002
612 Words
That same night, deep within the f*******n vaults of the Draknhold Bastion, the air felt ancient, cold, and heavy with centuries of sealed power.
The High Jarl placed an old, dragon-shaped sigil carved from darkened steel into Issac Monroe’s palm. Its edges were worn by time, yet the aura it carried was unmistakably sovereign.
“This is the Draknsigil,” the old master said solemnly. “Anyone who sees it will treat your word as mine.”
But Issac slowly shook his head.
“Master… I don’t want it.”
The High Jarl’s temper snapped. “You carry the Crimson Bind that can take your life at any moment! Redharrow is no ordinary place—that city belongs to Robert ‘Bobby’ Kane!”
Issac’s reply was calm, steady, almost too quiet. “I’m going home to be with my family, not to conquer another territory. If I carry the sigil, my identity will be exposed even faster.”
The old man trembled with anger. “Then what will you rely on in Redharrow? Half a life? Half your strength? Half a breath?”
Issac looked into the distant darkness of the vault, eyes clear.
“I’ll rely on one thing—”
“That I’m not dead yet.”
The High Jarl froze.
Then, after a long, defeated breath, he murmured, “If you won’t take the sigil… then at least be cautious…”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Because Issac was already walking away.
His silhouette disappeared into the shadows—straight-backed, unyielding, silent.
Like a sword that had endured twenty years in its scabbard… finally leaving it behind.
…
Past midnight at Southport Airport, the giant concourse glowed with sterile light. Travelers dragged suitcases across polished floors. Loudspeakers droned boarding calls into the air.
In the crowd stood Issac, wearing nothing but a plain black jacket—so ordinary it was nearly invisible.
He joined the line for boarding without speaking, without meeting anyone’s eyes.
And no one knew that this unremarkable man—
Had once shaken the world.
Had once forced a hundred ruthless warlords to bow.
Had once suppressed entire frontiers with a single command.
Now—
He was just a man trying to go home.
A boarding announcement cut through the quiet.
“Passengers departing for Redharrow, please prepare for boarding.”
Issac lifted his head.
For the first time that night, his eyes were not sad, nor confused—only cold, sharp, and resolute.
He whispered under his breath, voice almost lost in the airport noise:
“Dad… Mom… Hailey…”
“I’m coming home.”
The engines roared.
The plane slid across the runway, accelerating until it tore through the darkness, rising into the night sky—heading toward Redharrow.
Toward—
His personal hell.
…
On the aircraft, Issac finally closed his eyes, letting exhaustion wash over him. His breaths slowed, steady, but the faint tremor beneath his skin showed the Crimson Bind had not fully settled.
Suddenly, a commotion stirred several rows ahead.
A woman stood in the aisle, arguing with a man beside her. Their raised voices broke the stillness of the cabin.
Issac’s instincts sharpened. His eyes opened.
The woman’s gaze swept across the passengers—until it collided with his.
For a moment, she paused.
Then she began walking toward him, each step slow, deliberate, carrying the confidence of someone who was used to being watched.
She stopped beside him, leaning in just slightly. Her voice was soft, almost lazy, yet laced with a tantalizing dare:
“I’m offering myself to you…”
Her lips curved upward, a hint of danger in her smile.
“Do you dare take it?”
- Writer
