The heavy door creaked open.

  Pungence stepped through, shoulders broad enough to brush the frame. His very presence shifted the air in the room — steady, commanding, like sunlight forcing its way through a storm.

  Eryndor inclined his head, calm but watchful.

  Mercy, however, froze. Her breath caught in her chest. This was him. The Titan of Hope. Her hero. She had seen him only in Seer-casts, heard his name in whispers that bordered on prayer — but never this close.

  She rose to her feet without realizing it, mouth falling open. Words abandoned her.

  Pungence noticed her at once. His gaze softened, and he offered a smile so warm it felt like sunlight on her skin.

  “Oh… hello there,” he said gently. “Welcome to my home.”

  Mercy’s knees nearly buckled. She could not answer. She simply stared, wide-eyed, at the man the world revered.

  Eryndor, catching her expression, allowed the faintest smile.

  But Pungence’s attention shifted quickly, eyes settling on Valerius. His voice deepened, steady as rolling thunder.

  “Tell me, boy… did you succeed?”

  Valerius straightened, pride flickering in his green eyes. “Yes.”

  For a long heartbeat, silence. Then the Titan’s stern face broke into the faintest smile — warm, genuine. His steps carried him forward, each one like a drumbeat.

  “Good,” he said at last. “But remember this: success once is not mastery. Mastery is when success becomes your nature — when your hands no longer question whether they will break or hold.”

  He turned his gaze, sweeping toward Eryndor as well.

  “You both share the same flaw. You chase the summit as though one climb will take you there. But the summit is not conquered in a single day. It is reached by walking — step by step, grip by grip, breath by breath.”

  Valerius frowned, muttering. “I held it for half a minute… but then it shattered.”

  Pungence’s laugh rumbled, low and deep, like thunder rolling over distant mountains. He knelt, lowering his colossal frame until his eyes were level with Valerius’s. His hand — broad as a shield — settled on the boy’s shoulder, gentle yet heavy as fate itself.

  “Trust the process. Your failures are a testament to your success.”

  Mercy’s eyes widened. Though he spoke to Valerius, she felt as though the words pierced her own heart. They carried weight beyond instruction — they carried creed, conviction.

  Pungence sat down, folding his massive frame with practiced ease. His voice resonated across the room, a voice that could rally armies yet still feel personal.

  “Valerius — strength without restraint is destruction. Strength without purpose is vanity. But strength carried with hope? That becomes a shield no enemy can pierce.”

  His gaze swept between the two brothers.

  “I am impressed by what you have achieved in three short years. Especially you, Valerius. Eryndor once told me he wished to be like me. But hear me, both of you: that is a tall mountain to climb. Don't carry my shadow. Create your own light.”

  From the balcony above, Andrea leaned lazily over the railing, arms folded. A sly smile curved her lips.

  “Look at him — acting all formal and wise. If only the world knew the Pungence I know.”

  Stereen, standing beside her, tilted his head. “And would that be such a bad thing?”

  Andrea’s gaze softened, though her tone stayed dry. “People look up to him. They love him so much it’s near worship. They think he’s flawless, some perfect savior. But he’s not. He’s just like the rest of us. He’s made mistakes. He’s learned from them.”

  Stereen’s brows lifted. “How long have you known Mr. Pungence?”

  Andrea’s smile thinned. “A very long time.”

  Below, Pungence rose to his full height and walked upstairs to her. “Andrea. I be taken them out of Zitry, to train.”

  Andrea smirked. “Acting cool for the kids, huh?”

  His lips curved knowingly. “That girl Fenosa was here. I have an image to uphold, you know.”

  Andrea rolled her eyes. “Her name is Mercy. You’re terrible with names.” She folded her arms tighter. “Funny you’ve never once forgotten Valerius’.”

  Pungence chuckled, his gaze flicking to the boy. “He made a strong first impression. And I haven’t given up on making him my student. When the time comes, I will teach him the final technique. I believe he’s the one.”

  Andrea’s expression sharpened. “But you don’t know the final technique.”

  “Oh, I know it,” Pungence said, eyes gleaming. “I simply cannot perform it.”

  Across the room, Valerius leaned toward Eryndor, whispering, “Is she okay?”

  Eryndor glanced at Mercy, who sat stiffly, staring blankly into space, her mind clearly elsewhere. He smirked. “She is fine. Such demonstrations are a quotidian occurrence. The people of this world revere Pungence… perhaps to an excessive degree.”

  Valerius scratched his head. “Now I really wonder what he did.”

  “We possess ample recordings of his so-called heroics,” Eryndor replied evenly.

  Valerius grinned faintly. “Now I really want to see those.”

  But Eryndor rose, adjusting his cloak. “That matter will have to be deferred. Mercy and I have examinations demanding our preparation.”

  Mercy remained seated, her eyes glazed, her entire body caught between disbelief and bliss. It was as if her brain had shut down from sheer joy.

  Valerius tilted his head. “Isn’t this reaction a little… excessive?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Some individuals have been known to swoon merely from beholding him,” Eryndor remarked matter-of-factly

  Without further hesitation, he crouched and lifted Mercy onto his back. She barely stirred.

  Valerius waved half-heartedly. “Bye, Mercy.”

  Moments later, they were airborne. The wind pulled at their hair as the estate shrank beneath them.

  Eryndor glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “I daresay several birthday wishes were just fulfilled. Nevertheless, you must collect yourself—we have studies to attend to.”

  ---

  They reached Mercy’s dormitory. Eryndor lowered her gently into a chair.

  “Mercy,” he said, leaning close. “Mercy?”

  No answer. She sat frozen, eyes glazed.

  With a flick of his finger, a jet of water burst forth, splashing across her face.

  She sputtered, blinking back to life. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened, and she leapt to her feet.

  “Oh my God! I met Pungence! And he spoke to me!”

  She dove onto her bed, seized a pillow, and buried her face into it, muffling a scream. Then she rolled over, clutching it tight, her voice a breathless rush.

  “His arms were gigantic! Twice the size of yours. No—three times!”

  Eryndor folded his arms. “Now you exaggerate.” He sat down calmly, unbothered. “Enough theatrics. It is time you learn the art of rune inscription. You will mirror each line precisely as I commit it to the page. Now—take out your book.”

  Mercy sat up, hair tousled, incredulous.

  “Eryndor, I just encountered Pungence! Surely this is no time for study—I must tell my friends at once!”

  He cut her off, his tone level but edged with steel.

  “There are but two courses before you. One: you assimilate every word I instruct you in this very moment. Or two: you endure a sleepless night, with me intoning runic theory until dawn, your mind inundated with sigils. The decision, however, is yours.”

  Mercy frowned, hugging her book to her chest.

  “You cannot possibly do that. You’re not even permitted within the dormitories after nightfall.”

  Eryndor’s lips curved in the faintest smirk, his tone calm, almost amused.

  “Perhaps. Yet your dormitory resides well within the province of my thought-transmission.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “You wouldn’t…”

  “I would,” he intoned, his voice smooth as polished stone. “And should necessity compel me, I shall.”

  She gaped at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “…You truly are insufferable at times, Eryndor.”

  He snapped his fingers. A book materialized in his hand, bound in deep green leather. Gold letters etched across the cover: Mercy’s Full Guide to Master Rune Inscription.

  “I composed this expressly for you.” Eryndor said simply.

  Her mouth fell open. “You… what? Since when did you take to writing a book?”

  “Since last night.” He opened the cover, flipping through perfectly penned pages.

  “You expect me to believe you composed an entire book in a single night?”

  “Yes.” He placed it before her.

  Mercy crossed her legs on the bed, arms folded, shaking her head in disbelief. “I had resolved never to be astonished by you again… and yet here I am. Tell me—did you employ magic to compose this?”

  “No.” His voice was calm, almost offhand. “I merely wished to give my fingers some exercise. It has been far too long since I last held a pen.”

  Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “…Wow. I’m touched, Eryndor.”

  “My mother demanded nothing short of academic excellence,” he replied smoothly. “Thus, I possess a formidable intellect—one which you are now privileged to benefit from.”

  Mercy tilted her head. “Are your siblings as intelligent as you?”

  “They come close.” He paused, his emerald eyes narrowing in faint recollection. “As for Valerius… he loathed scholarship. He would only apply himself under the looming threat of punishment for failing Mother’s daily mandates.”

  Mercy winced. “Your mother sounds… strict.”

  “She is.” His tone carried neither complaint nor commendation, only austere fact. “I was the dutiful child. Valerius, ever the miscreant, bore the brunt of punishment. Ziraiah… oft enticed into his folly, suffered her portion as well.”

  Mercy blinked, her brow furrowing. “Wow. My parents have never so much as raised a hand against me.”

  “You have not indulged in the… exploits my siblings are known for.” A faint, austere smile touched his lips. “Valerius, in particular, has ever been ruled by his temper—most fiercely when it concerned Ziraiah. More than once his adversaries found themselves bedridden in hospital. Poor David nearly became one of them.”

  Mercy’s eyes widened. “David? David Vinclay?”

  “Yes.” Eryndor’s gaze sharpened, his tone cool and precise. “He was spared solely because Valerius had yet to master control over his own strength.”

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Is he… as strong as you?”

  “Stronger,” Eryndor replied with unadorned finality. “Every shattered glass you witnessed was merely the byproduct of him learning to temper his unbridled strength.”

  Mercy exhaled slowly. “…It is most uncharacteristic of you to divulge so freely, all in a single breath.”

  He closed the book with deliberate care, eyes steady. “You persist in your inquiries. Enough—let us commence.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...