Timeless Assassin

(Planet Vorthas, Hangar Bay Area, Early Morning)

Leo arrived at the Hangar Bay with a half-yawn still lingering on his face, his boots clicking against the steel floor as the ramp lights guided his path toward the awaiting vessel bound for Juxta.

He had expected a silent, uneventful ride, maybe some closed-eye rest en route, until a uniformed soldier intercepted him near the boarding ramp.

"Sir Skyshard," the soldier said, straightening to attention, "you're not flying out just yet. Commander Charles issued new orders. You have been asked to return to your family at once."

Leo's brow raised slightly. "Why?"

"Apparently your family made contact a few days ago," the soldier replied. "Your elder brother… he's awake. Luke Skyshard regained consciousness around four days back."

Leo froze. His mind blinked. And then, as the words settled in, his emotions flared.

A soft blue aura began to envelope his body, as he broke out in a wide grin.

"He's awake?" he asked again, this time slower, quieter, as if confirming it aloud would make it real.

"Yes, sir. The guards stationed at your house have all confirmed it through direct transmission."

*Huff*

A breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding slipped free, followed by the most excited rubbing of palms he had done in recent memory.

"I see…" he muttered, then nodded, more to himself than the soldier. "Convey my apologies to the pilot, but I won't be flying to Juxta today. Hell, I wouldn't miss this for the world."

His tone was steady, but his steps turned lighter as he pivoted and made a run for the hovercraft shuttles.

He needed to get home as soon as possible.

He needed to give his brother a good warm hug.

—-------------

(Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Capital City, Morning of the Autumn Festival)

The scent of sweetbread and wood polish floated through the early streets, as thousands of citizens spilled out of their homes, dressed in layered silks, painted face-masks, and ceremonial sashes.

From the Northern Gate to Central Square, the capital city seemed to have come alive.

Children ran through alleys with dragon masks too big for their heads. Vendors rolled carts covered in fruit carvings, dyed cloth, and glittering incense braids.

Roofs were adorned with flags bearing the Cult's crest—newly minted, but waved with pride all the same.

The Dragon Army's new recruits, most of them locals who had signed up to join the Dragon on his future raids, stood tall in their polished gear as they rehearsed their synchronized demonstration for later in the day.

What began as a simple vow of allegiance had spiraled into a full-blown spectacle of combat formations, illusion spells and mid-air salutes that were all choreographed down to perfection.

Still, they weren't the only ones with plans.

The common folk had arranged surprises of their own.

Near Sunsteps Market, a group of elderly actors from the People's Theatre were rehearsing a skit reenacting the legendary liberation of Vorthas by Dragon Noah, complete with wooden swords, handmade horns, and a child actor playing a very enigmatic Twelfth Elder.

Across from them, another troupe was preparing a short scene titled "The Day of Two Gods," meant to honor the time when Lord Soron repelled a divine invasion all by himself, that was clearly over the top, but met with no less enthusiasm.

Further down the path, cultural dancers from the western provinces were tying silk bands and warming up barefoot in the plaza, while musicians tuned hand-drums and glowing flutes under shaded stalls.

And as for the finale…. fireworks were arranged to light up the skies with the Cult's sigil, being scheduled to erupt once the parade reached Central Square.

Vorthas hadn't seen a celebration this large in over three decades.

And for many of the people here, it wasn't just about Veyr.

It was about faith.

About hope.

About finally feeling like the Cult's rule wasn't just suffering dressed in scripture.

For today was the day they celebrated with their new messiah.

Today was the day they felt their pride returning to the streets once more.

—------------

(Meanwhile Veyr and Valterri)

With the parade scheduled to begin in under an hour, Veyr was quickly dressed in the red ceremonial robes assigned to the Dragon.

A high-collared mantle settled over his shoulders, stitched with golden patterns, while a half-cape bearing the Cult's insignia hung from his side.

He stood still as the attendants clipped the final clasp, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable, looking every bit like a storybook hero forced into reality.

"I can barely move my arms in this thing... and forget about rotating my hips. It's too stiff," Veyr muttered, shifting uncomfortably, while Valterri stood behind him in silence, gaze steady, concern barely hidden behind his usual stoicism.

If it were up to him, Veyr would never step out dressed in robes that made it harder to defend himself—but the choice was not his to make.

The Twelfth Elder had personally selected the outfit to mirror his own, and Valterri had no room to object.

Still, even setting the robes aside, there was something deeper gnawing at him. A quiet unease that refused to let go.

He said nothing. Offered no comment. Just kept one hand close to his sword, senses sharp, instincts on edge.

Something about today felt wrong. Today's festival was too exposed, too loud, too unpredictable.

But the nature and challenge of today's event did not change his job.

No matter what came, he had to protect the Dragon.

Even if it meant dying for it.

"Lord Veyr…. If you're ready can you please proceed downstairs to the common hall? The Twelfth Elder wishes for you to meet the members of the local union leaders.

They will be riding the Festivities Chariot alongside you today…." An attendant requested, as Veyr sighed and acquiesced to the request.

This was his life now.

If he wasn't training, he was being dragged from one meeting to the next, because that too was part of what it meant to be the Dragon.