Chapter 18: The Lion of Pride Rock

Elliot lingered at a distance, reluctant to disturb the moment yet unable to tear his eyes away. Beneath the cascading shadow of the old elm tree, Serena sat at the edge of the pond, her bare feet submerged in the water, stirring ripples that mirrored the unrest within her. The warm afternoon light filtered through the canopy above, dappled patterns dancing over her slouched shoulders and tear-streaked face.

It was a haunting sight.

The vibrant girl he had come to know—the one with the contagious laughter, the endless questions, the explosive energy—seemed like a distant memory. In her place sat a hollow silhouette, a fragile figure wrapped in silence. The Serena he knew had vanished, and what remained was someone who bore her shape but not her spark.

‘This isn’t her,’ Elliot thought. ‘Not the Serena I know.’

He took a careful step forward, but his foot landed squarely on a brittle fallen branch. The sharp crack echoed across the clearing like a warning shot. Serena turned at once, startled.

Her eyes met his—and widened.

Without a word, she yanked her feet from the water and scrambled to rise, as if flight was the only instinct she had left.

But Elliot was faster. In a blink, he was in front of her, gently seizing her wrist before she could slip away.

“Serena…” he breathed, barely above a whisper.

She froze.

Her body tensed, her face turned sharply away from his, refusing to look him in the eyes. Silent.

He felt the tremble in her hand.

“Please don’t run,” he said softly, his grip firm but not forceful. “I’m not here to make things worse. I just… I couldn’t let you sit here alone like this.”

Still, she said nothing. The breeze rustled the leaves above them, and the pond rippled with the passing wind. For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Talk to me,” he urged. “Yell, cry, throw a punch—I don’t care. Just… don’t shut me out.”

Her lips quivered.

But she kept her face hidden, the tears trailing quietly down her cheeks, falling into the pond like rain. “Just, go away… Elliot”

“Serena—”

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, wrenching her hand free from his grasp with a force that startled even him.

Her voice cracked with fury, but behind it—barely veiled—was despair.

“That’s not even my name,” she spat, eyes brimming. “Whatever Serena was, it’s a lie. A mask. Everything I thought I was... all of it’s a fabrication. A story made to keep me tame, to keep me ignorant.”

Her breath grew ragged, and her voice wavered, but her stance was resolute.

“Just—just leave me alone, Elliot. Please. I need to be alone.”

Elliot’s heart ached as he watched her turn away, shielding herself behind trembling shoulders. It was clear now—words of comfort would only bounce off the fortress she had built in grief and rage. There was no spell of kindness that could dispel the storm brewing inside her.

But then—something surfaced.

A voice from memory: “The strongest bonds are often forged between those who share the same scars.”

A thought. A truth. A thread.

His hand clenched at his side. “No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I won’t leave.”

She froze, not turning, not breathing. Her silence was permission to go on—or a dare to stop.

“Because…” he hesitated, his voice catching, the words sharp and reluctant in his throat, “because I understand. More than you think.”

At that, Serena turned toward him. Slowly. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief, then widened into something more venomous.

She scoffed.

“Seriously? Seriously?” Her laugh was bitter, her smile more like a snarl. “You’re gonna hit me with that line? Now? Come on, Elliot, that’s the best you’ve got? Don’t insult me.”

Her voice trembled, rising with every syllable.

“Don’t stand there pretending like you get it. You don’t. You can’t.”

She took a step closer, finger jabbing at his chest.

“Were you an unknown being that fell from the sky? Did you live a whole life under a name that isn’t even yours? Did you wake up one day and find out that your entire existence was manufactured?!”

She was shouting now. A surge of pain riding every word.

“Do you have false memories? A fake childhood? A made-up past just to keep you docile and blind?! Do you know what that feels like?! No! You don’t! So don’t you dare stand there and tell me you understand!”

Her chest heaved as her fury spent itself. The fire behind her words left the air around them burning, but Elliot stood his ground, eyes unwavering. “So just please, im begging you… just go away, leave me alone!”

“I was the sole survivor of my tribe!” Elliot’s voice rang out—raw, loud, unfiltered.

The sudden rise in volume cracked through the stillness like thunder, stunning Serena into silence.

He took a breath, his chest heaving, emotion flooding past the gates he had long kept shut.

“My village was set ablaze, the sky painted red with fire and blood. I watched everything I knew fall to ash. My family. My people. All gone. Wiped out… And me?” he paused, his voice trembling. “For reasons I still don’t understand to this day, I was pulled out—ripped from that moment—and hurled into this time. A thousand years ahead. Alone. Disoriented. Without a cause, without a name that anyone remembered. I exist, but with no purpose.”

The revelation hit Serena like a slap of cold water.

Her anger, fierce and boiling just seconds ago, dimmed—replaced with confusion and reluctant disbelief.

She blinked. Her brows furrowed. For a moment, she just stared at him—one eye wide, the other narrowed like a skeptic sizing up a street prophet.

“You… what?”

Elliot shifted his weight, suddenly realizing what he’d said, how fast it had poured out.

“I’m a—”

“I heard you the first time!” she snapped, cutting him off. “But again—WHAT?!”

She threw her hands up, visibly more confused now than enraged. “What even was that?! Are you trying to... what, stun me out of my fury? Is this your strategy? When words fail, dazzle them with outrageous nonsense?”

Elliot took a tentative step closer, but Serena was already pacing—frustrated and fired up again.

“I mean, come on! Time travel?! A lost tribe? Elliot, I’m standing here trying to untangle the fact that I might not be human, and you throw this at me?!”

“I’m being honest,” Elliot said, more calmly this time—but with undeniable gravity. “I’m not telling you this to outdo your pain, Serena. I’m sharing it because it’s real. And because I think... maybe we’re not as different as you think.”

He reached out again—this time more carefully—and took her hands, both of them, clasping them tightly between his own.

“I know what it feels like to wake up in a world that no longer has a place for you. I know what it means to be ripped away from everything that once defined you.”

She stared at him, caught in the blue of his eyes—those piercing crystalline things that seemed to hold constellations within them.

And she hated it.

“Nope! Nope nope nope!” she cried out, stumbling back and shoving him away. “Not falling for those sky-colored orbs again! Put them away!” She turned, shielding her face as if those eyes were a dangerous spell. “Those damn things should be illegal, Should be categorized as mind controlling weapon in fact, you do realize those eyes of yours is dangerous right? Like… its could give somebody a heart attack” she muttered under her breath.

But her tone had changed. There was still fire—but it no longer burned with fury. Only confusion. And just beneath it... the smallest flicker of understanding.

It hadn’t gone smoothly—but it was working.

Elliot exhaled, a soft breath laced with relief, and let a quiet smile tug at the corner of his lips. “There it is,” he said gently, his voice almost a whisper. “That’s the Serena I know.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. She instantly turned away, folding her arms tight across her chest, the very picture of defiance.

“Tch. There is no Serena,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the grass as if the earth might give her a better answer.

But Elliot stepped closer, closing the space between them not just with footsteps, but with warmth.

“There is,” he said with conviction. “She exists. And she’s standing right in front of me—ranting, fuming, rising her voice at every minor inconvenience, compassionate in ways she doesn’t realize, and stubborn enough to challenge the gods themselves.”

Serena tilted her head, just slightly, as if daring herself to look at him again.

“And all of that?” he continued, voice lowering to something more personal, more sincere. “That’s real. You are real. Maybe your memories were forged, maybe your origins are clouded by lies—but none of that changes who you are now. None of that erases the five years you’ve lived since that seal was carved into your mind.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He took another step, and now their eyes met once more—his gaze unwavering, hers searching.

“The Serena I met in Alaric City… the one who I shared a pie with, who stood her ground against half-orcs thugs twice her size, who laughed like the world couldn’t touch her—that Serena… she’s real. And no revelation, no ancient truth, no divine manipulation will take her away from me.”

For a long moment, Serena didn’t speak. She only looked at him.

Her lips parted—but no words came out. Her arms loosened just a little, the iron in her posture beginning to melt. And in her eyes… not fire, not fury—just uncertainty.

And something softer beneath it.

“Ah… damn it,” Serena muttered, swiping the back of her hand across her cheek to catch a tear that had slipped free, unbidden. “These wretched flower pollens... they're making my eyes all watery.”

Elliot tilted his head, his smile softening. “Right. Let’s blame the flowers, then.”

She shot him a mock glare through damp lashes. “I beg your pardon, good sir? What is that supposed to mean? Are you implying I’m lying, Mr. Hargrove?”

He lifted both hands in exaggerated surrender, though the grin never left his face. “I mean… I’ve seen you lie before. And, if I may say so, you’re rather talented at it.”

Serena let out a heavy sigh, equal parts defeated and amused. “Well, if you had to survive five years under the ever-watchful eyes of Professor Willthrop, you too would’ve developed a refined compulsion for well-timed deception.”

Then, her levity wavered. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, her voice dropping low. “Gods… I’m going to have to face that woman again, aren’t I?”

Elliot stepped closer, his tone gentle now. “Not if you’re not ready. You don’t have to do anything.”

“But I do,” she replied, exhaling a breath heavy with weariness. “I stormed off like some reckless child. That was… incredibly rude.”

He chuckled, recalling something. “Maggie actually has a term for that. Uh… what was it? Ah—‘reasonable crashout.’ Yeah. That’s the one.”

Serena blinked, and then a laugh burst out, sudden and honest. Elliot followed, their shared laughter cutting through the lingering weight in the air.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, it didn’t feel like the world was collapsing around her.

But that moment of lightness shattered all too soon.

A sudden pulse of raw animus surged from the manor, a wave of pressure that swept through the air like a silent scream. The ground trembled beneath their feet—subtle, but enough to ripple the surface of the pond in a perfect circle. Both Serena and Elliot froze. Their laughter died in an instant, replaced by wide-eyed alarm.

They locked eyes for a heartbeat.

And then they ran.

Within less than a minute, they reached the grand hall, breath sharp in their chests. The towering front doors loomed ahead, but neither dared to charge through. Instead, they darted to the side, to the tall mullioned windows, crouching behind the curtain’s edge.

Peering through the narrow slit between the drapes, they saw them.

A battalion. Knights—dozens of them—stood in precise formation. Their polished plate armor gleamed under the afternoon sun, shields emblazoned with symbols of prestige and history. Their swords, not merely weapons but artful extensions of discipline and duty, hung with unnerving readiness.

Two great banners were held aloft. One bore the black dragon of House Dragomierre, crest of the Amorette royal bloodline. The other—a golden lion atop a crag of stone—roared silently in the breeze.

But even those symbols paled beside the figure who stood before them all.

He was not tall by human measure—broad and compact, a halfling by lineage—but everything about him exuded strength, like a storm coiled into flesh and steel. His armor was a glistening suit of silver, intricately forged and unmistakably enchanted. Draped over his helm was a regal lion’s mane, golden and thick, as though the beast itself had willingly crowned him. His face, visible beneath the helm’s lifted visor, was stern and commanding—his eyes glowing faintly with power restrained.

It was as though simply not looking at him would be seen as an act of disrespect. As though this man had walked out of myth, dragging legend behind him.

Elliot leaned in, whispering low. “What in the world…?”

Serena’s voice cracked in disbelief. “Oh Artheons above… someone pinch me. My eyes are definitely betraying me right now.”

“Who is that? Who are they?” he asked, breath catching in his throat.

“The Pride Rock,” she whispered. “A royal crusade battalion, elite among elites. Each one of them trained in the old ways, veterans of a hundred campaigns. And their leader…”

She paused, as if saying his name would summon him through the wall.

“…Sir Gideon Gallagher. The Lion in Shining Armor. Commander of the Pride Rock Division. Said to be the strongest knight on this half of Erubius.”

Elliot blinked. “So… he’s dangerous?”

Serena shook her head slowly. “Hah, Dangerous is an understatement.”

There was silence.

Then, with the faintest shiver in her voice, she added, “They say if the Dragons guard the skies of the West, the Lion guards the land itself.”

There he stood—Roderick Barrenworth—before a titan clad in silver and legend.

Yet, he bore not a shred of fear.

The young lord leaned back ever so slightly, spine slouched with an air of practiced defiance, hands tucked lazily into his coat pockets. His expression was unmoved, bored even, as though the man before him were no more than another tax collector at his door. Beside him stood Ronald, stoic and silent as ever, his demeanor calm enough to ripple tension through even the most seasoned warrior.

Sir Gideon Gallagher—the Lion in Shining Armor—watched the pair with a subtle smirk curling beneath his lion-maned helm.

“Do you stomp your sword into the dirt every time you visit someone’s home?” Roderick asked dryly, nodding toward the faint scorch marks still sizzling on the flagstones.

From the hallway, Elliot watched, visibly gulping. That tremor—that pulse of overwhelming animus—was just from a single stomp?

The Lion offered a faint smile. “You are Roderick, firstborn of Lord Raymond Barrenworth. Heir of Rutterslide.” He inclined his head slightly. “It’s good to finally make your acquaintance, young lord.”

“Spare me the formalities,” Roderick said, waving off the gesture with the flick of a hand. “What is this circus? What’s the meaning of arriving at my gates with your whole troop of glimmering trainees?” His voice bore a boldness sharpened not by arrogance, but inheritance—he may not carry the blade, but he bore the title. “And no letter? No warning? Has the capital grown so disinterested in courtesy?”

Without missing a beat, Sir Gideon reached into a side pouch and pulled out a scroll. He extended it toward Roderick.

“A royal decree,” he said, “from Her Highness, Princess Linette Dragomierre.”

Roderick took it with clear disinterest, holding the ribboned scroll between two fingers like a distasteful piece of fruit before handing it to Ronald.

Ronald unrolled it and read aloud, voice steady:

“By royal edict and in accordance with the authority of the Crown, Sir Gideon Gallagher and his company of the Pride Rock are granted unrestricted access to conduct a kingdom-wide investigation. All lands, including those under noble or highborn dominion, are subject to inspection. No house shall be spared. No exceptions.”

Roderick’s brow twitched ever so slightly.

Gideon took a single step forward.

“You know what that means, boy?” he said, his voice low and heavy.

Roderick said nothing. He met Gideon’s stare with half-lidded eyes, slouch deepening, as if daring him to try.

“It means I can tear through every inch of this land in pursuit of what my princess seeks,” Gideon said, his voice now mere inches from Roderick’s ear. “I can rip stone from foundation, floorboard from soil, and no one—not even you—can stop me.”

A long silence followed.

Then Roderick, without so much as flinching, muttered, “And what, exactly, are you searching for? A ghost? A rebel? A misplaced kitten?”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. His breath grew hot against Roderick’s cheek.

“I think you already know,” he growled, “exactly what we’re after, Young Lord Barrenworth.”

“You cannot have her!”

The voice rang out like a whipcrack, slicing through the tension with imperial precision.

From the far side of the grand hall, a figure emerged, each step deliberate, her heels tapping against the marble floor like the ticking of a war drum. Draped in a sweeping violet fury-coat that shimmered like silk under firelight, and crowned with a plume-tipped hat that bespoke money and menace, Cassandra Willthrop advanced with the poise of a storm contained in flesh.

All eyes turned. None could look away.

Sir Gideon’s expression shifted—not to surprise, but recognition. His upper lip curled in the faintest sneer of amusement.

“Well, well…” he said, bowing his head slightly. “An Imperian Court representative graces us. And not just any member, but the esteemed Cassandra Willthrop… retired adventurine, spellblade scholar, and former member of the—how did the songs put it? Ah yes—the infamous Mist Stallions. Disbanded, disgraced, but not forgotten.”

Though he spoke with formality, there was no mistaking the distaste in his tone. His words dripped like oil over fire.

Cassandra did not blink. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Sir Gideon,” she replied coolly. “But I’ll overlook it, considering the circumstance.”

He cocked his head. “Then tell me, Madam Willthrop, what exactly is your business here? Surely you’ve not returned to your old life of meddling in affairs above your station.”

“I am here,” she said, voice steady and sharp as a drawn dagger, “because the subject you are seeking—the girl—is currently under the protection and surveillance of both the Heisphera Order and the Imperian Court, under the jurisdiction of Orias Academy.”

Roderick, still standing with hands in his pockets, raised an eyebrow. “Which means…?”

Cassandra turned slightly toward him, chin held high. “It means you cannot have her. By edict of the Erubian Supreme Brethren, any being of indeterminate origin possessing abnormal or potentially catastrophic power must be placed under the watchful eye of the Heisphera—for study, containment, and, if necessary, the prevention of calamity.”

She took a step forward, voice now ringing through the chamber with absolute authority.

“She is not your prisoner, Gideon. She is a mystery yet unsolved. And by law, she is ours to guard until that mystery is unraveled.”

The pressure in the field was near suffocating, a palpable force that crawled across the skin like static before a storm.

Serena stood frozen, her eyes wide as they locked onto the violet-cloaked figure standing defiantly before the Lion of the Royal Crusade. Her heart thrummed in her chest as disbelief tangled with admiration.

“That’s… that’s her,” she whispered, breath caught between awe and emotion. “She’s actually standing up to him.”

“Yes! Tell him, Professor,” she hissed under her breath, her fists clenched tight with nervous excitement.

Beside her, Elliot leaned in slightly, eyebrow raised. “Oh? So you forgive her now? Just like that?”

She shot him a glare. “Screw you. I can still hate her and think she’s amazing, alright? I mean—look at her! Isn’t she the coolest woman alive?”

Elliot smirked, but before he could jab back with another quip, a sharp tap on his shoulder yanked him away from the moment.

“Whoa!” He turned, startled.

It was Gerald—the tavern keeper—slinking toward them with all the subtlety of a hunted mouse. His face was pale, drenched in sweat.

“Keep it down!” Gerald hissed through gritted teeth. “Come. Both of you. Now. We can’t stay here—things are about to go from bad to bloodbath.”

Without another word, Elliot and Serena exchanged a glance and followed the man with haste.

They slipped through the manor’s back halls, past ornamental arches and moonlit corridors, until the great backyard spread open before them—lush, wide, and lit faintly by the silver glow of mana lanterns. There, gleaming like a metallic beast at rest, was the vessel: a majestic airship, its hull etched with arcane seals and banners trailing softly in the breeze. It’s the airship Cassandra used to get here.

They boarded quickly.

Waiting for them at the bridge were Maggie and Corrin, each already at their post. The hum of the engine began to stir, soft at first, then rising like the breath of a waking giant.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Hargrove. Miss Calderu,” Corrin said with a mock bow, his voice laced with gallows humor. “Please make yourselves as comfortable as possible, as we prepare to abandon this increasingly volatile patch of kingdom.”

“Wait—we’re leaving?” Elliot asked, eyes darting between the helm and the courtyard they just fled.

“Yes,” Maggie replied, fingers dancing over the glowing controls. “That lion-headed lunatic is about to drag Serena off in chains, and possibly reduce the rest of us to ashes.”

“And if not him,” Corrin added cheerfully, “his perfectly polished murder-squad will do the honors.”

Serena took a step forward, her face wrinkled in worry. “But—Professor Willthrop… and Mr. Barrenworth—they’re still back there. They’ll be in danger!”

“They chose to stay behind,” Maggie said, flipping another switch that set the aether-stabilizers humming. “To buy us time.”

The rumble of magic thrusters began to build beneath their feet.

“I… I’m sorry, I just—what’s going to happen to them?” Serena’s voice was tight, barely a whisper.

Corrin turned to face her. There was a flicker in his eyes—something like doubt, quickly smothered beneath a layer of grit.

“Don’t you worry about those two,” he said. “You’re talking about the Pyromancer that can conjure flame without chanting ring—the man who lights half a battlefield with a single breath—and the Genius Mage of Orias, top of her class, triple-certified in unstable theory and combat augmentation.”

He took a steadying breath and nodded toward the shrinking manor beyond the glass.

“Sir Gideon Gallagher may be a lion, but don’t you ever underestimate the fire and fury of Roderick and Cassandra. Trust me... I would know.”

And with a final roar, the vessel lifted into the sky.

Watching the airship taking of from the distance

Gideon, eyes squinting, realizing that these two are here just keep him accompany long enough for his target to flee. Once again, he tighly grip his sword, and claimed.

“You two…” glaring at Roderick and Cassandra, who is also on their ready to fight stance. “Has deliberately barring from my goal, there for her Royal Highnesses Goal. Due to this, you are now officially declared as an enemy to the crown, and I shall… execute you”

Roderick and Cassandra didn’t flinch. As if they already expected this to happen.

Roderick even taunted him.

“Bring it on, big boy”