The dream began like a painting brought to life, soft and golden under the evening sun. 

Caelann wandered the small patch of earth outside their humble home, barefoot in the warm grass. His laughter filled the air as he chased a butterfly, its vibrant wings flickering like shards of stained glass. Behind him, his parents stood by the doorway, their figures framed by the soft glow of twilight.

His father, a broad-shouldered man with dark hair flecked with gray, leaned casually against the wooden frame, his arm draped protectively around his wife. She, a gentle woman with auburn hair that caught the light like fire, smiled warmly at Caelann. Life was simple. Life was good.

Then, in the distance, a figure emerged. A rider cloaked in shadow, donned in gleaming armor that caught the dying sun like a beacon. The horse's hooves struck the ground in a slow, deliberate rhythm as it approached, the sound growing louder with each step.

Caelann stopped in his tracks, his small hands clutching the air where the butterfly had just been. He turned to his father, whose expression had hardened, the warm light in his eyes replaced by a cold resolve.

"Go inside with your mother," his father said quietly but firmly, his voice carrying an edge that Caelann had never heard before.

"But—"

"Go," his father repeated, not unkindly. "I'll handle this."

Reluctantly, Caelann turned and ran into his mother's arms. She knelt to gather him close, her embrace firm but trembling. Together, they watched from the doorway as his father strode toward the rider. The two men spoke in hushed tones, their words swallowed by the wind.

The rider dismounted, his posture rigid and authoritative. He held a scroll, marked with the king's seal, and extended it to Caelann's father. Whatever was written there seemed to weigh on him heavily.

After a long silence, his father turned and walked back toward the house. His steps were steady, his face calm, but his shoulders carried a burden Caelann didn't yet understand. He stopped before his wife and rested a hand on her cheek, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange.

"The kingdom is at war," he said at last. His voice was soft but filled with the inevitability of an approaching storm. "They're calling all able-bodied men to arms."

Caelann's mother inhaled sharply, her grip on her son tightening.

"No," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You can't—"

His father knelt down in front of Caelann, cupping his small face in rough but gentle hands. A warm smile spread across his lips, the kind that had always made Caelann feel safe.

"Take care of your mother for me," he said, his voice filled with a tenderness that made the boy's chest ache.

Caelann's young mind didn't fully grasp the weight of those words, but something in his father's tone made him nod solemnly.

"I will," he promised, his voice small but steady.

His father pulled him into a tight hug, holding him close for what felt like forever. When he finally released him, he placed a kiss on his wife's forehead, whispered something Caelann couldn't hear, and walked away.

The rider mounted his horse, and together they disappeared into the horizon, leaving nothing but the sound of hoofbeats fading into the distance.

As the dream unraveled, the memory blurred and distorted, the golden light dimming into a cold, suffocating gray. 

Caelann's mother's sobs echoed faintly as the scene dissolved, replaced by shadows and silence.

...

Caelann stirred awake to the sound of a knock at his door. The dream's lingering sadness clung to him, but the rhythmic tapping pulled him back to reality. 

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, the early morning sun casting long shadows across his humble shack. He frowned, wondering who could be visiting this early.

Groggily, he made his way to the door, peering through the small peephole. A familiar face stared back at him, his expression serious but tired.

"Oswald?" Caelann muttered, unlocking the door. He swung it open, leaning against the frame. "Well, you're a long way from the palace. Come in before someone spots you."

Oswald stepped inside, glancing around the modest interior. He still wore his travel cloak, and his boots carried a thin layer of dust. His normally pristine demeanor was slightly rumpled, evidence of a night spent searching.

"I've been all over Elmsgrove looking for you," Oswald said, his tone exasperated. "And let me tell you, nobody seemed eager to talk."

Caelann grinned as he poured a cup of water from a small pitcher on his table. "Can't blame them at all, really. A stranger asking about me? Sounds suspicious. Might think you're a huntsman looking to cash in on my charming good looks."

Oswald arched an eyebrow, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Charming, sure. Though I'm starting to think finding you is more trouble than it's worth."

"Trouble is part of my brand," Caelann said, clapping Oswald on the shoulder. "Now, what brings Elowyn's knight to my humble abode? Does the princess have some royal contract for me? Need me to dig up weeds in her mother's garden again?"

Oswald shook his head, his smile fading. "I wish it were something so simple. I'm here because of the princess... and her father."

Caelann set down the cup, his expression shifting to one of concern. "What's happened?"

Oswald took a deep breath and began to explain. "The king is insistent on forging an alliance with Creathe, one that would see Princess Elowyn wed to Lord Samuel. She's been confined to her quarters since their last... argument. She's practically a prisoner in her own home."

Caelann's jaw tightened. "That doesn't sound like Elowyn to me. She'd never agree to something like that."

"She hasn't," Oswald replied. "That's the problem. She's resisting, but her options are limited. The king has made it clear that he will proceed. This time... with or without her consent."

The weight of Oswald's words sank in, and Caelann leaned against the table, processing. "So... what? You're here because you want me to do something about it?"

Oswald hesitated before nodding. "You're one of the few people I trust to care about her as more than just the princess. And, frankly, you're capable of doing things I can't."

Caelann studied him, searching for any hint of deception or hesitation, but Oswald's eyes were earnest.

"Alright," Caelann said, his voice steady. "Tell me everything."

Oswald rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the door as if to ensure no one had followed him. 

"I wish I could tell you I had a foolproof plan, Caelann, but I don't. What I do know is this: the palace has several hidden passageways. They were built centuries ago, meant for the royal family to escape in case of a siege or attack."

Caelann tilted his head, intrigued. "Hidden passageways, huh? Why haven't I heard of these before?"

"Because they're practically myth at this point. Most of them have either been sealed off or forgotten entirely. But the knowledge is still there, passed down among the royals," Oswald explained. "Elowyn might know the location of one of them, though that's not certain. If she doesn't, then it's either the king or..." 

Oswald trailed off, his expression darkening. "...the new queen."

Caelann frowned, crossing his arms. "The king's not exactly going to hand me a map, and something tells me his lovely new bride wouldn't be much help either."

"No, they wouldn't," Oswald admitted. "But if you could get to Elowyn, there's a chance she knows — or at least knows where to look."

Caelann nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. "Thanks for telling me, Oswald. This gives me something to work with."

Oswald placed a hand on Caelann's shoulder. "Just... be careful. The palace is crawling with kingsguard, and if the king catches wind of this, it won't end well for either of you."

"Not my first time sneaking into places I'm not supposed to be," Caelann said with a grin. "I'll manage."

Oswald's lips quirked in a faint smile before he stepped back. "I need to head back now before anyone notices I'm gone. Good luck, Caelann. For what it's worth, I believe in you."

Caelann gave him a mock salute. "Thanks, Sir Oswald. Get back to the palace before someone starts asking awkward questions."

Oswald nodded and made his way to the door, but paused as Caelann spoke again.

"I'll find my way back to the capital," Caelann said. "Might take me a while since my horse got stolen, but I'll figure it out. Hopefully, some kind soul with a carriage will let me hitch a ride."

Oswald smirked. "If I know you, you'll charm your way there, horse or not."

With that, Oswald stepped out into the early morning light, his cloak billowing behind him as he mounted his horse and rode off. Caelann watched him disappear down the path, then sighed and looked down at the road ahead.

"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Time to get moving."

****

The countryside was quiet, the early morning mist lingering over the rolling hills as the carriages rolled steadily down the dirt path. 

Captain Caleb sat rigidly in his seat, the weight of his duty reflected in his steely gaze. Across from him, Giovanni fidgeted, his eyes darting out the small carriage window and back to Caleb, his face pale and glistening with sweat.

Caleb's gloved hand turned the magic flare over in his palm. It was a small, unassuming device, yet its importance was unmatched. If the reports were true—if the Hunt had indeed been spotted at this farm — it would signal the end of the line for some of the kingdom's most wanted criminals.

Giovanni cleared his throat, his voice barely audible over the rumble of the wheels. "Captain, are you certain about this? Making this drastic move based on hearsay testimony..."

Caleb didn't bother looking at him. "The witnesses were convincing enough. A few claimed they saw armed men moving supplies in and out of this farm. Others reported seeing a man that matches the description of the Scarface. It's enough to act."

"I-I think you're rushing it," Giovanni's fingers tightened on the edge of his seat. "Perhaps we need more time to prepare-"

Caleb's cold eyes flicked toward him briefly. "If the information is wrong, then it's just a wasted trip. But if it's right and we don't act, the consequences will be far worse. Better to be thorough."

Giovanni nodded stiffly, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He had done what he could, sending the letter to Johann with the details of the impending raid. But had it reached them in time? 

The carriages slowed as they approached their destination. Caleb straightened in his seat, his hand tightening around the flare. With a curt gesture, he signaled to the driver to halt. 

The convoy came to a stop, the accompanying guardsmen climbing down from the other carriages, their boots crunching against the gravel road. Armed and alert, they formed a perimeter around the property.

"We move in pairs," Caleb ordered, his voice sharp and commanding. "Sweep every corner of this farm. Leave no room unchecked."

Giovanni followed Caleb out of the carriage, the morning chill biting at his skin. He kept his head low as the guards dispersed, their disciplined movements betraying years of training. Caleb led the charge, his imposing figure cutting through the mist like a blade.

The search began in earnest. Guards entered the main farmhouse, methodically scouring the rooms. Cupboards were emptied, beds were overturned, and every inch was combed with precision. Others moved to the barn and storage sheds, checking for hidden compartments or hastily abandoned supplies.

Giovanni trailed behind Caleb, his heart pounding with every step. The longer the search dragged on, the more his dread grew. Yet, as room after room turned up empty, hope flickered in his chest. Perhaps Johann and the others had made it out in time.

"Clear!" a guardsman shouted from the barn.

"Nothing here, Captain," came another call from the storage shed.

Caleb's jaw tightened as he surveyed the scene. The farmhouse was devoid of any sign of the Hunt. The supplies, the weapons, the men — none of it was here. He stepped outside, scanning the horizon as though expecting to find answers in the distance.

Giovanni, still at his side, breathed a silent sigh of relief. "It seems the information was... misleading."

"Or they knew we were coming," Caleb muttered, his eyes narrowing. He signaled for the guards to regroup, his frustration barely concealed. "We'll have the witnesses brought in for questioning. If anyone gave false testimony, they'll face the king's justice."

Giovanni kept his expression neutral, though inside, relief flooded him. He had bought Johann time — barely — but time nonetheless. Now all he had to do was ensure Caleb didn't uncover any further leads.

As the guards prepared to return to the capital, Caleb cast one last, lingering look at the farm. Something about the scene felt off, but for now, the trail was cold. With a wave of his hand, he signaled the retreat.

Giovanni climbed back into the carriage, his hands trembling slightly as he folded them in his lap. Caleb followed, his face a mask of irritation. 

As the convoy began its journey back to the capital, Giovanni allowed himself a small, fleeting smile.

****

The streets of the capital were bustling with the early morning rush of merchants, farmers, and travelers. 

Johann sat in the back of the lead carriage, adjusting the fresh bandage over his scarred eye. It itched, but it was necessary; his face was too well-known to risk detection by any guards who might actually be paying attention.

Outside, the patrols were numerous, but as expected, they weren't overly thorough. The volume of traffic into the city gates made it impossible for the guards to conduct more than cursory inspections. Most carriages were waved through after a quick glance at permits or a brief exchange of coin.

Johann's convoy was no different. As their line of carriages approached the gate, one of the guards stepped forward, his hand raised to signal them to stop.

"Permits," the guard barked, his eyes flicking over the group with practiced disinterest.

The driver leaned out, a leather pouch in hand. The bag jingled as it changed hands, the sound enough to make the guard hesitate before nodding subtly. He tucked the bribe away and waved them through without another word.

Inside the capital, Johann pulled the bandage lower over his eye and leaned back, his lips curling into a faint smirk. 

"Simple as that," he murmured.

A huntsman beside him leaned forward, his voice hushed. "Where are we holing up now, boss?"

Johann's smirk widened slightly as he rested his hands on his knees. "Our employer and I have been exchanging notes for weeks. He's prepared a warehouse near the eastern docks — a place merchants use to store their goods. Perfect cover."

The man nodded, and the convoy moved deeper into the city, navigating its crowded streets with precision. Eventually, they reached their destination. The warehouse was an unassuming structure, its wooden doors weathered and worn. 

To any passerby, it was just another hub of trade. But for Johann and his Huntsmen, it was a temporary stronghold.

Inside, crates and barrels were stacked high, providing ample cover for their operations. The air was damp and smelled faintly of salt and grain. As the Huntsmen began unloading supplies and setting up makeshift stations, one of them couldn't resist commenting.

"You'd think we're here to plan a war or something."

Johann chuckled dryly, pulling a map from his coat and spreading it across a nearby table. "Might as well be."

A younger Huntsman, leaning against a stack of barrels, crossed his arms. "How important is this stone, really?"

"It doesn't matter," Johann said, his voice sharp. "The stone isn't our concern — our employer's gold is. As long as we deliver, we'll be paid."

He turned toward a small group of Huntsmen gathered near the back. 

"You," he said, pointing at them. "Start sniffing around for the adventurer Caelann. I want his location by sundown."

The men nodded and moved out without hesitation, blending seamlessly into the city's bustling crowds.

Johann returned his attention to the remaining Huntsmen. "The rest of you, get to work. We need everything ready by the end of this week."

One of the older Huntsmen raised an eyebrow. "Ready for what?"

Johann's single eye gleamed with determination as he rested his hand on the hilt of his blade. 

"For the greatest fire Valoria has ever seen."