The Madness of Yilheim

Nine hours earlier, in the cover of night, the Mother Waver glided silently above the clouds, its hull humming with barely restrained power. Below, the sprawling city of Heful—the capital of Zitry Kingdom—glimmered like a blanket of gold embroidery stitched into the land.

Inside a smaller descent waver, Pungence sat at the helm, hands on the controls, a calm smile tugging at his lips. Eryndor and Ziraiah sat behind him, peering out the wide viewport.

"Home," Pungence murmured.

Heful spread vast beneath them, a radiant tapestry of stone and light. The capital of Zitry was not merely a city—it was a statement. Its buildings stood in measured harmony, carved from pale white stone that shimmered faintly with stored Vitalis, giving the entire city a soft ethereal glow. The main road, wide and unwavering, cut through the heart of the city like a blade of order—stretching from the towering eastern gate all the way to the distant Crown's Hill, where a solitary, elegant house watched from above like a sentinel.

Spires of glass and crystal rose high, catching the wind and moonlight, humming faintly with enchantments. Floating bridges connected rooftops. Broad courtyards brimmed with fountains whose waters danced to silent music. Along the road, statues of heroes past lined the path—each cast in silver and crowned with laurels. But none were as large, nor as loved, as the one at the city's centre—Pungence, arms outstretched in welcome, his name etched in every heart.

At night, Heful pulsed with life. Warm lights from crystal lamps bathed the streets, while children played under the watch of ancient guardians. In the air, guardian spheres drifted silently, maintaining the peace. And above it all, the great barrier dome shimmered like a second sky, reflecting stars that made Heful seem suspended in the heavens.

As the craft pierced the outer barrier, the city stirred. Somewhere in the palace towers, a voice rang out from a central amplifier.

"Pungence is coming. Pungence is coming."

The message repeated, echoing across stone walls and crystalline streets.

Doors burst open.

Homes emptied.

Men, women, and children flowed into the streets in waves, like a tide drawn to one name.

"Pungence! Pungence! PUNGENCE!"

Some chanted. Others simply whispered his name with reverence.

Little boys wore wooden masks shaped like his face. Girls twirled sticks painted dark blue, mimicking his coat. Children held soft toys modelled after him, complete with miniature beards and stern eyebrows.

From the window, Ziraiah leaned forward, wide-eyed. "Daaamn… they're all here for him?"

Eryndor smiled faintly, pressing a hand to the glass. "They love him. This… this is not admiration. This is worship."

Pungence sighed with a soft chuckle. "These people… How many times have I told them not to do this?"

Ziraiah laughed. "Are you serious? If I had even half this welcome, I'd fly in every week."

Eryndor added, "What an ostentatious reception."

The city lights converged on one path: the main road. Illuminated in golden light, it stretched from the edge of Heful all the way to the distant hilltop. It was a ceremonial path, and tonight, it belonged to Pungence.

Then came the cries from the crowd:

"We love you, Pungence!"

"Shake my hand Pungence!"

"Welcome home!"

Pungence grinned. "Fine… I'll give them what they want."

He adjusted the controls. The descent waver banked softly, pivoting toward the start of the main road. At the edge of the city, it hovered for a moment, then hissed as four massive wheels extended from beneath the hull. The craft lowered and landed smoothly with a soft thud.

The pilot's seat clicked and shifted sideways.

Pungence slid the window open and rested his forearm on the ledge.

As the waver rolled slowly down the street, his outstretched hand passed over the heads of the gathered crowd. Dozens reached up—hundreds. Children squealed, adults shouted his name. Some wept just to touch him.

And when their hands met his, they didn't just touch flesh. They touched a dream.

"He's like a myth," Ziraiah whispered, stunned. "A living statue. A hero of the people."

From another seat, Gustein watched with crossed arms, his face slack with disbelief. "Well damn… I knew people liked him, but this? This is too much."

Eryndor said nothing for a moment. Then: "Adoration of this magnitude, transcends mere displays of strength.."

The crowd roared louder.

Banners waved.

Old women clutched each other, whispering prayers of thanks. Fathers lifted children high above their shoulders so they could see him. Lovers paused mid-argument just to turn and smile. Even those bedridden with illness crawled to the doorway just to glimpse the waver.

Far above, the Mother Waver floated silently. Its lights dimmed now. In the city of Heful, the night became a celebration.

A festival with no music.

A parade with no plan.

Just love.

For one man.

For Pungence.

And as the waver continued its slow journey down the golden path, beneath the stars and beside the flame-lit windows of a thousand homes, one thing was clear to all who saw it:

The Hero of Zitry had returned.

---

Pungence leaned back in his seat, one arm casually resting out the open window as the waver glided over the rooftops. Heful's skyline shimmered below them.

He glanced at the two teens sitting across from him.

"Eryon, Zirai—you'll be leaving with me from now on."

Ziraiah frowned. "It's Eryndor. And I'm Ziraiah."

Pungence raised a brow and chuckled. "Strange names you've got."

He tapped his fingers against the edge of the window frame.

"There are only a handful of people like me in this world. So when I found you… I won't lie—I got excited. And to think you're from Earth…" He trailed off, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "I'll have to conduct my own research to figure out how someone can jump from Yilheim to Earth and back again."

He turned to glance at them more directly.

"So, how are you two feeling now that those pesky things were removed from your backs?"

Ziraiah shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I feel sore."

Pungence grinned. "You'll heal in no time. Your bodies can finally grow the way they should. Now that those suppressors are gone, I hope you'll start developing normally."

Gustein sat silently nearby, arms crossed, but his mind drifted—pulled back to what he had witnessed earlier on the Mother Waver.

—

In the sterile glow of the medbay, Eryndor and Ziraiah lay unconscious on the beds, their bodies still stabilising. Beside them, a tall man in white robes stood over a glowing tablet. His brown hair was slicked back, his skin lightly tanned, and his short pointy ears marked his lineage. He stood at 10 feet 9 inches—a quiet giant.

He turned the tablet toward Pungence. "Look what I found."

Displayed on the screen were twin skeletal scans—X-rays of the two children's backs.

"These implants," the doctor said, pointing, "they weren't just embedded. They were designed to inhibit their growth… artificially suppress their development."

Pungence stared at the image. "Hmm. Remove them."

Pungence stood with arms folded as he stared at the glowing tablet in the doctor's hands. The screen displayed detailed scans of Eryndor and Ziraiah—highlighting strange implants along their spines. He narrowed his eyes.

"I know every rare-breed that exists in this world," he said. "But I've never seen these children before. Never even heard of them. And to find out they have only one heart..." He paused, voice quieting. "I thought I was the only one."

He looked over at them, lying unconscious in the recovery beds, and added, almost to himself,

"I finally found people who are like me."

The doctor remained silent for a moment, then tapped the screen and tilted it slightly.

"No," he said. "They aren't like you."

Pungence slowly turned his head. "What?"

The doctor smiled faintly. "You're like them."

Pungence stared, his expression unreadable.

The doctor continued, calm and matter-of-fact.

"Based on their DNA, their cellular structure, even their bone density—they aren't just rare. It looks like they're the original. You, Pungence, are the purest Elvhein born in thousands of years. A specimen generations have never seen."

He glanced back at the sleeping children.

"But even you… compared to them?"

He looked up and added with a half-shrug,

"You're contaminated. No offence."

Pungence raised a single brow, his voice low.

"I'll let that slide. Just this once."

—

Back in Pungence's waver, as it hummed along the illuminated road, Gustein watched Pungence quietly.

To think… he's an Elvhein too. The Unstoppable Weapon. These rare-breeds are such a pain in the ass, he thought. Why does this damn race keep birthing monsters like him?

Pungence's voice broke the silence.

"Listen. I know you didn't ask for this. I know being torn from your world wasn't fair. But that doesn't mean your lives have to end here."

He turned, fully facing Eryndor and Ziraiah.

"You can still have a life. A future. Here, in Yilheim."

"You can go to school. You can live like normal children—without fear, without running, without always looking over your shoulders. You can build something real."

He nodded toward the window as their waver approached the glowing hilltop.

"Starting in Heful."

Heful—capital of Zitry. The seat of power. The beating heart of one of Donesria's mightiest kingdoms.

It was where the royal family of Zitry lived.

Where the most prestigious academy in the region stood—Festitude Academy.

Where the famed Seven Legions made their headquarters.

In all of Yardrad, few kingdoms carried as much weight as Zitry. And Heful… was its crown jewel.

"You're safe now," Pungence said, his voice quieter, but heavier. "And in this place, your story begins again."

Eryndor and Ziraiah exchanged a glance—silent, but not uncertain.

Something new was beginning.

---

Pungence's house is a grand white-stone mansion perched atop a small hill at the far end of Heful's main road. Its design blends fantasy elegance with fortified presence—tall arched windows, golden-framed balconies, and a high-pitched black roof with silver trim. Wide marble steps lead to a massive double-door entrance. Ivy curls along the outer walls, and polished lanterns line the cobbled pathway. The estate is surrounded by a trimmed hedge and guarded by a shimmering barrier gate. At night, the crest of Zitry glows above the main tower, marking it as the home of a legend.

Pungence parked the waver in a sleek underground garage. As the engines powered down with a low hum, he stepped out and said, "Follow me."

They trailed behind him, feet echoing softly against the polished stone floor. Gustein hurried forward, hands rubbing nervously. "Mr Pungence, I'm grateful you saved me, truly—but my home isn't in Donesria. If you could just lend me your waver, I could—"

Pungence stopped walking, turned, and looked down at him. "My waver? Do you know how expensive those things are?" Then he laughed and resumed walking. "You must be out of your mind."

Gustein scowled to himself. Damn it. Thought I could smooth-talk him into lending it so I could replace mine... Looks like he's not all muscle after all.

As they walked, Eryndor leaned over to Ziraiah. "I wonder—what are your sentiments concerning Pungence?"

Ziraiah grinned. "I kinda like him. You should've seen how he made those guys who kidnapped us freeze up. That Elf and the red one tried to run, and he just went—STOP! They froze like statues. Even that woman carrying me looked like she nearly pissed herself. You should've seen her face."

Eryndor laughed and threw an arm around her shoulder. "Ziraiah… the manner in which you and Valerius wield your words borders on profanity."

Ziraiah paused. "You think Val's okay?"

Eryndor's smile dimmed a little. "She spoke with certainty. That should suffice for now."

"Yeah... I wish they let us keep those suits though. They were cool."

Eryndor smirked and shook his head.

They reached a large white door. Pungence unlocked it with a golden key. "Come in. Make yourselves at home."

Inside, the mansion opened into a vast foyer with polished obsidian floors and a ceiling that rose so high it felt like a temple. A chandelier of floating crystal shards hovered above, casting soft, shifting lights across the room. Marble pillars lined the hall, and rich blue curtains draped the tall windows. To the right was a grand sitting area—wide, cushioned chairs circled a low black-glass hearth, and enchanted lanterns floated gently overhead. The air smelled of clean stone and old parchment.

Books, weapons, and strange artifacts lined the walls—some displayed like trophies, others simply stacked in quiet clutter. Though majestic, the home felt lived-in, like someone powerful but busy returned often and left in a rush. Soft enchantments hummed faintly in the background, keeping the space warm and pure. It was not just the home of a soldier, but of a legend.

The moment the door opened, a frying pan hurtled at Pungence. He ducked, and it smashed clean through the wall, vanishing into the yard. Pungence lost his composure. "Damn you, woman! That could've killed someone! Why must you always greet me like this!?"

A tall, broad-shouldered elf woman stepped forward. Andrea. Blue eyes, blonde hair streaked with grey, and a sharp scowl. "Eight months, Pungence. You said you'd be gone for a few days, and it's been eight months!"

"It's my job, Andrea."

"Your job? So your job told you not to send even one message?"

"Okay, you need to calm down."

"I am calm."

Pungence backed away with both hands raised. "Alright, alright."

He gestured to the group. "Anyway... I have people to introduce. This is Ziraiah. This is Eryon."

"Eryndor," Ziraiah corrected.

"Right. Eryndor."

Andrea squinted at them. "Wait... you had kids? I thought that was hard for your kind."

"They're not my children," Pungence replied quickly.

Andrea folded her arms. "You sure? They look like rare breeds to me."

"They are." Pungence pointed upward. "And we'll talk about that later."

He flopped onto a massive couch, pulled off his coat, and exhaled. "Feels good to be home. They'll be staying with us. I leave them in your care, Andrea. Goodnight."

He waved a hand lazily. "Oh—and take Gustein to a room."

Andrea narrowed her eyes. "Who's that?"

Gustein stepped forward. "I'm Gustein."

She raised a brow. "Ah. A Leporid."

She sighed. "Follow me."

She turned, took a step, then barked, "Hurry up!"

Eryndor and Ziraiah quickly caught up.

"If you're going to live here," Andrea snapped, "you'll follow my rules. One: You call me Aunty Ann. Nothing else. Two: You obey everything I say. Three: Behave yourselves. I don't take nonsense—especially from spoiled brats."

She shouted, "Stereen!"

A young woman rushed out, wearing a maid uniform. She had short ears, brown hair, and beige skin—an Aurellian.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Get someone to fix that hole in the wall."

"Yes, ma'am."

Andrea marched up the stairs. Gustein and the siblings followed.

"Stereen is our head maid. Good girl. She'll help you settle in."

They reached the second floor. She pointed at Eryndor. "You—this room."

Then Ziraiah. "You—there."

Then Gustein. She paused, eyeing his wide grin. "What's wrong with you? Got some kind of smiling sickness?"

"N-no."

"Then stop smiling!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Go to your rooms. I'll see you in the morning."

She left.

Gustein muttered, "Goodnight, kids. Hope you'll be out of my life soon," and vanished into his room.

Ziraiah entered hers. "It's nice," Eryndor said, peeking in.

"Not as nice as my old one."

"Well... this is a medieval world."

"Medieval? Did you see that flying ship we were on? This place is weird—backward but futuristic."

She flopped onto the bed. "Now get out. I'm tired."

Eryndor smiled, shook his head, and quietly closed the door behind him.

---

That same night, in a quiet village of Donesria, Valerius lay limp on the bed. His chest no longer rose. The physician had stepped back in defeat. There was blood, breath, but he could not treat Valeirus' wounds—only silence. Valerius had not died, but—.

His soul had been taken elsewhere.

He awoke, not with a gasp, but with a sense of weightlessness. He was standing. His bare feet pressed against a gleaming white floor, cool and smooth like pearl stone. Above him, a ceiling soared far beyond sight, upheld by colossal pillars carved with swirling symbols that glowed faintly with flowing lines of light. The space around him was not empty—it was sacred.

He stood in the heart of a vast castle hall.

It was larger than anything he could imagine—grand enough to hold entire cities within its chamber. Soft light fell from unseen heights, warm and pale, as if filtered through sacred clouds. The hall stretched outward in all directions, lined with towering arches, glowing tapestries of spirit-thread, and floating orbs that pulsed gently in the air like living stars.

And it was filled with beings.

Thousands—no, tens of thousands—stood across the white expanse. Spirits. Not ghosts, not echoes of the dead, but a race unto themselves. Their forms varied wildly—some as tall as titans with horns of crystal and skin like moving glass, others small and weightless, glowing like flames or drifting leaves. Some knelt, some stood, some floated silently with eyes closed in reverence.

All of them faced him.

Their attention was not hostile. But it was heavy. He could feel their eyes, their thoughts—waiting.

Then he heard it.

Drums. Deep, slow, echoing. Each beat rolled across the chamber like thunder under velvet. Then came the trumpets—high, distant, regal. Voices followed, rising in perfect harmony, ancient and powerful. It was not a song for mourning, nor joy. It was a ceremonial call—a hymn of arrival. A welcome fit for royalty. Or judgment.

He turned.

At the far end of the hall, high above the others, stood a white platform veiled in luminous mist. Upon it sat a figure—tall, still, cloaked in shadow behind a thin white veil that fluttered without wind. No face could be seen, no words were spoken—but its presence was undeniable.

The figure was the centre of the hall.

Of the song.

Of everything.

Valerius swallowed.

He did not know where he was. He did not know what he had been brought here for.

But he knew this: the unknown beings had gathered for him. And the figure behind the veil was waiting.

----

To Be Continued....