The wyvern moved in slow, crawling strides beneath Namo, its claws scraping the cracked road as it approached the looming city gates of Thurosia. Once, its kind had soared above the mountain kingdom, proud and untamed. Now, after generations of torture and mutilation, its wings were little more than withered remnants—useless, heavy burdens shackled to its back. A mockery of what it once was.
Namo ran a hand along the beast's neck, feeling the ridges of old scars beneath his fingertips. He had planned to let it go—send it back toward the docks or leave it to be reclaimed by the mount divisions. Maybe it would be put to use again. Maybe it would be put down. Either way, its fate wasn't his to decide.
Just as he loosened his grip on the reins, laughter cut through the thick, humid air.
"Well, ain't this pathetic?"
A gang of squat, reptilian figures lounged against the crumbling stone walls near the entrance. Kobolds. The kind of lesser demons that infested the East End like rats, scavenging for whatever power they could cling to.
One of them, a scarred brute with chipped horns and cracked teeth, grinned wide. "What's the matter, traveler? That thing too slow for you?" He jabbed a clawed finger at the wyvern. "Poor bastard got a lucky shot at freedom, didn't it? With such a good and gentle master."
The others snickered, eyes glinting with malice.
Namo barely spared them a glance. The last thing he needed was attention, which was precisely why he had chosen the East End to enter the city. When he was last here, it had been quieter—filled with those who had no time for petty fights or politics. But the streets had changed. Demons roamed freely now, bold in their control over the territory.
The lead kobold stepped forward, flexing his claws. "Here's the deal. Drop the bag. Leave the gear. And we won't have to hurt you."
Namo exhaled, adjusting the weight of his pack against his shoulder. "I'll just go." His voice was even, measured. "I won't report this to the authorities."
The kobolds erupted into laughter.
"The authorities?" Another one scoffed. "Boy, you're lost. You think the city watch runs things here?"
The leader's grin widened. "We don't answer to them. We got the backing of the demon princess herself."
That made Namo pause.
Iana Din?
His half-sister.
He had known her when they were children—prideful, impatient, always eager to prove herself as Achen Jio's daughter. But even then, she had held herself above the lower demons. And now she's allying with them?
The leader saw his hesitation and mistook it for fear. "Smart of you to freeze up. Now, be a good boy and—"
The wyvern snarled and lashed out. Its claws raked through two of them, sending them sprawling with shrieks of pain.
The leader's eyes widened. "You little—!"
Namo moved.
He struck fast—one sharp blow to the ribs, another to the jaw. The wyvern's thick arm lands on the closest kobold, trapping it. The other tries to react.
Whack! Thoom!
Namo knocked out the last two kobolds with swift, practiced strikes, their bodies crumpling onto the dusty street. He exhaled, shaking the tension from his fingers before turning back to the wyvern.
It tilted its head at him, tongue flicking out as it made a low, trilling noise—some strange, almost happy sound.
He smirked. "You're welcome."
The creature had fought for him, even when it didn't have to. Maybe out of instinct, maybe out of some small act of rebellion against the demons that had broken its kind. Either way, it deserved more than another leash.
With a few quick tugs, Namo unfastened the heavy chains that bound the wyvern's bridle. "Go," he said, stepping back. "Before someone tries to put you back in a cage."
The wyvern hesitated, its gaze lingering on him for a long moment. Then, with a powerful bound, it leapt away, slinking into the shadows of the East End.
Namo watched it disappear, a brief flicker of temptation passing through his mind. Father would hate it even more if I arrived at the palace on a wyvern.
For a moment, the idea amused him. Then he sighed. It wasn't worth getting the creature killed.
Turning back to the unconscious kobolds, he crouched down and rifled through their belongings. It didn't take long before he found what he was looking for—a crumpled sheet of parchment tucked into the leader's belt.
His eyes narrowed.
A description of him. His name. A general timeline of his movements, from the docks to the city gates.
Someone already knew he was back.
Someone had wanted to test him.
Naturally, he thought. Iana.
She was always methodical, always watching, always three steps ahead. If she had sent these low-class thugs after him, it meant one of two things—either she wanted to test his strength, or she wanted to kill him outright.
Either way, Namo had no intention of playing their games.
If Iana wanted a show of force, he'd give her one.
He folded the parchment, tucked it into his coat, and cracked his knuckles. He was going to go pick a fight.