“He’s still not awake?” a man asked among the pack of onlookers surrounding Leonard Exparti’s home.


    Just a normal occurrence in a small town that has chicken fights as its main choice of entertainment.


    “No! And It’s been three days!”


    “What the hell happened? The Tree of Ancients is gone — and bam, he’s out cold!”


    “Delani! Did your daughter say anything?”


    Delani’s eyes darted away as he cleared his throat and shuffled off with surprising speed for a man his age.


    “Hey! Get back here, you coward!” a chorus of men bellowed, giving chase like a pack of rowdy schoolboys.


    Inside the Expatri home, tension hummed like a storm about to break. Leonard, pale and groggy, sat slumped on a low couch, his mother Maria pacing nearby while his father Yosephus sat rigid, hands clasped in his lap.


    At the center of the room, a lone staff hovered, slowly spinning in place, shedding a pale, silver glow that threw shadows on the walls.


    “Welcome back to the land of the living, son,” Yosephus said, voice calm but threaded with tightly wound worry.


    Leonard rubbed his temples. “Thanks, Dad,” he croaked, throat raw like he hadn’t spoken in days — which, of course, he hadn’t.


    Yosephus nodded toward the staff, his brow furrowed deep. “We’ve… tried to ignore that thing for three days now.”


    “But I can’t take it anymore!” Maria snapped, whirling to face Leonard, her hands flying up in exasperation. “I tried to move it when I was cleaning, and you know what it did? It scooted just enough for me to sweep under it—then floated right back! What am I? Its maid?”


    Yosephus reached to gently rub her shoulder, but Maria huffed and folded her arms tight.


    Leonard blinked at the staff, then let his gaze slide sideways — to the handsome young man lounging casually in the far corner, sipping tea like none of this chaos concerned him.


    “They can’t see me,” the man said smoothly, raising his cup. “Or hear me. No magic, no spiritual eyes. So, good luck, lumberjack.”


    Leonard’s eye twitched. “Great.”


    Maria was watching him closely now, like a hawk eyeing prey. “Leonard? Are you talking to someone?”


    “Uhh…” He straightened, trying to focus. “So… remember how I was working on the Tree of Ancients?”


    Maria’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “You mean three days ago? When Sam told us you were destroying it?”


    Leonard winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not destroying. More like… proving myself. To get something.”


    “Nearly killing yourself in the process!” Maria shot back.


    “Honey,” Yosephus warned gently, but she was already pacing again, arms flailing in frustration.


    Leonard drew in a slow breath and shot a glare at the smirking man in the corner, who gave him an exaggerated wink.


    “You know Father Melan? The priest before Father Shiloh?”


    Both parents exchanged glances, nodding.


    “He told me a legend. About a powerful being sealed in the Tree. Said whoever cuts it down gets a wish.”


    Leonard gestured toward the man. “I did my part. Still waiting on the wish.”


    Maria crossed her arms. “A ‘powerful being’? Leonard, you know what happens when you make deals with spirits — it''s slavery.”


    “I don’t know what he is yet,” Leonard muttered, avoiding her gaze. “But I’m guessing I’ll find out soon enough.”


    The man raised his teacup in a mock toast. “Call me what you like. I’m here for you.”


    Leonard groaned. “Not helping.”


    Maria whirled on him. “Fine. Then what does he want? And what’s with that?” She jabbed a finger at the glowing staff.


    Before Leonard could answer, the staff let out a low, vibrating hum, its glow intensifying, shadows leaping like wild things.


    “Leonard?” Maria whispered, now standing half behind Yosephus, who instinctively reached for a sword that wasn’t there.


    The staff pulsed once. Then twice.


    With a sharp whirring sound, it zipped across the room, stopping an inch from Leonard’s chest.


    The man in the corner grinned wide. “Looks like it’s time, lumberjack.”


    Leonard glared at him. “Time for what?”


    Before he could get an answer, a loud knock rattled the door, making them all jump.


    Yosephus stood, frowning deeply. “Nosy neighbors again?”


    But as he opened the door, it wasn’t a neighbor. It was Samantha, pale, panting, her clothes rumpled, hair stuck to her face.


    “Leonard,” she gasped, barely able to speak. “He’s coming for you.”


    Maria’s face went white. “Who’s coming?”


    “Me,” a calm voice answered — from inside the house.


    Everyone spun around in shock.


    There, standing casually near the mantel as though he owned the place, was a well-groomed man in his mid-thirties, dressed in the unmistakable red, black, and gold of Param’s Tribunal of Magic. Five gleaming stars adorned his epaulet — a mark of dangerously high rank and a crest on his chest depicting dark fires consuming a heart.


    Yosephus was the first to react, stepping forward without hesitation, planting himself firmly between the stranger and his family. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”


    The man gave a polite nod, hands folded loosely behind his back. “Wesley Valentine, Tribunal of Magic.” He let that hang in the air a moment before adding with a smirk, “And before anyone panics—” He flicked his fingers, and with a small pop of light and air, an elegant tray of flowers and sweet treats appeared on the table. “I come in peace. I just need to talk to your son before the rest of the Tribunal’s hounds start sniffing around.”


    Maria’s lips parted in sharp retort. “Why—”


    But Wesley cut her off with a raised hand, sharp as a dagger. “No time, ma’am.”


    From the corner, the apparition sipped his tea with an infuriating smirk. “You better hear him out, lumberjack,” he said lazily.


    Leonard exhaled a long breath and stepped forward. “It’s okay, Mom. Let’s… talk in my room.”


    As Wesley and Leonard headed toward the back of the house, Wesley glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin at Samantha. “You too. Come on.”


    A gentle, unseen force tugged her forward. She stumbled slightly, shooting Leonard a helpless look before trailing after them. The staff zipped through before the door swung shut behind them with a soft but final click.


    Inside Leonard’s room, Wesley reached into his coat for a cigarette, then paused as his eyes swept over the pair. With a sigh, he tucked it back away.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    “Alright,” he muttered, voice softer now but tinged with the weight of something heavy. “No sense dancing around this.”


    Leonard planted himself at the edge of his bed, brow furrowed. “Sir, what’s going on?”


    Wesley glanced toward the apparition, now sprawled across Leonard’s pillows like a king surveying his court. The air seemed to thicken.


    “A major screw-up,” Wesley said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “One that’s been waiting to explode for… oh, a couple hundred years.”


    He turned to the apparition, voice darkening. “Tell me, old friend, you recognize the blood running through me, don’t you?”


    He tilted his head, studying Wesley with a slight, amused curve to his mouth. “Of course. How could I forget? You’re a descendant of the White Wolf himself — Barthold Valentine.”


    Wesley gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. He told us family stories that we thought were just that — stories — until three days ago when this thing—” He raised a hand to show them a silver ring on his finger, pulsing faintly with soft, otherworldly light, “—lit up like the sun itself chose to descend.”


    Leonard blinked, looking between them, completely at sea. “Okay, hold on. What? Sam, you following any of this?”


    “Not a clue,” Samantha said tightly, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.


    The apparition yawned, reclining deeper into the pillows. “Oh, indulge them, Valentine. They’re practically children.”


    Wesley snorted and gave a half-bow, full of sharp sarcasm. “Lady and gentleman, allow me to properly introduce your new houseguest. Byron Meyer. The Bloody War Mage of the Age of Giants.”


    Byron sat up slightly, as if expecting awe — or at least a gasp.


    Instead, Leonard and Samantha exchanged blank stares.


    “…Who?”


    Byron’s eye twitched.


    Wesley grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Yeah. That’s what you get for shacking up with fairies, you idiot.”


    Byron scoffed. “Now, wait just a moment—”


    Wesley cut him off with a glint in his eye. “You’ve been erased, Meyer. Your fairy girlfriend didn’t just hide you in that tree — she made sure the world forgot you existed. Scrubbed clean. Paid off witnesses, silenced comrades, rewrote records. By the time my great-great-grandfather was born, you were just a ghost story. Only the Vanguard Families — mine included — kept whispers of your name thanks to your wife. She still held hope that you’d come back one day to get spanked by the kingdom.”


    Byron sat up straighter, color draining from his face. “But… but my comrades… my legacy—”


    “Gone,” Wesley said flatly. “All gone.”


    Leonard and Samantha both turned to look at Byron with a new, more wary light.


    “Hey—look—” Byron raised his hands quickly, palms open. “It’s not what you think! I wasn’t— It’s complicated, alright? I had my reasons!”


    “Sure,” Wesley muttered. “Maybe you did. But now that you’re back, guess what?” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a grim note. “The other Vanguard Families are now preparing to whip you.”


    As if to punctuate his words, the room shuddered, walls distorting like ripples in water, furniture groaning and warping under unseen pressure.


    Leonard jumped to his feet, heart pounding. “Our house!”


    “Relax,” Wesley said with a smirk, casually adjusting his collar. “We’re in a barrier — a parallel space. Your real house is fine.”


    Before Leonard could demand an explanation, a cold, sharp voice sliced through the air:


    “Master! As a representative of House Valentine, how dare you consort with history’s vilest criminal?”


    From the swirling chaos, a silver-haired woman stepped forward, eyes sharp as daggers, her posture rigid. Her uniform matched Wesley’s in color and cut, but a different crest gleamed proudly on her chest — a stylized silver hawk in flight.


    Wesley groaned quietly, muttering under his breath, “Speak of the devil…”


    The woman’s gaze swept over the room, landing on Leonard and Samantha with razor-sharp scrutiny before snapping back to Wesley.


    “Explain yourself,” she demanded, voice like ice cracking. “Or so help me, I’ll see you stripped of every star on your shoulder before nightfall.”


    Wesley rubbed his temples, glancing sidelong at Leonard. “Told you. Hounds.”


    Then his eyes turned to the newcomer just as quickly. “Mara, my lovely student,” Wesley greeted smoothly, as if they were old friends meeting for tea. “How are you?”


    Mara’s silver eyes sharpened into slits. “Don’t you ‘how are you’ me, you useless adult!” she snapped, stomping a step closer. “What are you even doing here? The other heads of the Vanguard Families were summoned by the Great Lion himself to discuss Meyer’s return!”


    Wesley rolled his shoulders, utterly unfazed. “Relax. I’m here on family business.” He waved a hand lazily toward Byron, who sat very still, watching the exchange carefully. “You know... that old promise made by the first White Wolf to our dear Lord Meyer over there.” He smirked. “To give him a fate worse than death when he showed his pretty face again.”


    Byron clicked his tongue, muttering under his breath, “Damn Barthold...”


    Mara folded her arms, glaring daggers at Wesley. “Isn’t that what the Vanguard Families agreed to, as per Miranda Meyer’s request? To neutralize him if he ever returned?”


    Wesley chuckled, rubbing his chin as though she were a child arguing bedtime. “Oh, Mara, Mara...” he sighed dramatically. “You don’t have many friends, do you, young lady?”


    Her face flushed a brilliant red. “I— I so do!” she barked, stomping her foot like an indignant cat.


    Wesley grinned knowingly, then turned to Leonard with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.


    “Kid,” he said lightly, “hold onto that staff for me, will you?”


    Leonard hesitated, glancing at Byron, but curiosity got the better of him. He reached out and gripped the strange, rune-etched staff that tried to pull away from him in protest. It pulsed faintly under his fingers like a living thing.


    “You see, Mara,” Wesley began, turning back to her with a faux professor’s tone, “real friends? Real friends don’t let you get away with stupid decisions. Like, oh, I don’t know—cheating on your wife, or begging a fairy to clean up your mess.”


    Byron shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the floor.


    “No, no.” Wesley smirked. “Real friends? They’ll make damn sure your life is inconvenient, or at least hilariously embarrassing for pulling stunts like that.”


    Mara’s eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious. “Master Valentine… what are you planning?”


    Wesley turned to Leonard again, his eyes practically sparkling now. “Alright, kid. You ready?”


    Leonard gave him a wary glance. “For what, exactly?”


    Wesley’s grin widened. “Just trust me. Chant this word like your life depends on it: Ligare.”


    Mara paled. “No.” Her voice dropped sharp, slicing the air. “That spell—”


    But Leonard, though confused, took a breath and said it firmly: “Ligare.”


    The word rolled out with a weight he didn’t understand.


    In an instant, the staff flared with blinding light—then blinked out of existence.


    The room was swallowed in stunned silence.


    Byron’s mouth hung open, staring at the empty space where the staff had been.


    Mara’s jaw dropped. “You— you didn’t—”


    Wesley casually dusted off his coat, looking as though this was all perfectly routine.


    “Congratulations, kid,” he said with an amused nod. “You’re now a magician.”


    Leonard blinked. “I… what?”


    Samantha, frozen beside him, let out a long breath. “Did… did that actually just happen?”


    Mara spun toward Wesley, her composure shattered. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Ligare isn’t just some training spell — it’s a binding, an oath! You’ve tied him to—”


    “To the kid,” Wesley cut in smoothly, raising a finger. “Not to me. Not to any of you hotshots looking to siphon him dry. To the kid. The insignificant bumpkin who could barely pronounce the spell a second ago.”


    Mara trembled, her hands clenched into fists. “You’ve doomed an innocent man...”


    Wesley gave a sharp grin. “Well, well, well, look who’s being hasty. Why do you assume I’d just hand him over to you snotty magical bourgeoisie to be slaughtered, huh?”


    Byron, still wide-eyed, slowly started to grin. “Oh... well played, Valentine. Well played.”


    Leonard swallowed, glancing at his empty hands, a strange tingling still running through his arms like the buzz of static.


    “Wait… so… I can actually do magic now?” His voice was soft, like saying it too loud would break reality.


    Wesley clapped him on the shoulder. “Not just magic, kid. Reality-bending, kingdom-destroying magic. If you survive the learning curve, of course.”


    Mara glared between them, realization dawning fast and furious. “This has been the Valentine family''s plan all along?”


    Wesley’s smirk only deepened. “No, no. It’s mine.” He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “We’ve been cooking up the best way to prank this old crone for generations. I just didn’t expect fate to give me the ultimate opportunity.”


    Leonard’s heart pounded in his ears. “Wait, all of this... just for a prank?”


    “It is what it is, lumberjack. That’s Barthold for you,” Byron said, his grin sharp as a blade. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other now. And trust me—things are gonna get chaotic.”