Ethan wasn't done yet. He leaned forward now, his grin widening as he twisted the knife deeper. "Or maybe she's not counting days at all," he said slyly. "Maybe she's already got someone else lined up—someone who doesn't treat her like furniture."
The group erupted into chaotic laughter and jeers—except for Kryll, who sat stiffly in his seat with a frown etched across his face.
"Guys," Kryll interjected sharply, his tone firm but calm. "That's enough."
But no one listened—not even Theon, who usually respected Kryll's attempts at peacekeeping.
"Nah man," Theon said with a grin as he gestured toward Cillian. "Let him defend himself if he can. Or is he just gonna sit there and take it like always?"
Aaron leaned back slightly now, crossing his arms as he smirked at Cillian. "Yeah—what happened to all that big talk earlier? You got nothing to say now? Or are we finally hitting too close to home?"
The laughter died down slightly as everyone turned their attention back to Cillian—but he still didn't move or speak.
And then he did.
Cillian lowered his gaze from the roof of the carriage and fixed it on Aaron, who was still smirking smugly across from him. His expression didn't change—it was still cold and unreadable—but there was something in his eyes now that made everyone else tense up instinctively.
"You done?" Cillian asked quietly, his voice calm but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut steel.
Aaron opened his mouth to respond—but before he could get a word out, Cillian moved.
Faster than anyone could react, Cillian launched himself forward and slammed his fist into Aaron's face with enough force to send him sprawling back into his seat. But it wasn't just a punch—where Cillian's knuckles connected with Aaron's jaw, a bright black lightning bolt erupted, crackling with raw energy that filled the carriage with an earsplitting boom.
The world around them dissolved in an instant.
-The Entrance to Eldoria-
When their vision cleared, they were no longer in the carriage.
The group stumbled as they found themselves standing on solid ground beneath a massive stone archway adorned with intricate carvings of runes and symbols glowing faintly in the moonlight. The entrance to Eldoria loomed before them—a pair of towering obsidian gates guarded by soldiers clad in dark armor that shimmered like oil under torchlight.
The guards froze mid-step, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as they registered the group's sudden appearance. One of them—a tall man with sharp features and a scar running down his cheek—gripped his spear tightly and barked out an order.
"Who goes there?! How did you get here?!"
Aaron groaned from where he had collapsed on the ground, clutching his jaw as he glared up at Cillian with pure hatred. "What… what the fuck did you just do?!"
Cillian didn't answer immediately. He straightened up slowly, brushing nonexistent dust off his coat as if nothing had happened. His expression was as impassive as ever—but there was an undeniable aura of power radiating from him now, like static electricity crackling in the air around him.
"We're here," Cillian said flatly, ignoring Aaron entirely as he turned toward the gates of Eldoria. "That's all that matters."
The rest of them stared at him in stunned silence for a moment before Ethan finally found his voice.
"What… what was that?" Ethan asked hesitantly, gesturing toward Cillian with wide eyes. "That lightning shit—what even was that?!"
"Teleportation," Kryll muttered under his breath as he glanced around their new surroundings warily. "Or something close to it."
Theon let out a low whistle as he took in the towering gates and imposing guards staring them down. "Well… shit," he said finally. "Guess we're not sneaking in after all."
One of the guards stepped forward cautiously, his spear still raised as he addressed them again. "State your business—or prepare to be detained!"
Cillian didn't flinch under the guard's scrutiny. He met the man's gaze head-on.
Without hesitation or explanation, Cillian reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek metal crest engraved with intricate symbols. The crest shimmered faintly under the moonlight as he held it up for all to see.
"The Heir of Valentine from Elmir," Cillian said calmly but firmly as he met the guard's gaze head-on. His tone bordered on unsettling—it wasn't loud or aggressive, but it carried an authority that demanded obedience without question. "I'm on official duty. Let us in."
The guards exchanged quick glances before stepping back instinctively, lowering their spears slightly as they processed what they were seeing.
One of them—the scarred man—cleared his throat nervously before replying hesitantly: "Apologies… Your Grace. We weren't informed of your arrival."
"You weren't supposed to be," Cillian replied curtly as he tucked the crest back into his coat and began walking toward the gates without waiting for further acknowledgment.
The rest of them followed behind him reluctantly—except for Aaron, who lagged behind slightly while muttering curses under his breath.
The Elmirian Royal Family is no ordinary dynasty. Their legacy unfurls like a sinister tapestry, woven with threads of blood and bone, and bound by ancient curses that refuse to fade. These four noble households—the Elmirians, Valentinos, Valentines, and Elasarians—are not merely connected by lineage; they are tethered by something darker, something unholy. Their crests all bear the same ominous mark: a skull at the center, a chilling emblem of the price their bloodline demands.
Among these families, the mandate is as cruel as it is immutable: no fewer than 15 children must be born to each house. Should the Royal Lady fail in this grim task, she is condemned as cursed—a fate whispered to bring ruin upon her household. The curse does not merely linger in hushed rumors; it festers like a malignant shadow, clawing at the soul of the afflicted and staining their halls with despair.
The Elmirians are said to guard secrets so dark that even their own descendants dare not speak them aloud. The Valentinos are whispered to perform rites under moonless skies, invoking forces beyond mortal comprehension to ensure their lineage endures. The Valentines' halls echo with cries of children born frail and fragile, as though the curse itself mocks their efforts. And the Elasarians? Their lands are shrouded in perpetual twilight, where restless spirits whisper warnings to those who dare approach.
It is said that the blood shared by these houses is not merely familial but cursed—a venom coursing through generations, binding them to a destiny they cannot escape. Their rituals remain veiled in secrecy, their alliances forged in fear. To cross an Elmirian royal is to invite calamity; to betray them is to summon death itself.
The Royal Family of Elmir:
The Grand Duchy of Valentino:
The Archduchy of Valentine:
The Duchy of Elasar:
It is whispered in hushed tones that the skull is the very lifeblood of Elmir's existence—a sinister relic that keeps its name etched into the annals of history.
Yet, the origins of this macabre symbol trace back to the Kiorians, a people to whom Elmir has always bowed in reverence. But why? Why would a kingdom as powerful as Elmir kneel before another?
But....the question arises, why?
Why the Dominions? Why the Kiorians?
Of all the kingdoms and empires that have fallen under Elmir's shadow, why do these two remain untouched?
Why does Elmir, a force feared across continents, withdraw its hand from claiming dominion over them?
Why do they stand unscathed, unyielding to Elmir's hunger for power?
Why?
DEMONS...
The answer lies in whispers too dark to utter aloud.
-In a Village of Eldoria; 11:42 PM-
The village was a labyrinth of crooked alleyways and dilapidated buildings that seemed to lean into each other for support. The air hung heavy with the smell of woodsmoke, stale ale, and something else… something acrid and unsettling that pricked at the back of their nostrils. Flickering lamplight cast long, dancing shadows that played tricks on the eyes, making it difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion. The silence was broken only by the occasional creak of a door or the rustling of unseen creatures lurking in the darkness. It was a place where secrets thrived and danger lurked around every corner.
They huddled together in the center of a small, deserted square, the oppressive atmosphere closing in around them.
"Alright," Theon said, his voice low and gravelly as he glanced around warily. "What's the play here?"
Aaron stepped forward, his jaw still throbbing from Cillian's punch. The fury in his eyes hadn't dissipated, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he laid out the plan.
"Our target is the Joker," Aaron began, spitting the name like a curse. "But he's got some backup. So here's the deal: Theon, Soren, Kryll, and Dylan—you guys go after the two little shits, capture them, knock 'em out, and slap some restraining magic on them."
He paused, leveling a hard stare at the group. "No messing around. Just get it done quick and quiet."
"Cillian and Ethan," Aaron continued, turning his attention to the pair standing slightly apart from the rest. "You're with me. We're going after the Joker and the Veiled Horror. Let's move."
There were nods of agreement all around—except from Cillian, who remained silent, his expression as unreadable as ever. He didn't say a word.
The village square opened into a sprawling field where the circus had pitched its tent. The massive structure loomed against the night sky, its red-and-white stripes faded and weatherworn. Lanterns hung from poles surrounding the tent, their dim light casting eerie shadows on the ground. The faint hum of murmured conversations and occasional bursts of laughter drifted through the air as villagers filed into the tent, their excitement palpable.
Inside, the circus was alive with anticipation. Rows of wooden benches surrounded a circular stage in the center, and above it hung an intricate web of ropes, pulleys, and trapezes. Equipment for the show was scattered across the ground—juggling pins, hoops, stilts, and even a unicycle leaned haphazardly against a crate. Everything was ready. Everything was in place. All that remained was for the Joker to arrive and begin the show.
Aaron swiped his gaze across the gathering crowd, his eyes sharp and calculating. He noted every detail—the villagers settling into their seats, the performers milling about backstage, and the faint smell of sawdust mingling with sweat and greasepaint. His jaw tightened as he turned back to his group.
There were murmurs of agreement from everyone—except Cillian.
Cillian didn't nod or speak; he simply stood there with that same unreadable expression plastered across his face like a mask. His silence wasn't unusual—it was just… heavier this time.
Kryll noticed it immediately. He glanced at Cillian out of the corner of his eye, frowning slightly as unease crept into his chest. Something was wrong—he could feel it—but sitting in the middle of his friends with barely enough room to shift his legs made it impossible for him to act on that instinct.
Soren, however, was seated right next to Cillian and caught onto Kryll's concern almost instantly. Without a word, Soren stood up just as Cillian did.
"Nature calls," Cillian said abruptly as he turned toward the exit without sparing anyone a glance.
"Me too," Soren added quickly before anyone could question him, following close behind.
Kryll's frown deepened as he watched them leave together. He wanted to follow—needed to—but with Theon on one side of him and Dylan on the other, there wasn't enough space for him to move without causing a scene.
"Something's off," Kryll muttered under his breath.
"What?" Theon asked distractedly as he adjusted his gloves.
"Nothing," Kryll replied quickly, forcing himself to sit back even though every instinct screamed at him to get up.
Meanwhile, Aaron's gaze lingered on Cillian's retreating figure for a moment before he turned back to Theon and Dylan with a sharp nod.
"Stick to the plan," Aaron said firmly. "We've got one shot at this."
-Outside the Circus; 11:54 PM-
The air outside the circus was colder than expected, biting at their skin as they stepped into the dimly lit alley behind the tent. The faint hum of voices from inside was muffled by the thick canvas walls, leaving only the sound of distant crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.Lanterns flickered weakly on crooked poles, casting uneven light across the dirt path. Shadows stretched long and ominous, distorting their shapes as they moved.
The circus grounds were bustling with activity even at this late hour. Beyond the main tent, smaller stalls and event tents dotted the area like scattered stars. Each one was brightly decorated with faded banners and strings of lanterns that swayed gently in the breeze. Vendors shouted over each other, hawking roasted nuts, candied apples, and steaming cups of cider. The smell of sugar and smoke mingled with the earthy scent of trampled grass and dirt, creating a strangely intoxicating atmosphere.
Children darted between tents, their laughter ringing out like bells as they chased each other through the maze of stalls. Performers in vibrant costumes practiced their routines nearby—fire breathers twirling torches, acrobats stretching on mats, and clowns adjusting their painted faces in cracked mirrors. It was chaotic yet oddly charming, a world alive with color and sound.
To be Continued...