Chapter 2: The Silver Lance

Snow whispered outside the fortress. The wind slid along the jagged cliffs of the Swiss Alps, cold and sharp as a blade. Inside the stone corridors of the hidden citadel, Gabriel Vorn stood at the edge of an arena—circular, ancient, scarred by centuries of combat. It was the first time he had felt something close to doubt in years.

Before him stood an old man in monk-like robes. His head was shaved, but his arms bore thick, spiraling tattoos. He bowed slightly.

“I am Master Otho. Guardian of the Relics. Keeper of the First Flame. You are not the first to wield the Silver Lance, Captain Vorn… but you may be the last.”

Gabriel glanced down at the weapon, now bound in leather and cloth, sleeping in his grip like a snake coiled before the strike.

“This isn’t military training, is it?”

Otho chuckled softly. “No. This is war... against things no army has ever fought.”

The Lance Awakens The first lesson came in pain.

The moment Gabriel tried to wield the lance with force, it reacted. Sparks flew. The weapon burned with light, and a wave of unseen energy blasted him across the arena. He crashed hard against the wall.

“Power,” said Otho calmly, “does not respond to strength. Only resonance.”

So Gabriel began again.

Day after day, he trained not his body, but his mind. He was taught to feel the pulse of the world beneath his feet. The quiet beat of dragon-blood in his veins. Meditation in frigid pools. Combat with swords twice his weight. Reciting spells in dead languages. It was not like soldiering.

It was becoming something ancient.

And then, one night, the Lance stirred on its own.

It lifted from its stand and hovered in front of him, glowing softly. He felt it searching him—his doubts, his anger, his wounds. It saw his past. His sins. His victories. It accepted them.

When he gripped it again, it didn’t resist.

Otho nodded. “The weapon is now bound to you. Its true name is Vel’Anor, which means ‘The Spear of Echoes’. It remembers all its wielders. You are its seventh.”

A Message from the Past That same evening, Lady Elinor summoned him to the Hall of Echoes.

The chamber was round, walls lined with crystalline panels. One by one, they lit up as they passed—each holding a frozen image, a captured memory from a knight before him. One showed a Mongol warrior on horseback fighting a red-scaled dragon. Another showed a woman in 1940s military garb striking down a serpent in the jungles of Burma.

“This,” Elinor said, stopping at the last panel, “was your great-grandfather.”

The image showed a man who looked disturbingly like Gabriel—dressed in a knight’s armor but standing amidst the ruins of Dresden. Fire. Ash. A black dragon above.

“He betrayed the Order,” Elinor said coldly. “No one knows why. He disappeared with one of the three original relics—The Black Crown. And now, it’s resurfaced.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched.

“So you brought me here because of him?”

“We brought you here because someone is waking the old dragons. And we believe your family is tied to it.”

Shadows in Shanghai Before dawn, Gabriel boarded a stealth transport headed to Shanghai. His first mission.

Elinor handed him a dossier before departure. It bore the seal of the Veil Order, and the words: "Target: the Lotus Circle."

“They’re an underground syndicate tied to relic trafficking,” she explained. “Eastern dragons have been disappearing. Sleeping ones, taken from their resting sites. We believe the Lotus Circle is moving them—weaponizing them.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “How do you move a sleeping dragon?”

Elinor replied without emotion. “With money. With power. With the help of traitors like your grandfather.”

Arrival Shanghai pulsed like a heartbeat beneath neon skies. Gabriel, clad in civilian garb and carrying Vel’Anor concealed in a black case, slipped through its narrow alleys and crowded markets. His contact, a hacker-monk named Jin, guided him through encrypted messages.

“You’ll find them at The Red Lantern, a nightclub above an old Buddhist temple. Beneath it… is something else.”

Indeed, the Red Lantern was more than a den of corruption—it was a fortress. And beneath it, hidden by illusion and guarded by mercenaries, was a dragon vault.

Gabriel broke in under the cover of night. His lance glowed faintly as he descended into the depths. And what he found stopped his breath.

There, beneath the city, inside a great circle of jade and bone, lay a coiled, sleeping azure dragon—scales like sapphire, beard like clouds, breathing slow and ancient.

Machines surrounded it. Runes were etched in metal. A team of men in black were preparing to extract its heart.

He recognized their insignia.

An eye crossed with a blade… but inverted.

The Eclipse Within the Veil The traitors weren’t outside the Order. They were inside.

A rogue sect, using the knowledge of the Veil for their own purpose. And as Gabriel raised Vel’Anor, ready to strike—he realized something deeper.

Someone was pulling strings. Not just behind this operation... Behind the Order itself.

A whisper echoed in the vault, not in sound, but in thought.

“You are only a piece, Gabriel. And the board is much larger than you know.”