At the present — Heful

  Rain drummed softly on the roof.

  Eryndor stood before Mr. Baby, his arms folded, eyes sharp.

  “What do you know?” he asked.

  Mr. Baby took a long sip from the baby bottle in his hand, then sighed.

  “Alright,” he said, setting the bottle down.

  “Unnu get attack by di Orken Unbound. But dem nuh just any Unbound… dem leader a Kottor.”

  Ziraiah tilted her head. “A Kottor? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mr. Baby walked to the window, the city’s ruined reflections crawling across his face.

  “Yuh got di ordinary people, an den yuh got di gifted — dem weh can wield Vitalis. Some people call dem Vitalists.”

  He turned, pacing slowly. “Mong di gifted, yuh have two big branch — Mana Users an Bravo Users. But up top a dem…”

  He raised a finger. “…are di ones weh make even di strongest look helpless. Di real monsters.”

  His tone darkened. “Dem deh a di Kottors — di top a di power chain. Dem deh right up deh pon di World Rankin, side by side wid di Enforcers.”

  Maloi leaned back on a chair, crossing her legs. “Funny,” she said. “I’ve never heard of any World Ranking.”

  “Most people never hear ’bout it,” Mr. Baby replied flatly. “An dat deh on purpose.”

  Eryndor’s gaze didn’t waver. “What about the Enforcers you spoke of?”

  Mr. Baby rubbed his neck. “Dem work fi di Binding Hand. When it come to pure power, dem deh right under Pungence himself. Matter a fact…”

  He paused. “Dat blue-hair man weh try kill unnu — him one a dem.”

  Eryndor’s expression stiffened. “I was under the impression that Pungence’s organization were good people, standing for peace and Justice.”

  Mr. Baby chuckled bitterly. “Yuh really nuh have no clue how dis world work, eh? Not di fairy-tale one from di books yuh read — di real one.”

  He walked back to his chair and sank into it.

  “Before di Unbound start get call criminal, dem did begin as a resistance — a movement born fi mash down one ancient power before di Grand Order.”

  Eryndor’s eyes flickered with recognition.

  “I've read about the Grand Order.” he said quietly. “They are the writters of Yilheim’s law — they formed thousands of years ago, when the world first divided into nations. Each country, was composed of many kingdoms, and from each nation a representative was appointed — a so-called President — whose position was absolute and irrevocable. Once chosen, they surrendered their office only in death.”

  Ziraiah frowned. “That sounds like madness.”

  Eryndor nodded slowly. “Every President who has ever tried to step down from the World Order has met an inexplicable and untimely death. And with once every century — they assemble a congregation of power known as the World Summit.”

  Mr. Baby smiled faintly. “Yuh really do yuh research, Eryndor.”

  He leaned forward. “Di Binding Hand work under di Grand Order — been so fi thousands a years. Legend seh di Binding Hand did exist long before di Order, an dem deh do all di dirty work ever since.”

  He sucked from his baby bottle and continued. “Bout fifty thousand years ago, di first Kottor create di Unbound fi fight against one organization — one weh exist long before di Grand Order ever rise up. Di war mash up everything. Both side wipe out each odda. Yilheim itself nearly get destroy.”

  He stared into the bottle as though the past still lived inside it.

  “An from dem ashes rise up a new power — di one weh rebuild di world an rule over weh did lef’ behind: di Grand Order.”

  He looked up, meeting their eyes.

  “Most people done forget about di first Kottors. But di few weh remember still use di name fi call di most powerful being dem pon earth. Now, nobody remember di real Kottors no more. Since di Order start, every generation bring forth dem own Kottors.”

  Mr. Baby leaned back in his chair, swirling the bottle between his fingers.

  His voice dropped to a near whisper.

  “One a dem Kottors… have yuh bredda.”

  The room fell silent.

  Eryndor’s jaw tightened. Ziraiah froze mid-breath. Even Maloi, usually composed, leaned forward slightly.

  Mr. Baby continued, his tone grave.

  “An mi know weh dem keep dem captive.”

  Maloi narrowed her eyes. “How do you know all this?”

  Mr. Baby smirked faintly and raised the rubber tip of his bottle to his lips, taking a long, deliberate sip.

  “Mi can tek anyting, even memories.”

  Ziraiah’s expression hardened. “So you’re saying you’ve seen where they keep him?”

  “Yeh,” Mr. Baby said simply. “Mi see it in somebody memory. But memba di deal, ya? Mi agree fi help yuh find di Primordial Witch Grimoire. Mi only help yuh look fi yuh bredda ’cause it gwan be fun.”

  Ziraiah frowned. “Andrea is gone now. What could you possibly have to gain from this?”

  Mr. Baby’s gaze sharpened.

  “It nuh matter,” he said quietly. “Pungence a di only one weh have di means fi break mi curse.”

  He picked up his bottle again and took another slow drink.

  “An him never break him word.”

  The room went still.

  Outside, thunder rolled through the skies of Heful, as if the world itself was warning them what it meant to defy the Grand Order.

  ---

  Upstairs, the room was silent except for the faint crackle of distant thunder.

  Pungence sat at the edge of his bed, staring out the shattered window. His fingers were interlocked before his face, the faint glow of crimson lightning flickering between them. His eyes were hollow, yet seething — a storm trapped behind flesh.

  He was angry.

  Angry at himself. Angry at the Unbound. Angry at a fate he could have changed.

  If only I had gone after them… you would still be here.

  He turned his head slightly, eyes falling on the folded newspaper beside him. The headline burned into his thoughts:

  Andrea — Former World Ranker — Killed by Omfry.

  The paper crumpled in his grip. His voice broke the silence, low and venomous.

  “Omfry Galendios…”

  A voice answered from beyond the cracked window.

  “Then you already know what must be done.”

  Pungence didn’t look up.

  King Gozay hovered just outside, his cloak billowing in the wind, his presence calm but commanding.

  He floated through the window, landing lightly in the room. “We must find Eliana,” Gozay said, his tone calm yet resolute. “You have secluded yourself in this chamber for three days, Pungence. I understand your anguish, but the world does not halt for sorrow. People still depend upon you — and my daughter… she needs you.”

  Pungence said nothing. He clasped his fingers again, lightning dancing faintly across his knuckles. The walls, the entire house vibrated with restrained power.

  “Pungence,” Gozay continued, stepping closer, his voice firm yet tempered with concern, “you alone possess the resources to locate her.”

  The red glow in Pungence’s hands flared. The floor trembled, dust falling from the ceiling. His voice was sharp, cold, deliberate.

  “Gozay… don't speak to me. I am in a very foul mood.”

  The king didn’t flinch. Instead, he sat beside him. Together, they looked out upon the ruined city — once radiant, now scarred.

  “I know that words cannot mend what has been broken,” Gozay said softly. “You are not a man who seeks solace — you have endured too much loss to shed tears over it. And yet…” He turned toward him, his gaze unwavering. “I can see the flame that burns within you — this is no grief, Pungence. It is wrath.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He stood, cloak sweeping behind him, voice steady but firm.

  “What you require now is release. Fulfil that for which you were born: purge this world of those defiled Unbound, and remind all of them why they tremble at your name.”

  Gozay’s eyes glinted with solemn resolve.

  “Three centuries have passed, Pungence. It is time you reclaim the name that was once yours—before the world anointed you the Titan of Hope.”

  The name hung in the air like judgment.

  Pungence’s eyes lifted, slow and burning. He rose from the bed — tall, unshaken, dangerous.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’ve given these Unbound too much leeway. Andrea tempered me for three centuries…” He clenched his fist. “But she’s gone now.”

  He walked to the wardrobe and slid it open. Inside hung a single pristine uniform — white coat, pressed suit, blue tie — the insignia of the Binding Hand gleaming faintly on the collar.

  He spoke without turning.

  “Three years ago, I spared Omfry and Dreados. Now my home has paid the price for that decision.”

  Behind him, Gozay’s voice softened. “Please, Pungence… locate my daughter.”

  “This is the third time now,” Pungence muttered, eyes hardening. “She’s starting to make this a habit.”

  Pungence began to dress in silence.

  Piece by piece, the man who had mourned gave way to the one the world once feared.

  He pulled on the crisp white suit — immaculate, without a single crease — its fabric humming faintly with restrained energy. The blue tie slid into place beneath the high collar, sharp and precise. He stepped into matching trousers, the material tailored perfectly to his frame, and fastened the gleaming white leather shoes that caught the dim light like polished ivory.

  Then, from the coat hanger beside the mirror, he lifted the final piece — a long dark-blue overcoat. The fabric was heavy, regal, and alive with presence. He swung it over his shoulders, the motion smooth and practiced, as if the weight of duty had never truly left him.

  Across the back, stitched in fine silver thread, were the words that had once made nations tremble:

  NONE

  IS

  ABOVE

  THE

  LAW.

  He took his strek from the desk, tapped its edge, and spoke into the device.

  “Sinthia. Bring the Mother Waver.”

  A soft chime answered before a woman’s voice came through, filtered by static.

  > “I thought you were still off duty.”

  “I’m resuming early,” Pungence said, his tone flat, unreadable.

  There was a pause. Then, more softly:

  > “I saw the news… about Andrea. I’m really sorry.”

  He said nothing. He simply ended the call.

  Sliding the strek back into his pocket, Pungence moved toward the door. Gozay stood near the window, his posture firm but his expression weary.

  “How’s your heart?” Pungence asked.

  “Good as new,” Gozay said. “Eryndor’s elixirs are truly miraculous.”

  Pungence nodded once and stepped past him, descending the stairs.

  Downstairs, Eryndor, Ziraiah, and Mr. Baby waited in the foyer. The air felt charged—like a storm gathering behind glass.

  Ziraiah spoke first. “We’re coming with you. This baby here said he knows where Val and Eliana might be.”

  Gozay’s brows furrowed. “Are you certain?”

  Pungence said, “You’re strong,” he said, his tone measured. “But where I’m going, you’re not strong enough to follow me. Instead, find your brother—and Eliana.”

  Gozay caught his arm, his voice hard. “you would consign my daughter’s safety to their keeping?”

  Pungence’s eyes slid toward him, calm but cutting. He pulled his arm free.

  “Don’t underestimate them, Gozay. They could give even you a run for your money.”

  He turned to Mr. Baby. “Even this little one. If I removed that collar right now, he could lay waste to every Spellbound in Ignir—except Number One. Speaking of Number one, why won't you send him out?”

  Gozay’s expression darkened. “If Number One leaves, Ignir will be defenceless.”

  Ziraiah frowned. “Number One? Who’s that?”

  “The world’s mightiest elf,” Pungence replied.

  Maloi, standing by the wall, blinked. “Excuse me, sir—could you repeat that?”

  “I said he’s the strongest elf alive,” Pungence said, glancing at her. “You didn’t know?”

  He turned to Gozay with a faint smirk. “Is she new?”

  “Yes,” Gozay admitted.

  Pungence nodded approvingly. “You’ve done well. Raising a World Ranker isn’t easy.”

  He turned to the far wall, struck his fist through the stone, and retrieved a key from the hidden compartment behind it. Without looking, he tossed it to Eryndor.

  “That’s the key to Sultan’s collar. Use it wisely.”

  Eryndor caught it, frowning. “Sultan?” He turned to Mr. Baby. “Your name is Sultan?”

  Mr. Baby said nothing, merely sucked on his bottle with a sideways glance.

  Pungence took another key from his inner pocket and tossed it as well. “That one’s for my Waver. Bring it back without a scratch—it was expensive.”

  Pungence straightened his coat and said quietly,

  “Gather around.”

  The room fell silent. Eryndor, Ziraiah, Maloi, and Mr. Baby drew closer, the air thick with expectation.

  When Pungence spoke again, his voice carried the calm weight of command—the kind that left no room for doubt.

  “Listen carefully,” he began. “Your mission is not only to recover your brother and Eliana.”

  He paused, his eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his brow.

  “Young Zelion was taken as well. You will bring him home. I have reason to believe he’s being held in the same place as your brother.”

  He stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back. “Understand this—this won’t be like any of your previous enemies. You are dealing with the Orken Unbound.”

  The name hung in the air like the toll of a bell.

  “Richard’s presence confirms it,” Pungence continued. “That means this is the work of the Tertius Division.”

  His gaze hardened. “They won’t be impossible for you to handle—but if someone from the Upper Divisions intervenes…”

  He let the silence stretch, his tone sharpening like a blade.

  “…then the situation changes entirely.”

  He turned toward the window, watching the lightning flash across the distant horizon.

  “For that reason, I’ll be sending someone to assist you. She’s an Elvhein—like you.”

  He looked over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of something—resolve, perhaps even faith—in his eyes.

  “She will find you when the time is right.”

  A low mechanical rumble echoed outside. The floor trembled slightly. Through the tall windows, lights flared in the clouds as something massive descended from the heavens—the Mother Waver.

  Pungence walked to the door, his expression composed once more.

  “I’m off,” he said simply. Then, glancing back, “Oh—and Gozay… don’t worry. They’ll bring Eliana back. I have faith in them.”

  As he stepped outside, rain poured in sheets—but not a single drop touched him. The downpour parted subtly around his body, sliding off invisible currents of energy.

  The sky roared. From the belly of the colossal airship, a platform descended, hissing with hydraulic steam. Pungence stepped onto it, hands in his coat pockets, his blue tie flicking in the wind.

  The platform rose back into the storm until he vanished into the clouds, leaving only the sound of thunder.

  ---

  To Be Continued...