The sun had just begun its slow rise over Royal Woods, casting a golden hue across the neighborhood as Lincoln Loud and his athletic sister Lynn Jr. strolled down the sidewalk. Birds chirped in the distance, but the tranquility of the morning couldn't quite erase the heaviness that lingered between them.
Lincoln adjusted the strap of his tennis bag slung over his shoulder. He wore a bright orange polo shirt with white trim, a modest but cheerful color that matched his mood—or at least the one he hoped to project. Beside him, Lynn sported her favorite red and white jersey, her dark ponytail bouncing with every confident stride.
Still, her eyes weren't as carefree as usual.
"So," she began, trying to keep her tone casual, "do you ever… you know, get stuck thinking about him?"
Lincoln glanced over at her. "Korde?"
Lynn nodded. "Yeah. Like, wondering when he might pop up again or what twisted plan he's cooking up next. Ever since he showed up in our lives, the girls have been... clingy. Lori's been driving me to practice, Leni refuses to let you leave the house alone, and even Lucy's poems are extra doom-and-gloomy. Everyone's on edge. It's like no one wants you out of their sight."
Lincoln sighed softly, his hands tucked into his pockets. "I get it. They're scared. I mean, what happened at Luna's concert was... a lot. But I can't live every day looking over my shoulder. That's exactly what he wants. If I let fear run the show, Korde wins before he even lifts a finger."
Lynn looked at him sideways, studying the calm in his voice. "You're not even a little scared?"
"Of course I am," Lincoln admitted, meeting her eyes. "But I've got something stronger than fear."
She raised a brow. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Faith." He smiled. "In you. In the girls. In myself. We always find a way to stop him, no matter what. That's just who we are."
Lynn blinked, then gave a small grin. "Okay, now that's what I like to hear."
They reached the chain-link fence of the local tennis court. The morning sun bathed the court in brilliant light, bouncing off the newly painted lines and glinting from the metal net posts. The whole place seemed to shimmer in the warmth, a sharp contrast to the shadows they'd been discussing.
Lincoln pushed open the gate, and the metallic creak echoed in the open space. "You ready to get your butt handed to you?"
Lynn snorted. "In your dreams, bro. You might have the brains, but I've got the biceps."
They took their positions, warming up with a few light volleys. The ball bounced between them, rhythmic and steady, as if grounding them in something real and simple—something untouched by magic or threats.
"Nice form," Lynn called out after Lincoln returned a particularly sharp serve. "You've been practicing."
"Maybe a little," Lincoln said with a smug smile. "You're not the only one with skills."
"Don't get cocky," Lynn smirked, launching a rocket-fast serve in his direction.
Lincoln barely caught it, grinning as he sent it slicing back over the net. Lynn darted for the ball, her sneakers skidding slightly, and returned it with a grunt of effort.
"That all you got?" she taunted.
Lincoln wiped sweat from his brow, breathless. "Just getting started!"
The two of them laughed, rallying with the ease of people who knew each other's rhythms. It was the kind of game that was more about fun than winning, the kind that made everything else disappear for a while.
But then the wind shifted.
It wasn't just a breeze. It was sudden, cold—wrong.
The sky above the tennis court dimmed unnaturally. The sounds of the birds fell silent. A strange, heavy pressure rolled in over the court, and both siblings froze.
Lincoln turned.
There he was.
Korde stood just beyond the gate, cloaked in black with his fingers curling around a bottle that pulsed with a sickly green glow. His presence alone seemed to sap the joy from the air.
"You're always playing games," Korde said smoothly, his eyes flickering between the two. "How quaint."
Lynn moved quickly, stepping in front of Lincoln. "You really don't know how to take a hint, do you?"
Korde tilted his head, lips curling into a malicious grin. "I told you I'd return when you least expected it."
Without another word, he raised his hand and spoke an incantation that rolled like thunder across the court. The bottle in his grasp ignited with light, and before Lynn could even move, he hurled it straight at her.
The glass shattered against her chest.
Lincoln screamed, "Lynn!"
She staggered, eyes wide with confusion—then horror—as a cold, creeping gray began to spread across her limbs. Her body stiffened, frozen mid-step, and within seconds, Lynn Jr. was completely transformed. A perfect statue. Solid stone.
Lincoln dropped his racket.
His heart thudded against his ribs like a war drum, breath stolen from his lungs. He rushed to Lynn's side, gripping her stone arm, shaking it. "No—no, come on! Lynn! Snap out of it!"
Korde approached slowly, each step deliberate. "It's art, really," he mused. "Turning courage into stillness. Fire into silence."
Lincoln glared at him through tears. "You monster!"
"And you," Korde said, pointing a long, gnarled finger at Lincoln, "you still don't understand what I'm after."
He raised his other hand, casting a bolt of dark energy that struck Lincoln square in the chest. It didn't throw him back—it didn't even hurt, not in the usual way. Instead, Lincoln felt something inside him dim. The vibrant pulse of his heart slowed. His energy drained. It was like his light was being pulled out strand by strand.
Lincoln dropped to his knees, still clutching Lynn's arm, his forehead pressed to her frozen hand. "Please…" he whispered. "Lynn… come back… I need you."
The shadows around them deepened, swirling like smoke. But even in the pain, Lincoln refused to let go.
Until he was forcefully ripped away.
Korde yanked him upward by the collar, glaring into his eyes with something between mockery and hunger. "This," he hissed, "is why I prefer you unconscious. So much easier to drain your heart when you're asleep and not resisting."
Lincoln struggled weakly. "I won't let you win…"
"Oh, but you don't have a choice today." Korde produced a small vial filled with cloudy purple liquid. "Drink. Or she shatters."
He extended his hand toward Lynn's statue, and the air around her began to vibrate. Cracks formed at the base of her stone feet.
Lincoln froze, staring in horror. "No—please!"
Korde tilted the vial. "Drink. Or watch her crumble into dust."
Tears welled in Lincoln's eyes as he stared at the potion. His whole body trembled—not from fear, but from helplessness.
With a final, aching glance at Lynn's unmoving form, he took the potion from Korde's hand.
He looked up at his enemy one last time. "You'll regret this."
"Unlikely," Korde replied, far too pleased.
Lincoln raised the vial to his lips—and drank.
It was cold. Bitter. It burned on the way down, and within moments, the world began to spin. His legs buckled.
Lincoln's vision faded, darkness creeping in from the corners. But just before everything went black, his hand reached out—searching blindly—until his fingers brushed the edge of Lynn's stone jersey.
His last thought before sleep took him: Don't give up, Lynn. Please don't give up.
And she heard it.
Not with her ears—but deep inside her frozen mind, trapped in the prison of stone. Lynn Jr. had no control over her body. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even blink. But she felt everything. She could see everything. Every second of helpless silence burned in her.
She watched as Lincoln, her only brother, bravely drank the sleeping potion just to save her. She saw him collapse. She saw Korde reach for him.
And she couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Couldn't stop it.
It was the most horrifying experience of her life.
She had always been the fighter. The shield. The first to rush into danger if it meant protecting her siblings. But now she stood, unmoving, unblinking, made into a statue by some magical freak who wanted to break them apart.
But he messed up.
He left her mind alive.
He wanted her to be conscious. To suffer in silence. To blame herself. To spiral down into guilt and despair for failing Lincoln.
And it was working—at first. She almost let the sorrow devour her.
Until she saw Lincoln's eyes roll back, and his body fall limply toward the court's cracked concrete.
No.
No, no, no.
Something inside Lynn ignited. Her fear twisted into rage. Her guilt surged into raw defiance. Her love for her brother—her promise to always protect him—screamed louder than Korde's dark magic ever could.
The stone around her began to crack.
Hairline fractures ran along her arms, shoulders, legs. Dust flaked from her face. Her fingers twitched.
Korde was too focused on Lincoln to notice.
But Lynn was no longer just watching.
She moved.
With a thunderous shatter, the stone casing exploded off her like a shell. She gasped for air, legs shaky, heart pounding, fury glowing in her eyes.
"Hey, freak!" she bellowed.
Korde turned just in time for a tennis ball to smack into his face with a sickening thwack.
"Ugh—what?!" he staggered back, momentarily stunned. His arms recoiled from Lincoln's body.
Lynn bolted forward, sliding between Korde and her brother, dropping to one knee to check on Lincoln before rising to her feet again, gripping her tennis racket like a sword.
"You're gonna wish I stayed frozen," she growled.
Korde wiped a line of blood from his lip, glaring at her. "I see. A miracle of will. Impressive… but wasted."
"Not wasted," Lynn spat. "You made one huge mistake—you thought you could mess with the Louds and get away with it. But we're stronger than you think."
Korde rolled his eyes, drawing another potion from his cloak, the liquid inside bubbling ominously. "You're stalling. You don't really believe you can beat me."
"I believe a lot of things," Lynn said, raising her racket. "But most of all? I believe I'm about to serve you your own defeat."
Without warning, she rushed him.
Korde hurled the potion, but Lynn dove under it, tucking into a roll. The potion hit the net post behind her and burst in a puff of smoke. She leapt up and swung her racket at Korde's hand, knocking another vial from his grasp and sending it flying.
He growled, summoning a blast of dark energy, but Lynn was fast—too fast. She darted to the side, grabbed another tennis ball from the bucket, and hurled it at his chest. It exploded in a flash of sparks—she had dipped it in one of his spilled potions during her roll.
Korde screamed and stumbled back, his cloak briefly catching fire. He dropped to his knees, patting the flames, hissing like an angry animal.
"You Louds just don't quit, do you?!" he barked, rising again.
"Not when it comes to family," Lynn snarled. "Especially not when it comes to Lincoln."
Korde lunged, clawed hand glowing with shadow. Lynn met him head-on. Their collision knocked them both back, but Lynn dug in her heels, pivoted, and slammed her racket into his ribs. He grunted and staggered, losing his footing.
"I'm not scared of you," she said, panting. "You want us to be miserable. Broken. But guess what? We get stronger every time you try."
Korde sneered. "Your hope will crack eventually."
Lynn stepped in front of Lincoln's sleeping form, her stance wide and unwavering. "Maybe. But not today."
Smoke still hung in the air, but the silence didn't last.
With a furious snarl, Korde reappeared behind the haze, blood running down his chin and fury burning in his eyes. "I said we're not done!" he shouted, conjuring a lance of dark energy in one hand and a dagger of glowing mist in the other.
"Neither am I," Lynn muttered, tightening her grip on the racket.
Korde lunged, slicing through the air with blistering speed, but Lynn ducked the first swing and parried the second with a well-timed block. She twisted, drove her elbow into his gut, and pivoted for a spinning kick that caught him off guard. He stumbled, but didn't fall.
"You really think one lucky shot makes you strong?" he spat.
"No," Lynn said. "But this might."
She charged again—faster than before, fueled by fury and heartache. She faked a left, then brought her racket down in a powerful arc, smashing it across his face. Korde reeled backward, and Lynn followed through with a brutal uppercut that sent him flying.
With a flash of light and a crack of air, Korde soared skyward, disappearing into the clouds with a distant, fading cry.
And then… it was quiet.
No more smoke. No more magic.
Just the sound of her own breath, and Lincoln's soft breathing.
In the bittersweet calm that followed, Lynn dropped her racket and knelt beside her brother. Her arms trembled as she scooped him up gently, brushing dirt from his orange polo.
She smiled softly, eyes shining with tears.
"You're my favorite trophy, you know that?" she whispered. "Not the medals. Not the wins. You. You're the one thing I'll never leave out of my heart."
Her voice cracked as she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.
"I love you, Lincoln."
She held him close, arms wrapping around his still frame. A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. Lynn placed her hands over her eyes, trying to stop the flood—but she couldn't.
The fight was over, but the fear… the fear lingered.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered into his shoulder, voice shaking. "I was so scared. I thought I lost you."
But then—she felt movement.
Small fingers curled around her sleeve.
She blinked and gasped, pulling her hands away from her face to see Lincoln blinking slowly, his eyes fluttering open with a weak, sleepy groan.
"L-Lynn…?" he mumbled.
Her eyes widened. "Lincoln?!"
He sat up slightly, still groggy, but his arms managed to find their way around her. "You did it… You saved me."
She hugged him tight, sobbing again—but this time, it was different.
"You're awake! You're actually awake!" she cried. "I can't believe it worked—I can't believe I beat him!"
"You did," Lincoln smiled softly. "And you know why?"
Lynn looked at him, breath caught.
"Because love always conquers evil," he said. "Korde'll never win. He doesn't understand what we have… how strong it is."
Lynn laughed through her tears, shaking her head. "Only you could say something like that and make it sound cool."
Lincoln grinned. "That's why you keep me around."
She leaned back, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, still sniffling but smiling now. "You know what? I need something simple right now. Something real."
Lincoln tilted his head. "Like what?"
She stood up, holding out a hand. "Softball. Just you and me. Let's go play."
Lincoln laughed, taking her hand and letting her pull him to his feet. "You're on."
As they walked off the court side by side, the sun peeked through the clouds above, casting a warm light on their path.
Meanwhile, far away, Korde slammed against the jagged stone wall of his lair with a thunderous CRACK, leaving behind a cratered dent and a trail of crumbled debris. He groaned as he slid down the wall and collapsed onto the cold, uneven floor below.
His cloak was torn. His lip was bleeding. And worst of all—his nose throbbed like it had been crushed by a freight train.
"Unbelievable," he growled, clutching his face with a wince. "A thirteen-year-old girl…"
He limped toward the nearest mirror-like obsidian shard embedded in the wall and scowled at his reflection. His nose was definitely crooked now—swollen, red, and possibly broken. That blasted girl's tennis racket had struck with the force of a war hammer.
Korde gritted his teeth.
"That brat wasn't supposed to wasn't supposed to break free…" he muttered as he paced, muttering calculations and curses under his breath. "She should have stayed stone. But nooo, her love for her brother was so strong that she broke free, I should've had seen this coming."
With a bitter flick of his wrist, dark energy swirled at his fingertips. He launched a small bolt at the wall. It exploded into smoke and sparks—but did little to soothe his ego.
"Fine. They get a break. Five days," he sneered, eyes narrowing. "That should be enough time to set the next piece in motion. Let them rest. Let them feel safe."
He turned to his brewing chamber—rows of potions, scrolls, and magical relics lining the walls—and started assembling his next plan.
"This time, I won't just break their spirit… I'll unravel the very thing that makes them strong."
Meanwhile, at Royal Woods Public Library, the scent of old parchment and aging wood lingered in the air, wrapping the silent corridors in a kind of forgotten reverence. Hidden away in the farthest aisle, Lucy Loud stood beneath the soft golden glow of an antique reading lamp. Her fingers hovered over the pages of a worn tome titled "The Forgotten Orders: A Complete Guide to Witches, Warlocks, and Wizards."
The book was thick, heavy—its pages yellowed with age and its cover marked by ancient symbols only Lucy could appreciate.
She turned each page with deliberate care, eyes scanning over sections about legendary sorcerers, rituals, covens, and cursed artifacts. But it was Chapter 13 that made her still.
"The Myth of Korde"
Lucy's breath caught. She leaned in.
There were details here she hadn't heard before—his origins, his motivation, his abilities and his weaknesses.
"This… this is it," Lucy whispered.
She closed the book gently and pressed it against her chest. This was what they needed. The puzzle pieces were finally starting to fit together.
As the wind rustled through the cracks in the library window, She made her way toward the exit.
"Tomorrow," she said quietly. "I'll show them all tomorrow."
And maybe—just maybe—this was the key to stopping Korde once and for all.
