered, brushing a hand over his face. "You almost died, and you're sitting here acting like it's just another Wednesday."

"Because if I start thinking about how close it was," Conrad said softly, "I'll probably lose it. And we already had one emotional outburst today." He winked at Magali, whose face flushed again.

Ryu rolled his eyes but smiled. The air, once thick with fear, felt a little lighter now. Despite everything, Conrad was alive. And in that moment, that was enough.

Ryu's gaze drifted toward the hospital bed again—and that's when he noticed it. His eyes widened as he spotted Magali's hand gently cradled in Conrad's, their fingers intertwined with an intimacy that left no room for doubt.

"Wait a second," Ryu said, pointing at them with suspicion that quickly turned to giddy excitement. "Are you two…?"

Magali's cheeks flushed a soft pink, but she didn't pull away. Conrad glanced at her, then nodded with a boyish smile. "Yeah," he said simply, "we are."

For a moment, Ryu just stared, mouth slightly open. Then a wide, goofy grin broke across his face as the emotional dam cracked. "Finally!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Some good news from this insane day!"

He looked between the two of them, practically vibrating with joy. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this! This is the silver lining I needed!"

Magali laughed, the sound light and genuine, while Conrad chuckled and gave Ryu a mock salute.

Ryu wiped at the corner of his eyes, half-laughing, half-crying. "I swear, if you two ever break up, I'll kill you Conrad."

"Careful," Conrad teased. "Someone already beat you to it." The three of them burst into laughter, and for a fleeting moment, the shadows that had loomed over them seemed to lift, replaced by something fragile but beautiful—hope.

The trio sat together in the soft stillness of the hospital room, the tension of the past few days melting away under the golden wash of late afternoon sunlight. Conrad leaned back slightly against the pillows, one hand still gently entwined with Magali's. The IV beeped steadily beside him, a quiet reminder of how close they had come to losing him. No one dared mention the attack. Not yet. Not today. Conrad was alive—and that alone was a miracle.

So instead, they laughed. "I can't believe how long it's been since the three of us were in the same room," Ryu said, shaking his head with a grin. "Feels like forever."

"Well, so much has happened," Conrad quipped dryly.

They quickly shifted the conversation, letting it drift into lighter waters—safe harbors untouched by blood or fear. It was the kind of talk that didn't cut or bruise but soothed like balm on tired hearts.

"How's Tarlya?" Magali asked, her voice softer now, hopeful.

Ryu chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "You wouldn't believe how much power a six-month-old has over a grown man. Tarlya's basically running my place now—tiny fists, big eyes, and an ego the size of Sweetdance City."

Magali laughed, and even Conrad managed a smirk from his hospital bed, the warmth of their banter a welcome shield from the cold edges of recent events.

Conrad chuckled. "Sounds like you're being outmatched."

"Oh, I am. She's teething now," Ryu groaned, placing a hand over his heart like a wounded hero. "And she's got lungs on her, I swear. Screams bloody murder if I even look like I'm about to take her pacifier away."

Magali laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I saw that picture you posted last week. She's getting so big. And she's starting to look just like her mom."

Ryu's grin softened into something quieter, more wistful. "Yeah… she is. Has her eyes. Sometimes I look at her and… it's like she's still here."

The room hushed, but not uncomfortably so. There was warmth in the silence—respect, remembrance.

Conrad gave a gentle nod. "You're doing good, Ryu."

"I'm trying," Ryu murmured, then glanced between the two of them and smirked. "But hey—it helps having good people around."

They continued chatting for a while, letting Ryu's stories chase away the last of the lingering shadows. He spoke of how fatherhood had changed him, how sleepless nights and diaper disasters had somehow stitched him back together after everything he'd lost. And how, despite the chaos, he missed his wife more than words could say.

Eventually, he checked the time and jolted upright. "Damn. I gotta go. Tarlya doesn't nap for long, and if I'm not there when she wakes up…" He shuddered playfully. "Let's just say the daycare staff still has flashbacks from the last time."

He paused at the doorway, glancing back at them—Conrad, propped up in his hospital bed, and Magali sitting beside him with their fingers gently intertwined.

"I'm glad you're still here, man," Ryu said, his voice low, sincere. "Would've broken us to lose you."

"You didn't," Conrad replied, offering a small smile. "And you won't."

With a final nod, Ryu slipped out into the hallway, his footsteps fading behind the soft hum of hospital machinery.

Left in the stillness, Magali turned toward Conrad, her thumb brushing gently across the back of his hand. Outside the room, the world carried on—the endless dance of city life continued. But here, in the hush between heartbeats, something fragile and new was beginning to bloom.

But peace was a fleeting thing, especially after what happened. The gears behind the city's glittering façade were grinding, ancient forces moving in the dark—too slow to notice at first, but inevitable in their threat. The calm never lasted.

"I can't believe she's already six months old," Magali said softly, still smiling from the visit.

Conrad nodded, contentment lingering on his face. "Ryu's been through so much… he deserves this."

Before either of them could speak another word, the door swung open with a sudden, commanding creak. Two figures stepped into the room. The first was a tall, striking Caucasian man with pale blond hair tied back into a neat ponytail. His long white trench coat shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, pristine and flowing like some celestial cloak. At his hip rested a slender fencing rapier, its silver hilt ornate and old.

Beside him walked a man who was his opposite in every aesthetic. Shorter, with lean muscle and an aura like coiled steel, he wore a sleek, dark leather suit that caught the light like oil on water. His skin was warm-toned, his black hair dyed with streaks of blue. Piercings lined one ear, a silver chain hanging from one lobe. A broader, more brutal-looking short sword rested against his side.

Both men radiated intimidation in their own unique ways. "Ah, well, well…" The blond man's voice was smooth and accented, almost playful, with a melodic lilt that hinted at Parisian roots. "Conrad. You are still finding new ways to land yourself in a hospital bed, non? Always ze dramatic entrance, mon ami."

Conrad's eyes lit up with recognition, and a grin spread across his face. "Vale! Hanz! I'll be damned—it's really you!"

Magali tensed instinctively, her hand still on Conrad's. "Who are they?"

Conrad gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "They're my crewmates. The blond gentleman is Valefor Estella—he likes to parade around like a holy swordsman, but truthfully? He's a professional fencer from France with a flair for the dramatic. And the one who looks like he stepped out of a dystopian biker gang? That's Hanzo Geum-Eun Byeol. Don't let his fashion choices fool you—he is as intimidating as he looks. He's a Korean swordmaster. The real deal."

Valefor swept into a graceful bow, one hand to his chest, the other extended slightly like a knight addressing a queen. "Charmed, Mademoiselle Artisan."

Hanzo, by contrast, simply crossed his arms and nodded once, eyes narrowing. His gaze was cool and sharp, analyzing Magali like he was gauging whether she was friend or foe.

Magali's brows drew together. "Crewmates?" she echoed, confused. "I thought Ryu and Khefner were your crewmates."

"They are," Conrad said with a fond smile. "But these two were my first. When I came to Sweetdance City with nothing, no place to stay, no direction—Vale and Hanz took me in. They taught me how to survive here."

Hanzo's voice cut in like a blade—measured and firm. "Conrad was our crewmate. But he left to start his own crew after we retired… and joined the Council as enforcers under Taurus."

Magali's eyes widened, the word hitting like a drumbeat of warning. "The Council?!"

Valefor stepped closer, hands raised gently as if calming a frightened animal. "Please, relax, Mademoiselle Artisan," he said with a silken French accent, each word warm and deliberate. "We are not your enemies, non. Quite ze opposite, I assure you. We 'eard about ze incident—and we have zat brute, Brandon, in custody."

Magali gasped softly.

"We also obtained a full confession from 'im," Valefor continued, his voice calm and measured, like a diplomat choosing each word with care. "More zan enough to begin formal proceedings against 'is scoundrel, Trevor McCatt. But we are 'ere today for one reason only—to ask if you, Mademoiselle, will be pressing charges against ze McCatt family… for everyzing zey've done to you."

A long pause hung in the air. Magali looked between them—at the shining white coat, the black suit, the gleaming swords, the names she'd never heard of. Could she trust this? Trust them?

She hesitated, but then Conrad's grip on her hand tightened again—steady, grounding. His voice was soft but sure. "Please trust them, Magali. I do… with my life."

Magali took a deep breath, her heart steadying. She squared her shoulders, her voice strong. "Give them hell."

Hanzo's lips curled into a rare, wolfish grin. "You heard the lady," he said, cracking his knuckles with audible precision. "Let's rock and roll."

Without another word, the duo stormed out of the hospital like a thunderclap in motion, their boots pounding the tiled floors before spilling into the open daylight. They vaulted into their black convertible—an older model polished to a sleek, obsidian sheen—and tore off into the city streets, engine growling with purpose.

The skyline blurred around them as they raced toward the Council District. Their destination: the heart of power, and the office of one of its most insidious members—Virgo. They had what they needed: evidence, confessions, and just enough righteous fury to deliver justice with their own hands. No red tape. No hesitations.

Inside the car, the wind tousled Valefor's golden hair as he gripped the wheel, his gaze laser-focused ahead. Hanzo sat with arms folded, eyes narrowed behind tinted lenses, already playing out a dozen scenarios in his mind. Each plan ended with Virgo in chains.

Despite the gravity of their mission, both men wore matching smirks—an echo of old days, of impossible odds and glorious chaos. They lived for this. Justice wasn't just a duty; it was a thrill, and tonight, it would be swift.

The black convertible pulled up to the curb outside Council Headquarters with a low, hungry purr. Towering above them, the building stood like a sentinel of power—glass and stone forged into sharp angles, its windows reflecting the dying sunlight in gleaming slashes.

Before the car could even be parked, Valefor and Hanzo burst from the car in perfect unison. Coats flared behind them like capes caught in a gust, boots slamming against pavement with practiced force. Valefor's white trench coat cracked like a banner in the wind, while Hanzo's obsidian leather hugged him like battle armor, glinting beneath the neon city lights.

They climbed the steps two at a time, the silence between them loaded with purpose. They then approached Virgo's door, ready for action. "Once we open that door," Hanzo murmured, hand already drifting toward his blade, "no turning back."

Valefor smirked. "Did we ever?"

But just as Valefor lifted his foot to kick the office door open, something stirred in the inner pocket of his coat.

Out popped a tiny creature—a plush-pink unicorn no larger than a child's hand. She had dainty hooves, silky fur, and tiny iridescent wings that fluttered with delicate urgency.

Valefor skidded to a halt, nearly tripping. "What the—Amalthea?!"

Hanzo stopped, blinking. "You brought that thing with you?"

"I did not!" Valefor hissed, whirling around as the tiny unicorn hovered before his face, snorting softly like a mother scolding her child. "She was with Hailey! I left 'er at 'ome, I swear it!"

The tiny unicorn—Amalthea—glared at him with deep sapphire eyes, stamping her tiny hoof midair before zipping once in a small circle. Then she let out a high-pitched whinny and darted back into his coat, vanishing beneath the white fabric like she'd never been there.

Both swordsmen stood frozen outside the door, the weight of Amalthea's interruption settling between them. Hanzo raised an eyebrow. "Think she's trying to tell us something?"

Valefor narrowed his eyes at the door ahead, his fingers slowly slipping from the hilt of his sword. "I do not know," he muttered. "But she 'as never acted like zis before…"

The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. Whatever waited behind the council office doors was no longer just the final step in a routine arrest—it was something heavier. Something twisted in the air, as if the building itself were holding its breath.

Valefor and Hanzo stood shoulder-to-shoulder, steel in their eyes and hands resting on the hilts of their swords. They counted down silently, "three… two… one"— CRACK!

The doors flew open with a splintering crash, slamming into the interior walls like thunder. The polished wood cracked along its hinges, echoing through the corridor like the prelude to war.

Seated behind a grand mahogany desk, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that spilled pale light into the room, was Virgo himself—Trevor McCatt. He looked up from a sheaf of papers with the air of a man whose meeting had been rudely interrupted, his silver-ringed fingers steepled beneath his chin.

His expression was not one of fear or surprise. It was irritation. "That door was custom imported mahogany. Do you plan on compensating me for the damage?"

Valefor didn't flinch. "You can send ze bill from your holding cell," he said coolly, stepping forward with a flash of steel in his voice. "Trevor McCatt, you are under arrest."

Trevor leaned back in his chair, lips curling into a lazy smile. "Oh? And what are the charges?"

Hanzo took a step forward, his shadow stretching across the marble floor like a blade. "We've got charges longer than a Council budget report. Conspiracy, extortion, abuse of authority, attempted murder, and the forced displacement of citizens."

Valefor's eyes narrowed. "Your son told us everything."

That struck a chord. Trevor's smirk faltered—but only for a second. He tilted his head with detached amusement. "I always knew that boy was soft. I should've had a daughter instead." He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. "Tell me—did he sing like a bird? Or did it take some effort to pry that confession out of him?"

Hanzo's knuckles cracked like gunshots. His voice was cold. "Let's just say I persuaded him… in the most unpleasant way possible. Council Enforcers aren't bound by the same non-violence codes the rest of the city follows."

Trevor chuckled. It was low and venomous. "So, torture and intimidation. How quaint. And you think you're the heroes in this story?"

Valefor took another step forward, the edge of his coat brushing the cracked remains of the doorframe. "We don't need to be heroes," he said flatly. "Just your reckoning."

A heavy silence dropped over the room, thick and suffocating. For a moment, the only sound was the faint buzz of distant city lights filtering through the tall windows. Then, without urgency, Virgo reached for his cane and slowly rose from behind his desk. His movements were smooth, measured—completely devoid of fear. He looked at them as though they were children throwing stones at a god.

"You fools," he said, his voice cold and silken. "You really believe that squeezing my pathetic son for scraps of information means you know anything that matters?" He stepped around the desk, cane tapping against the marble floor. "That boy was a pawn. He was never given access to the heart of my design. And now, you stand here in arrogance, thinking you've won."

Valefor's jaw clenched, his fingers twitching near his sword's hilt. "Assez. This ends here." His voice was smooth, but sharp as a blade. "Do not forget—we are armed, and you are not. Come quietly, or we drag you out in chains. Council authorization… permits lethal force."

Virgo stopped in his tracks, a grin crawling across his face like a snake through grass. "Unarmed?" he said, amused. "You've always been short-sighted, White Star! You've no idea what I'm truly capable of."

Then, from the folds of his tailored jacket, he drew a small spherical object. It was no larger than a peach, split into two glossy halves—violet on the bottom, deep purple on the top, with a five-pointed star pulsing faintly at the center.

"Behold," Virgo said, eyes gleaming. "The fruits of my labor. The culmination of years of research, buried deep beneath this very city. I've fused magic and science, soul and circuitry."

Hanzo raised a brow, unimpressed. "And what are you going to do with that? Play catch until we give up?"

Virgo smiled wider. "No. Observe."

With a sudden motion, he hurled the sphere upward. It spun through the air in a blur of purple light before slamming into the floor. The orb shattered like glass, releasing a shockwave of shimmering violet energy.

In the blink of an eye, a creature burst forth from the smoke—small, red-scaled, and reptilian, its wings flaring as it hissed through the air above Virgo's shoulder. Its tail flicked with serpentine grace, and its eyes glowed like embers.

"A lizard?" Valefor muttered, unimpressed—then ducked as the creature exhaled a thin stream of fire that scorched a black line across the wall behind him.

Virgo's laughter slithered through the air like smoke—low, menacing, and thick with triumph. "No," he said, his voice laced with a chilling certainty. "It's not a lizard. It's an elf—a creature created from the essence of the Savants of Sweetdance City. A living fragment of the city's hidden secrets. And soon…" He raised his arms, eyes gleaming with hunger. "All of that power will be mine."

With a sudden sweep of his hand, he shouted, "Dragon—transform!"

The small creature hovering at his shoulder let out a shrill cry as its body ignited with a blinding aura. A sphere of pure light exploded around it, forcing Valefor and Hanzo to shield their eyes. The room trembled as a wave of heat rushed out, curling the edges of nearby papers and scalding the floor beneath them. Then, silence.

As the light faded, what stood in the creature's place was no longer a palm-sized sprite, but a towering, fire-wreathed beast—its red scales shimmered like molten steel, its wings spread wide enough to graze the walls, and flames licked at the corners of its fanged mouth. At over seven feet tall, it dwarfed their swords, a living engine of destruction breathing heat into the marble chamber.

Virgo stepped back with a wicked grin. "Kill them!"

With a deafening roar, the dragon lunged forward. The chamber erupted into chaos.

Valefor moved first—a blur of white and silver. His rapier sang through the air in a symphony of precision, stabbing and slashing at the dragon's limbs with lightning speed. Every strike was perfectly aimed, every movement flowing like water. But each time his blade met the beast's hide, it sparked harmlessly off the thick, fire-forged scales.

Hanzo followed with a thunderous scream, his heavier blade carving through the air with brutal intent. Where Valefor danced, Hanzo smashed—each swing of his sword a calculated, crushing blow aimed to sever tendon or crack bone. Yet the dragon didn't so much as flinch. Its armor-like scales were too strong, forged by the city's hidden magic and strengthened by Virgo's corruption.

The beast fought back with raw, elemental fury. Claws raked the walls, its barbed tail lashed through the air like a whip, and its jaws snapped inches from Hanzo's face. The two swordsmen were forced to retreat, parrying with every ounce of remaining strength. The floor beneath them cracked, and the ornate columns of the council chamber splintered under the dragon's wrath.

Valefor's breaths were short now, sweat beading along his temple. "Its scales…" he panted. "I cannot get through!"

Hanzo grunted as he blocked another tail strike, his boots skidding across the marble. "We're wearing down… it isn't."

Virgo smirked from behind the chaos, his voice rang out like a death knell. "End them."

The dragon paused, inhaling deeply. Its chest expanded, glowing from within as fire swirled behind its fangs. The temperature in the room surged, searing the air.

Valefor and Hanzo stood side by side, blades ready, knowing full well they wouldn't survive the blast. And then— Bursting from the folds of Valefor's coat, a flash of pink light streaked across the room.

"Amalthea?!" Valefor gasped, eyes wide.

The tiny, winged unicorn flared to full brightness midair, her voice a crystal chime echoing through the firestorm. As the dragon unleashed its hellish breath, Amalthea soared between the men and the oncoming blaze. Light erupted from her tiny horn, expanding outward into a radiant shield of shimmering pastel energy.

The dragon's fire hit—and stopped. The flames collided with Amalthea's barrier and washed over it like a wave breaking against stone. Heat seared the room, but not a single ember reached the swordsmen. When the fire faded, Valefor and Hanzo were still standing, protected behind a veil of light that pulsed with ethereal strength.

Amalthea hovered, her tiny body glowing like a beacon. Valefor exhaled in disbelief. "You… you saved us."

Hanzo narrowed his eyes at the magical creature. "Remind me never to call that thing a nuisance."

The dragon snarled, confused. And for the first time—hesitant. Virgo's confident smile began to falter. The moment the flames cleared, Amalthea didn't stop.

The tiny unicorn shimmered in midair, her wings unfurling wide. Light pulsed from her tiny form, waves of radiant energy rolling through the room. Then, with a sudden surge, her body expanded—growing larger and more brilliant with every heartbeat. In seconds, she stood tall and proud at the size of a full-grown horse, pink fur glowing like starlight, tiny wings now mighty and powerful, her ivory horn gleaming like a divine blade.

The dragon snarled, stepping back as if sensing something powerful and dangerous in her presence.

Amalthea slammed her hooves at the ground, her eyes fierce and unyielding. Then she reared back with a powerful whinny that echoed like a war cry across the chamber. With the grace of a comet, she charged.

"Is this really happening?" Hanzo asked, jaw slack. "Are we in the middle of a Pokémon battle on steroids?"

Valefor wiped soot from his cheek, eyes wide with wonder. "No… we are in the middle of something way more incredible!"

Virgo, still hiding behind his desk, looked ready to lose his composure for the first time. "Where did you get an elf?! That power is forbidden!"

Valefor smirked. "So that is what she is…"

The two mythic beasts collided in the center of the chamber. The dragon roared and released a burst of fire, but Amalthea soared through the blaze, unscathed, her horn aimed like a lance. The room shook from the force of their clash. Sparks and flame battled with ribbons of pink light as hooves struck claw, and wings beat against wings.

Amalthea leapt, twisted in midair, and with a whinny, opened her mouth. A searing beam of energy—a laser of concentrated light—erupted from her throat and struck the dragon square in the chest. The beast howled in pain, its scales finally cracked by the pure force of unfiltered magic.

It staggered, dazed and faltering, Amalthea didn't hesitate. She galloped across the marble floor in a blur, lowered her horn, and with a final, blinding thrust—drove it deep into the dragon's chest. The creature gasped, fire flickering from its nostrils one last time… then it began to unravel, glowing embers rising from its body as it dissolved into dust. Silence fell.

As the dust finally settled and the last ember faded into the air, the mighty dragon was no more. In its place stood a young man, no older than twenty, clad in the glittering red attire of a pop idol—silver chains, a high-collared jacket, and shimmering boots. His figure shimmered with a translucent glow, ethereal and soft, like the echo of a dream long lost.

Valefor and Hanzo froze, watching in silence as the spirit looked between them with calm, grateful eyes. Then, with a graceful bow that spoke of dignity long suppressed, he placed a hand over his heart and offered a soft, peaceful smile.

And then—just like that—he vanished, like a whisper finally freed from a long prison sentence.

Amalthea remained where she stood, tall and proud, her pink fur aglow in the aftermath, her eyes burning with purpose. Her gaze locked on Virgo, and for the first time, the once-arrogant councilman looked… afraid. Truly afraid.

Valefor stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Amalthea's neck. Her mane glowed warmly under his touch. "Good girl," he murmured.

With a soft chime, her massive form shimmered again—shrinking gracefully back down to her palm-sized self. She fluttered once around Valefor before disappearing beneath the folds of his trench coat, leaving a faint sparkle in her wake.

Hanzo stepped beside him, rolling his shoulders with a satisfying crack. "So," he said coolly, "you were saying something about taking over the city?"

Virgo's legs gave out beneath him. His ornate cane clattered to the floor as he dropped to his knees, sweat trailing down his temples. The smugness, the bravado—gone. All that remained was a pale shadow of the man who had once dared to command dragons and call himself a god.

He lowered his head in surrender, his voice barely a whisper. "I yield…"

Valefor and Hanzo exchanged a look. Justice had been served. But the deeper war—the one hidden in the shadows of Sweetdance City—was only just beginning.

Once Trevor McCatt had been restrained, processed, and locked behind reinforced city jail ready to be tried, Valefor filed the report with mechanical precision. Every word, every detail, inked down with the weight of truth. And when his duty was done, he returned to the place where the city's noise couldn't reach him, home.

The Homestead District was a world apart from the neon chaos of Sweetdance City—a quiet patch of land cradled just beyond the city's glittering edge, where the pulse of urban life softened into the rhythm of something slower, gentler… real.

Modest houses stood in tidy rows, each one lovingly worn, framed by winding picket fences and gardens that bloomed wild with color. Sunflowers leaned into the breeze beside blooming honeysuckle, and ivy curled up porches like nature reclaiming its place. The air here always smelled like fresh earth and sweet flowers, and when the wind blew just right, it carried the sound of children laughing in backyards and wind chimes tinkling softly in the breeze.

At night, the sky in Homestead was untouched by the city's glare. Stars shone clearly, sharp and silver, like a reminder that not everything had to move at the speed of a spotlight.

This was where the veteran idols came when the stage lights dimmed and the thunder of applause faded into lullabies and whispered bedtime stories. The Homestead District stood just beyond the city's edge—a quiet sanctuary where fans were forbidden and the world finally allowed them peace. It was perfect, a place untouched by the fevered chase of fame, where weary heroes could rest their bones.

The crew halls, once alive with ambition and endless rehearsals, had grown too tight, too noisy for the softer rhythm of life that followed glory. In Homestead, there was space to breathe again. To raise a family. To become something more than symbols. Not stars, but people. Here, legacies were not etched in gold but rooted in soil, blooming like wildflowers across fences, and aging with the dignity of time well spent.

The moment Valefor stepped through the front door, the warm, familiar voice greeted him like a balm. "Well, there's my handsome swordsman!" Hailey sang, heels clicking across the wooden floor as she strode into the room. Her dirty-blonde hair was tied up in a pink bandana, her outfit a swirl of bubblegum pink and rhinestones. Born and raised deep in Texas, Hailey Estella had never lost the twang in her voice—or the fire in her soul.

She placed a hand on her hip and gave him a teasing once-over. "Have you seen my baby Amalthea, sugar? And don't you even try tellin' me you haven't."

Valefor opened his coat, and out fluttered Amalthea. The tiny unicorn chirped and zipped into Hailey's arms like a child running to her mother. Hailey gasped in delight, cradling the creature close. "Oh, sweetheart, I was worried sick about you!" she cooed, pressing kisses to the unicorn's soft pink head. "You know better than to go gallivantin' off into the city without tellin' mama where you're goin'."

Amalthea let out a soft whinny and nuzzled into Hailey's shoulder, clearly happy to be home. Hailey's smile slowly faded, though, her sharp eyes catching the distant look in Valefor's gaze. "I heard there was a stir at the council district," she said gently, petting Amalthea's mane. "People talkin' like there's a war comin'. You gonna tell me what really happened, darlin'?"

Valefor walked over to the front window, resting a hand against the frame as he stared out into the gathering night. The city lights glimmered far in the distance—beautiful, blinding, and dangerous.

"Zhere is somesing stirring in ze undercurrent," he murmured. "Forbidden magick… forgotten secrets. Ze kind of strange zat does not stay buried for long. Tonight—tonight was only ze first warning."

Hailey looked down at Amalthea, then back at her husband. "Well, whatever comes… you ain't facin' it alone. You hear me, Valefor Estella?"

He turned to her, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I hear ze loud and clear, my love'."

And in the quiet of their home, beneath the soft hum of crickets and creaking floorboards, they held each other close—two souls bracing for the storm to come.