40

  The carriage rolled slowly through the final bend of the road, and at last, Aurum revealed itself—rising in gold and silver brilliance beneath the afternoon sun. The three travelers—Finn, Katherine, and Maxi—leaned out of the carriage window in awe. The castle of Aurum stood beyond the great stone bridge, its many spires piercing the clouds, towers crowned with banners of royal blue and gold, the sigil of the Lion and the Angel waving proudly in the wind. The air smelled of lilies and mountain air, and the sound of fountains echoed faintly across the vast courtyard.

  “This looks unreal,” Katherine whispered, unable to blink. Maxi nodded, mouth slightly open. Even Finn, whose body still ached from the wound, could only stare. They had seen castles in movies, in games, in stories—but never like this. Never where the stones felt alive, where the sunlight seemed to dance over the ramparts.

  The lynx padded beside their carriage, tail low, head high, ever watchful. It seemed to belong to this world far more than they did.

  As they crossed the drawbridge, the castle gate opened, and a group of royal guards approached, their armor gleaming in the light. At the center of their ranks stood a tall, slender man with calm authority in his stance. His tunic bore the emblem of Aurum, and a sword rested at his hip—the Flicker Sword, famed for its shimmering edge.

  The moment Prince William saw him, he leaped from the horse and strode forward. “Brother—” he started, then hesitated, unable to form words.

  The tall figure’s eyes softened. “Get up, brother,” he said warmly. “What took you so long? Everyone’s been worried.”

  Before William could reply, Prince Sergei of Aurum, the First Prince, stepped forward and embraced him tightly. “You idiot,” Sergei said, his voice firm but affectionate. “You vanish for days with your friends—do you have any idea what Father thought?”

  Sergei then turned toward Marco, whose armor bore the marks of battle. “Sir Marco,” he greeted, and before Marco could kneel, Sergei smacked him lightly on the head. “You should’ve kept him out of trouble.”

  Marco smiled faintly. “I tried, my lord.”

  Then Sergei’s attention shifted to the three strangers. He bent slightly, studying their strange clothes—the remnants of school uniforms—and the way they stood awkwardly beside the lynx. “And who might these be?”

  “It’s... a long story, Prince Sergei,” Marco answered. “But the boy—he needs a healer. And Hector. Urgently.”

  Sergei nodded immediately. “Then don’t waste time. Marco, take them to the wards. I’ll handle things here.” He turned to William. “You, brother—come with me.”

  William hesitated for a moment, glancing at Katherine. Her eyes met his—worried, uncertain—but before he could say a word, he followed Sergei.

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  Inside the castle halls, the group moved through marble corridors lit by floating lanterns. The air smelled faintly of sage and resin. Gold-trimmed murals lined the walls—depictions of winged angels with lion companions, swords raised against the shadow. The sigil of Aurum, a lion entwined with angel wings, was carved into every doorframe.

  The group arrived at the Healing Infirmary, where robed men and women tended to wounded soldiers. One of them recognized Marco and immediately led them to a bed near a wide arched window.

  “Lay him here,” the healer said.

  Finn was carefully placed upon the linen sheets. His breath came uneven but steady. Katherine sat beside him, clutching his hand tightly while the lynx lay at his feet, silent and watchful.

  “I must find Hector,” Marco said, and hurried away.

  Moments later, High Mage Galen, draped in azure robes inscribed with glowing runes, entered the room with Hector, who followed close behind. Hector’s robes were older, darker, travel-worn — a stark contrast to Galen’s pristine attire. His hair was touched with silver, his eyes calm but sharp. He had once been the High Mage of Diospyrus, before the court’s politics drove him from his post.

  He stopped abruptly when he saw the trio. Their strange garments, their foreign look—none belonged to Aurum. But he said nothing, merely approached the bed.

  “The Karit struck him?” Hector asked Marco quietly.

  “Yes. Through the abdomen. But the wound didn’t... spread,” Marco said.

  Hector leaned closer, inspecting the faint traces of black around Finn’s bandaged side. His expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief. “Impossible,” he murmured. “The Karit’s wounds are cursed. They devour flesh; they never close.”

  The lynx rose silently, stepping into the light by the window. Hector turned to it, realization dawning. “Ah… I see.” He whispered, “A pact.”

  Katherine looked up. “Are you... Hector?”

  The healer nodded absently, eyes still on Finn.

  She held out a cloth, stained dark with blood. “This... this was the cloth that wrapped around Finn’s wound at the Redwind Bastion. A woman told me to give it to you — she said you’d know what to do.”

  Marco added, “It was The Wind who told her.”

  Hector’s hand froze. “Soraya?” he murmured, almost to himself.

  He remembered the letter he’d sent to Soraya of Freska, the Wind Breaker, weeks ago — asking for aid when his remedy for Princess Sophia had failed. That she remembered his name was surprise enough — that she sent him this was something else entirely.

  “This too,” Marco said, producing the wrapped Karit and handing it carefully to Hector. “She told us to give this to you as well.”

  Hector took it, setting it gently on a nearby table, his expression unreadable.

  He turned back to Finn and spoke softly. “Your blood saved you,” he murmured. Then he sat beside the bed, closing his eyes.

  He whispered ancient words—not loud, not even audible—but the air around him stirred, glowing faintly gold. When he exhaled, a warm wind brushed over Finn’s wound. Finn gasped, arching in pain as a black smoke rose from the bandage. It twisted upward, shrieked faintly, then vanished like mist into the light.

  Silence filled the room.

  Hector wiped his brow. “The curse is gone. His blood resisted it, but he’s too young—too new to his bond. I’ve only helped it heal faster.”

  Marco exhaled in relief. Katherine pressed her hands to her lips. Finn stirred faintly, whispering her name.

  Hector looked toward the sigil carved in the window frame—a lion’s head surrounded by a halo of wings. He traced it absently with his thumb. “Strange,” he murmured. “The blood of druids in a world that has long forgotten them.”

  Outside the window, the banners of Aurum danced in the morning breeze. The lynx sat silently on the ledge, golden eyes fixed on the horizon—its gaze steady, ancient, and patient.

  Somewhere deep in Finn’s chest, the faint thrum of the pact still pulsed. Not strong, but alive—like a whisper from another realm, waiting to awaken again.