Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

The morning of the Black Bastion’s departure from Oakhaven was framed by an idyllic Southern sunrise.

The sky was not the pale, watery, freezing gray of the Northern borders, nor was it the bruised, suffocating twilight that usually heralded an anomaly’s arrival.

It was a brilliant, sweeping canvas of spun gold, soft peach, and deep, luminous periwinkle.

The ancient, house-sized oak trees that defined the Myer estate’s courtyards cast long, dappled shadows across the pristine white marble fountains, their leaves rustling with a gentle, perfumed breeze that smelled of blooming jasmine and sun-baked clay.

It was a morning unsuited for a convoy of heavily armored, mythril-plated warmongers.

Duke Kaelus von Nacht stood at the base of the grand marble staircase of the guest annex, looking like a jagged, obsidian monolith dropped carelessly into a manicured flower garden.

He had completely restored his combat armor; the heavy, rune-etched shoulder pauldrons clicked with a cold, metallic menace whenever he shifted his weight, and his midnight-blue mantle billowed behind him, absorbing the cheerful morning sunlight like a black hole.

He was currently supervising, or rather, ruthlessly glaring at the nightmare that was the loading of his daughter’s snack inventory.

”Sir Gallahan,” Kaelus rumbled, his deep baritone cutting through the cheerful chirping of the courtyard sparrows.

His violet eyes narrowed as he inspected a massive, heavily enchanted ironwood trunk being hoisted onto the rear supply wagon by two sweating junior knights. ”What is the internal magical baseline of that preservation unit?”

Sir Gallahan, whose silver armor was polished to a blinding, mirror-like perfection, snapped to attention, his white cape fluttering.

”Standard Class-Four Cryo-Stasis, Your Grace!” Gallahan reported proudly, executing a crisp salute. ”The internal temperature is locked precisely at three degrees above freezing! The humidity is regulated via an integrated water-manifold array to prevent any crystallization on the delicate skins of the Star-peaches!”

”And the structural integrity?” Kaelus pressed, stepping forward to rap his armored knuckles against the reinforced iron bands of the trunk.

Clang!

”The road to the next inspection sector is unpaved once we cross the provincial border. If a single jar of the raspberry preserve shatters and contaminates the sugar cookies, the Vanguard will be conducting our next forced march on empty stomachs.”

”The interior is entirely lined with triple-layered, imported Southern velvet, Your Grace!” Gallahan assured him, desperately trying not to break his professional composure. ”Each pastry is secured within its own custom, impact-absorbing stasis field! A direct strike from a trebuchet wouldn’t even dislodge the sugar sprinkles!”

”Acceptable,” Kaelus grunted, turning his terrifying gaze toward the main gates.

A few feet away, insulated from the militaristic management by a fortress of doting, heavily armed giants, stood Seraphina von Nacht.

She was dressed for travel in a magnificent, little gown of deep navy wool, embroidered along the hem with tiny, shimmering silver threads in the shape of howling wolf cubs, a custom creation Sir Boris had intimidated three local master weavers into finishing before dawn.

Her unruly dark hair was tied back with a wide, crisp white silk ribbon, though several chaotic strands had already escaped to frame her round, soft cheeks.

She was currently holding the hands of Marquess Julian Myer.

The flawless, devastatingly handsome former Holy Knight was completely falling apart.

Julian was kneeling on the cold marble paving stones, entirely heedless of the dirt smudging his pristine, pale silver coat.

His luminous golden eyes were swimming in giant, crystalline tears that spilled over his long eyelashes to track down his face.

In his right hand, clutched against his chestplate, he held the delicate, deep blue origami lotus Seraphina had folded for him days prior, now permanently preserved within a solid, transparent block of enchanted crystal.

”Lady Seraphina,” Julian choked out, his smooth, melodic voice wavering with unbearable melancholy. He gently brought her tiny, pale hands up to press his forehead against her knuckles. ”The gates of Oakhaven shall remain forever open to you. By the Light, this estate feels colder already knowing your carriage is leaving.”

”Don’t cry, Mr. Marquess,” Seraphina said softly, deploying her most gentle, comforting voice.

She reached out with one small hand, awkwardly patting his perfectly styled silver hair.

To her Spirit Sight, Julian’s massive, blinding aura of Holy Light was currently flickering and dimming with genuine sorrow. ”We caught the bad man with the hat. Your city is safe now. The lost kids are going to come home.”

”It is not the city I am weeping for, little angel,” Julian let out a wet, wobbly chuckle, lifting his tear-streaked face to look at her. ”It is the injustice of the universe that forces you to travel back into the cold, dark world alongside a man who possesses the emotional range of a gargoyle.”

He shot a glaring, entirely envious look up at Kaelus.

”If he forgets to feed you your afternoon fruit,” Julian whispered fiercely, abandoning noble decorum, ”or if he makes you sleep in a room with a draft, send a message via the magic towers. I will personally mobilize my Paladin reserves, march to the North, and legally challenge him for your guardianship.”

From the carriage door, Kaelus let out a loud, derisive snort that sounded like a warhorse preparing to charge.

”You and what army, Julian?” Kaelus sneered, his legendary arrogance radiating from him in a blinding, unshakeable wave. He lifted his chin, looking down his sharp nose at the kneeling Marquess. ”Your Paladins would freeze to death before they even reached the first glacial pass. Keep to your orchards and your grain ledgers. The child belongs to the Bastion.”

Julian stood up, wiping his face with a lace handkerchief, though his golden eyes remained locked on Seraphina with pure, wistful adoration. ”Ignore him, My Lady. He is a barbarian who happens to look good in mythril. Be safe. And remember to chew your food completely.”

”I will!” Seraphina beamed, flashing him a bright, missing-tooth smile.

”Vanguard!” Kaelus’s voice suddenly boomed across the courtyard, a thunderous roar that scattered the lingering servants and caused the warhorses to stamp their hooves in readiness.