Chapter 37 & 38 Threads of Fire and Starlight

I messed up the chapters again - so I added the correct 38 here - Its below

Jordan

That’s right, you beautiful people—this is all me.

The screen flickered. A stylized sword slashed through digital static, resolving into a vibrant animation of a wide-eyed, grinning teen. He wore a headset far too big for his head, and mana sparks, inexplicably, shot out of his bubbling cup. The custom title graphic popped up: [Welcome to: “Man & Mayhem: The Younger Brother Files”].

I leaned into the voice projection artifact—probably too close, too loud, too fast, but who cared? This was raw, unfiltered content.

“HELLO, Kingdom! This is Jordan Myles—yes, that Jordan Myles—welcoming you to Episode One of the ONLY show where you get raw, unfiltered, and probably unauthorized insight into the Kingdom’s newest obsession: Zane Myles. Sword Saint in the making. Death Knight slayer. Lady killer. And—unfortunately for the rest of you posers—my big brother.”

I took a long, dramatic slurp of my sparkle soda, the bubbles popping loudly into the mic.

Look, I’m not saying I’m the most reliable narrator. I’m just saying I’m the only one who’s seen him throw a tantrum over burnt toast and cry at the finale of Celestial Blade High. You want the myth? Go watch BattleThread. You want the man? You come here.

The chat feed instantly exploded. I didn’t bother looking. I knew it was a mix of awe, disbelief, and a healthy dose of thirst.

“Let’s get into it. Everyone’s asking the same questions,” I rattled off, mimicking the fast-paced energy of the professional hosts I admired.

“How did he beat a Death Knight?”

“What’s that glowing sword?”

“Why is he so cool under pressure?”

“Is he single?”

“Would he notice me if I painted my battle sigils on my—” Okay, that one’s weird. But also, like… fair.

I leaned in, my voice dropping conspiratorially, as if I were sharing the deepest secret of the Kingdom. “The answer’s simple. Zane doesn’t do things to look cool. He does things because someone has to.”

My voice dipped a little, a genuine tremor I couldn’t help. “Like when our parents died.”

I took a deep breath. People were going to find out. I’m the one who’s going to control this narrative before people try to use our pain for content.
That shit ain’t happening.

“Our parents used to be Adventurers. Really good ones. I’m not going to get into them, but they died about five years ago. Zane was fifteen. I was eight, and Lila was ten. My brother has been taking care of us ever since. So why is Zane the way he is? Because he carries expectations—ours and his own. I didn’t truly understand grief until I saw him carrying everyone else’s—mine, Lila’s, his own—and pretending like it didn’t utterly crush him. He didn’t cry. Not once. Not in front of us.”

I paused, glancing at my notes.

“Zane just moved. He trained. Every single day. Not because someone told him to. Not because he had a System that demanded it, or a formal teacher, or even a specific goal beyond the immediate. He did it because he believed—honestly, fiercely believed—that if he could get strong enough, fast enough, sharp enough, he could stop that kind of pain from ever happening again. To us. To anyone.”

“You want to know why he’s calm?” I asked, leaning back, the manufactured hype momentarily fading. “Why he never flinches? It’s not natural. He built it. He trained it. He bled for it. He decided that fear wouldn’t be what stopped him. He burned it out.”

I looked away from the camera, my gaze drifting to the half-dismantled spell drone hovering quietly behind me. Its blue glow flickered across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I let the flicker linger for a second, adding to the dramatic pause.

Then I sat up, my grin returning, bright and uninhibited. “But you didn’t come here to cry. You came for dirt. So let’s talk swordplay.”

[New Segment: Zane’s Techniques – Explained Poorly by Me]

“Zane’s whole thing is control. You’re probably wondering why you haven’t seen Zane’s fighting style. There’s a reason, and it’s a simple one—you haven’t seen Zane’s fighting style because it’s completely self-created. You heard that right. My brother, with some guidance from our deceased father, made up his sword styles to fit his personality and the likely situations he might run into.

“A basic swordsman is limited in skills and techniques from the System. My brother finds that unacceptable. So you’re never going to see the explosions or ‘look-at-me’ firework spells like the ones you see on the RealmNet Top Ten. Zane isn’t that flashy. He once told me, and I quote: ‘A blade should be a question, not a declaration.’ If someone can’t answer your movement, they lose. It doesn’t matter how good or bad they look doing it.”

I tapped the side of the mic, emphasizing the point. “Zane’s goal is to step in front. To be the calm before the storm. His fighting style reflects that.”

Ping. A chat message popped up, magnified for the broadcast.

[Zane’sFan]: He created his own style while acting as your guardian? He doesn’t have any help. How does one do that? Don’t you have to have a Soulforce Method as well?

I narrowed my eyes at the screen. “Great question, definitely-not-my-secret-alt-account. Honestly? I don’t know all the details. Zane definitely got some help from our father, who was quite accomplished himself. The Soulforce Method is also something of a mystery. I know that Zane used to implement our father’s method, which was a family method. But he eventually changed it to suit him. It’s just what he does. His competence comes from experience. He ranked high in a few combat realms, but he never talks about it—and no, you animals, I am not going to tell you his handle. He would literally murder me.

“The true scope of his training and the changes he’s made aren’t really known, even by me, as he’s pretty quiet about it. Not secretive—my brother tries to maintain a low profile. Or did, until the city and his family were under threat by a Death Knight. So there’s that. Honestly, until recently I thought he was sneaking out to see a girl.”

The chat went crazy.

[ZaneLover]: Girl, what girl? How? Who? He has a girlfriend?? My life is over.
[ZaneWifee25]: JORDAN SAY IT AIN’T SO. I CAN LITERALLY HEAR MY HEART BREAKING.
[Zanegirlfriend202]: Say something, Jordan. Who is this girl and how can she be worthy of him?

I laughed once, a short, bitter sound. “Calm down, everyone. I’m not sure my brother has ever even liked a girl. Not that he has no interest in the fairer sex—”

I added that part quickly. Didn’t want people making assumptions he was totally uninterested.

I kept going. “No, what I was saying is that Zane wasn’t going out to meet a girl—he was going to connection centers for Realm practice. He was definitely not seeing a girl.”

Ping. Another chat message.

[WOLFSPINE47]: Yo Jordan, random, but do you know if Zane ever helped someone named Liro from the Copper Guild?

I looked at the camera. That was entirely random and very specific.

“Liro and the Copper Guild?” I managed, my voice suddenly tight. “I can’t say I know of any time that Zane ran with the Copper Guild. His record is with the Central Authority, and as far as I know he hasn’t partnered with anyone from the Copper Guild.”

[WOLFSPINE47]: I think he saved my brother during a Rift two years ago. He used a fighting style really similar to one Zane used against the Rift beasts. When my brother tried to thank him, the guy said ‘don’t worry about it,’ that he was glad he was okay and that he didn’t have a name. Just wanted to keep a kid from dying. I swear it’s him. That liquid metal blade phase thing was pretty distinctive according to my brother.

I didn’t respond right away, my mind scrambling. Then from off-mic, I heard Adian’s familiar chuckle. Of course, he leaned into frame, grinning like he hadn’t just eaten half my snack stockpile.

“Honestly, it sounds like something my brother would do. I cannot confirm or deny, but I will relay the message. We’re glad your brother’s okay.”

The chat was once again blowing up. I tried to ignore the discussion, except to pick out the haters.

[Autocat273]: This guy is so overrated. Sure, Death Knights are strong, but they aren’t anything compared to a Deathlord or Dragons or even Dragonkin.
[Riftplayer18]: I’m glad it wasn’t just me. You have a bit of talent and some skill with the sword and everyone acts like he’s the coming Messiah—it’s freaking nuts.
[Swordlord101]: My guild and I watched the footage when, you guessed it, some of our female members wanted to watch the swordplay. It was so obviously staged. Our guild has a Swordmaster and he couldn’t even take on a Death Knight, and he’s been an Adventurer for 25 years and S-rank for the last 3. What happened here is impossible. You people are idiots.

I tried not to grin. The flame wars were starting—arguing amongst themselves. The whole thing made me laugh. Zane would love this if the “staged” theory caught on. He’d absolutely pretend the whole thing was fake if he could get away with it.

[Adian—The Master]: Look at your poor household trying to make something out of yourself.

I narrowed my eyes. “Ahh, if it isn’t my archnemesis Adian. I currently have 100 people watching, which is more than I can say for your silly channel!”

[Adian—The Master]: You’re such a fanboy. Can’t even say the truth.

“I’m literally related to him, Adian. It’s not fanboying—it’s historical commentary.”

[Adian—The Master]: Sure.

“Wait, you’re not still mad about Zane rejecting your sister. That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t still be mad about that. Doesn’t she have a boyfriend now—”

[Adian—The Master]: It’s not about that—

I cut off his feed and turned back to the camera, my voice regaining its broadcast energy but with a new purpose. “Sorry, my friends, let’s get back on track. If anyone out there has stories like that—if Zane ever helped you, or saved you, or even just fixed your mana method for free—let me know. This Aircast might actually become a thing, and we need material.”

Just then, a rune alert lit up ominously in the top corner of the screen.

[Incoming Message: GUILD PARTY REQUEST from Kyra of Rift Sirens]

Oh. Now that was unexpected. They came faster than I anticipated.

Rift Sirens—an all-girls adventurer group known more for their tight outfits than their actual skills. Most were rich and notable, if not nobles per se. Around my brother’s age, they’d been diving for like two years. They were really popular on PortalPlay.

I clicked it open. It was a legit invite. Mid-tier dungeon. Backup requested. Sword specialist preferred. And then the line that made my jaw drop: Unregistered Unbound welcome.

I stared at the screen. Everyone was already assuming my brother was Unbound.

Then I looked at the surging chat feed, filled with speculation about Zane’s next move.

Then back to the mic, a sudden, heavy understanding settling over me.

“And there it is, friends.” I spread my hands wide, encompassing the chaos of the screen. “Everyone wants him, Zane Myles. He is quite the commodity.”

A pause.

My voice dropped, filled with surprising solemnity. “But none of them know him. Not really.”

“How about we take a couple of calls? Have your questions ready—we’re going to go on for the next couple of hours in celebration of our premier episode.”

I flicked the Message Connect rune. “Okay, caller—you’re on the line with Mr. Jordan Myles. What’s your question?”

Chapter 38

Aurelia

Dara crashed into my study like the hallway was on fire—crystal clutched tight in one hand, breathless, grinning like she’d just uncovered a conspiracy. I didn’t look up. Kessa was right behind her, looking amused.

“If this isn’t urgent,” I said, “I swear—”

“It’s Jordan Myles,” Dara blurted out. “Zane’s brother. He launched an Aircast.”

I blinked. “What? When?”

“Yesterday,” answered Kessa.

“And?”

Dara and Kessa looked at each other. Dara spoke. “It’s about Zane mostly, but he sort of goes off—Rifts, Gates, dungeons, Willborn weapons, and the difference between your fighting style and the Imperial Guards. The kid doesn’t stop. It’s been up for about twenty hours. It already has over a million projections and it’s still climbing—trending on every RealmNet board. Half the Kingdom thinks Zane’s the second coming of the Sword Saint or the rebranded Demon King. The rest want to stab or marry him.”

I slowly set my report down.

Dara activated her crystal. The broadcast shimmered to life. I expected something rough—a kid fumbling through a feed. Instead, I got Jordan Myles in all his bright-eyed, unfiltered, maniacally charming glory.

And gods help us, he was actually good at this. He wasn’t just hyping Zane—he was humanizing him. Talking about him like a real person, a brother, a guardian. Someone just trying to hold everything together. We watched the whole three-hour stream.

Twice.

“He trained himself to hold back the world,” Jordan said at one point. “Not because it’s glorious. Because someone had to.” The room went quiet. Even Dara stopped smiling.

Jordan glanced off-screen, eyebrows shooting up. “You all have to calm down. I don’t know if Zane is going to team up with the Rift Sirens until I tell him.”

I didn’t mean to lean forward. But I did.

Jordan grinned like he’d just found gold. “As many of you already know—for the others, let me remind you—the famous Gate-streaming team, the Rift Sirens, have reached out. They’ve invited Zane to join them for a C-Class dive at South Glasswood Rift basin.”

My stomach twisted.

“Those… children?” I snapped.

“They’re not children,” Dara said, too calm. “They’re not nobles, but they are incredibly influential. And they’re the same age as you, my lady.”

I glared at her. She grinned. “Plus, this is good for Zane. The Rift Sirens have influence, a following. I think more fame for Zane is a good thing. He’s going to have to get used to it.”

“I’m not sure he could be any more famous. He’s a twenty-year-old who isn’t an SSS-Class heir or a princeling, and he soloed an S-Class Death Knight—an anchored being of a Wild Rift—with barely any casualties. I don’t need him to be any more famous. Besides, the Rift Sirens aren’t real adventurers. They have no discipline,” I shot back. “They dive for edits. For clout. Their last run looked like it was choreographed for an Aircast.”

Dara shrugged. “You’re not wrong, my lady, but look at it from Zane’s perspective—the boy is taking care of his siblings, doing odd jobs—”

Kessa raised a hand as she looked at her message interface. “He accepted.”

Dara and I turned to stare at her.

“What?”

“Zane accepted the invitation. It’s confirmed. It’s on the dive board now. He’s registered. He’s going. He’s their sixth.”

I didn’t say anything for a full minute. Maybe more.

Then I got up—slowly—and crossed to the window. Sunlight hit the towers, gold over stone. Somewhere down there, Zane was getting ready.

To dive.

With them.

Girls who didn’t know what it meant to ration a second wind. Who screamed at trap runes. Who didn’t know the taste of mana starvation or the sting of a mistimed glyph. Girls who were cute and loud and popular.

And not me.

And yet—he’d said yes.

“Why would he do that?”

Dara shifted behind me. “The Rift Sirens—it’s probably just for publicity. A stunt. They’ve got a lot of eyes on them. They’re in a sort of feud with the Cave Dwellers. They had their leader—what was his name… Lance—hit A-Class. He has a thing for Kyra Valenfort.”

I paused. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

Dara answered. “You fought her on the circuit last year. You—uh—beat her pretty badly.”

I considered Dara’s words, and then remembered. “The girl who used the rapier and main-gauche. I remember. She was forgettable.”

Kessa let out a low whistle. “Forgettable? You disarmed her in under thirty seconds. She still refuses to attend mixed-tier exhibitions because of you.”

I shrugged. “Then she should train harder.”

Dara cleared her throat, bringing me back to the point. “Anyway, Kyra’s been trying to rebuild her image since that loss. The Sirens are backing her, but they need more coverage, more sympathy from the casual crowd. And if Zane shows up in their feed? That’s double the clickbait.”

“Publicity,” I repeated, tasting the word like spoiled wine.

Kessa tilted her head. “Or curiosity. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way the RealmNet’s been frothing over him since the Death Knight thing. Half the dungeon channels think he’s semi-divine. The other half are trying to figure out if he’s running an unlicensed System mod.”

Dara smirked. “Don’t forget the ‘secret heir to the Sword Saint’ threads. They’re my favorite. Someone even did a side-by-side of his stance with a century-old dueling vid.”

I kept my expression flat, but the thought stuck.

Still, I couldn’t shake the question. “But all that still doesn’t answer my question. Why would he say yes to them?”

Kessa added, “Maybe he needs the money. He’s on scholarship. He’s super talented, but he works odd jobs to make money and his brother is sick. Did you know that Zane’s major is actually healer training?”

I did know that, or at least noticed it somewhere in the back of my mind. But if I was being honest, I’d never thought about it. I thought he picked something random.

I didn’t answer. I fumed.

If he needed money he should have just come to me. I would have taken care of him, his whole family—hell, marrying me would have made him unbelievably wealthy.

But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what stung.

It wasn’t the Rift Sirens per se that bothered me (though they did—they bugged the hell out of me). More than that, it was that Zane said yes.

He never says yes.

Not to nobles. Not to offers. Not to me. I’d asked him to marry me, for peak’s sake. And he didn’t accept—really, he didn’t even answer—and now he’s going to walk into a dungeon… with them.

But me—his friend as PrincessFlyer—couldn’t even get him to meet me. To see me. To choose me.

Saints. Whatever.

I pulled up my interface. Opened the Tower registration board.

There it was. The listing.

South Glasswood Rift Basin.

The exact dive date was still pending—they hadn’t finished the paperwork.

Still, Zane Myles: confirmed participant.

I stared at his name until the screen dimmed. Then I shut it off.

“Pack my travel bag,” I said.

Dara blinked. “You’re going?”

“I’m not letting him walk into that mess unsupervised.”

Kessa arched an eyebrow. “You think he needs help?”

“No,” I said, turning away from the window. “They do.”

Because if those girls think he’s just a trend—

They don’t know what they’ve invited.

They’re not walking into a dungeon.

They’re walking into a storm.