At the Dragon Roar Clan's secret base—inside a wide, dim-lit chamber lined with humming round devices—some stood upright while others lay flat across the steel floor.
From one of them, a faint beep echoed. A column of light shot upward, swirling until it formed a glowing portal. Within seconds, figures began stepping through—Stan, Peter, Cressida, Caspian, and Theron. Right behind them followed four teenagers: Alex, Tamsin, Merrick, and Gwen.
They had just returned from a mission gone wrong. Everyone was alive, but luck had carried them home more than skill. Each of them bore fresh cuts and exhaustion written on their faces.
Peter's voice broke the silence the moment their boots hit the ground.
"There'll be no resting until you four explain how the hell you ended up in that mess," he said, tone sharp and unyielding.
Tamsin groaned. Merrick rubbed the back of his neck. Gwen exhaled, muttering under her breath. Alex kept quiet, still replaying the near-death moments in his head.
The adults began dispersing, heading for the command wing. Stan paused near Alex, giving him a firm look.
"Seems like you're finally catching on to the paragon life," Stan said, half a grin tugging his lip.
"Go file your report, get some rest. Tomorrow, training continues—no exceptions."
Alex nodded quietly, watching as Stan turned and walked away.
The portal behind them flickered, then faded, leaving only the hum of the machines and the heavy air of lessons learned.
Meanwhile, Caspian arrived to collect their damaged gear.
The last mission had left more than just bruises—several of their suits and weapons were wrecked beyond quick repair. Gwen's whip, for one, had been sliced clean in half by the undead knight's blade.
Even Alex's suit hadn't survived. The armor plates were scorched and torn from the final clash. He'd handed it over without protest, though the frustration still sat heavy in his chest.
Fortunately, the Dragon Roar Clan had its methods. Their repair tech could restore weapons and battle suits almost to their original form.
Once the collection was done, Peter gathered the four and led them toward his office. The room was as neat and intimidating as ever, its steel walls lined with mission records and flickering holoscreens.
Alex was the first to be questioned.
He sat straight, answering Peter's calm but piercing questions. He gave a clear account of the mission—how things went wrong, how they fought, and how he'd landed the final blow on Varkov.
But he didn't say a word about the tablet. That part stayed buried.
Peter listened in silence, hands clasped on his desk. When Alex finished, he gave a short nod.
"You're free to go, Alex."
Alex stood and walked out, leaving behind Tamsin, Merrick, and Gwen. The three exchanged uneasy glances. Worry hung thick in the air.
'They're probably getting scolded for using their Bloodline power again,' Alex thought as he stepped into the hall.
Inside, Peter's tone sharpened as he turned to the others.
"All I want to hear," he said, voice low but firm, "is why you felt the need to use your Bloodline powers in the first place."
"But I thought Uncle Stan had legalized the use of Bloodline power," Gwen said, her tone hesitant but sharp enough to echo in the tense room.
Peter looked at her for a long second, his expression unreadable. Then his voice came calm but firm, every word measured.
"It's still a crime if you committed the act before the law changed," he replied.
That shut everyone up. Gwen lowered her gaze, fingers nervously tracing the edge of her seat.
Peter leaned forward slightly.
"Now, can you go over what happened?" he asked.
"I… I was the—" Merrick started, but Tamsin cut him off before he could finish.
"We were fighting a Stage Seven warrior," Tamsin said, her voice steady though her eyes told a different story.
"We were in danger. We had no other option but to use the Bloodline power."
Peter went silent. He didn't speak, didn't move. His eyes drifted slightly to the holographic screen beside his desk.
He was thinking—but also checking.
With a simple flick of his wrist, he opened the Pendragon System, accessing the Vornshade Clan intelligence files.
Lines of glowing data scrolled before him.
"There's nothing here that says anything about the Vornshade Clan having a warrior at Stage Seven," Peter muttered. His brows drew together.
"I assume this warrior wasn't Varkov, since Alex killed him—and Varkov was a mage," Peter said.
Silence returned to the room, thick as smoke. None of them dared to speak.
Finally, Peter looked up again, eyes sharp.
"Is the Stage seven warrior dead?" he asked, his tone low but heavy enough to make their hearts tighten.
There was a short pause—long enough for tension to hang thick in the air.
"Yes… he's dead," Tamsin finally replied. His voice was calm, but his fingers clenched tightly at his side.
Peter's gaze locked onto him. He didn't blink. It was the kind of look that made people question if he could see straight into their thoughts.
"Fine," he said at last, leaning back in his chair. His tone softened, but only a little.
"Fortunately for you three, your reasons for using the Bloodline power fit within the new regulations—barely," Peter said. "That means your punishment will be reduced."
Relief flickered across their faces—Tamsin's shoulders dropped, Gwen let out a quiet sigh, and Merrick even managed a faint smile.
But it didn't last long.
"You three are to return to training immediately," Peter continued. "No rest. No medical treatment. And after that, you'll each face your Uncle Theron in a brutal duel—every day—for the rest of the week."
Their expressions dropped faster than a collapsing tower. Whatever joy they had vanished in an instant.
The punishment wasn't light at all—but they knew better than to argue.
"You are dismissed," Peter said curtly.
"But I—" Tamsin tried to speak, his tone half-pleading.
"I said you're dismissed," Peter cut him off, voice rising with authority.
The room went silent again.
The three stood, gave a small bow, and quietly left the office.
Outside, the waiting area was empty. The seats were neatly aligned, the lights low and quiet. Alex wasn't there anymore—he had already gone.
Without another word, they turned and headed down the corridor, each step heavier than the last.
Outside, the corridor stretched silent, lit by a pale strip of light along the floor.
Gwen turned to Tamsin, her eyes narrowing.
"How did you do that?" she asked, stepping in front of him. Her tone wasn't angry—just sharp, suspicious.
Tamsin frowned. "Do what?"
"Lie," she said flatly. "What you told Peter about why we used our Bloodline power—it wasn't true. You fought that Stage Seven warrior, but you never triggered it yourself."
Tamsin's jaw tightened. "Our Bloodline activated on its own to stop him from killing Alex," he said. "That's not a lie."
Gwen crossed her arms. "But it is impossible to lie to an elder. So how did you say that without the bond reacting?"
"I didn't lie," Tamsin said again, more firmly this time. He started walking, boots echoing softly down the hall.
Gwen followed. "We both know it activated without our command. You didn't use it—it just happened."
Tamsin stopped, turned, and looked at her. His voice dropped low, calm but cutting.
"What do you think sounds more believable, Gwen? That our Bloodline went rogue against our will… or that we used it to kill a Stage Seven warrior trying to slaughter us?"
Gwen blinked, caught between logic and instinct.
"Yeah, about that," Merrick muttered from behind them, scratching the back of his neck. "We're not even sure he's dead. I only blasted him away with the bullet."
For a second, no one spoke.
Tamsin let out a long sigh.
"You actually think he survived that? A direct hit from our Bloodline. You've seen what it does to bodies not tied to us."
Gwen frowned. "We don't even know if it was a direct hit—"
"You know what?" Tamsin cut her off. "I'm done arguing. I need my strength for the punishment." He turned and walked away, long strides eating the corridor.
Gwen and Merrick exchanged a look, then fell into step behind him.
Unseen, Peter was standing near his office doorway. He had heard most of the tail end of their talk. He watched them go, face unreadable.
Moments later someone stepped into Peter's office.
"You called, sir?" A chubby, bald man entered, a stack of data slates tucked under his arm.
"Saka — no need for fanfare," Peter said without looking up.
Saka hesitated.
"You were the one who spied on the Vornshade Clan and compiled their intel," Peter continued. "How did you miss a detail that important? How did you miss that they had a Stage Seven warrior?"
Saka blinked, taken aback. "There wasn't a Stage Seven in the reports I filed. My recon—"
Peter cut him off. "The Vornshade base is destroyed. Our field reports say a Stage Seven was present and involved." He folded his hands. "I want you to dig deeper. Now."
Saka swallowed.
"And if that Stage Seven somehow survived our strike, find him. Kill him." Peter added.