The sky blazed with unrelenting fire above the royal court pavilion. Footsteps echoed through the marble halls, deliberate, measured, and heavy. Each step radiated an authority that cut the silence like a blade a silent declaration of dominion.
The guards stationed at the entrance lowered their heads, just enough to show deference, but not from respect only fear. The air thickened with the scent of myrrh and blood, a perfume steeped in corruption and deception, a signal of decay lurking at the heart of the empire.
An ordinary man would have crumbled beneath the weight of their presence. But these were not ordinary men.
One by one, they entered the royal court. The massive doors groaned shut with a finality that rang like the closing of a tomb. Outside, the sentinels stood motionless silent, still. This was not a royal court. It was a graveyard, forsaken and abandoned.
The scene shifted.
Atop the final mountain that overlooked the eternal expanse of the Forest of Darkness, Veythor stood alone. The wind howled around him, a mournful cry. The scent of blood, his own and that of his foes, lingered on the air. His once-white robe was now tattered and soaked in crimson both his blood and the blood of those who had dared defy him.
He swayed on his feet, but he did not fall. His breath was ragged, his vision hazy, but his grip on the black sword remained unwavering.
Behind him, the forest seemed to stir alive, watching, waiting.
Veythor's lips curled into a smirk, but it was a smile devoid of joy. Only exhaustion, and the madness that clawed at the edges of his mind. He coughed harsh, guttural and more blood spilled from his lips. Yet his crimson eyes, still alight with the fires of defiance, burned with relentless purpose.
He spoke, his voice hoarse, broken but triumphant.
"Hahaha… Finally… Finally, I've escaped this wretched, death-bringing forest."
The scene shifted again.
The royal court's vast chamber stretched like a temple of both opulence and dread. Gilded pillars soared toward the heavens, and the murals along the walls chronicled the blood-soaked history of Narzan's conquests. The light filtering through the stained glass cast hues of crimson and gold across the polished marble floor, as if the court itself had been steeped in blood, a memorial to death's eternal presence.
There they stood predators in their own right the leaders of Narzan's eight great noble families. Each one radiated a distinct presence, a power sharpened over generations through ruthless ambition. Their words slithered through the air, venom-laden and barely veiled in malice.
Sugen Family
Leader: Sugen Riku
Age: 29
Appearance: Lean, sharp-featured, pale skin, and long black hair tied back. His cold gray eyes could pierce through anyone who dared meet his gaze. He wore high-collared black robes embroidered with silver.
Kaelis Family
Leader: Orun Kaelis
Age: 54
Appearance: Broad and imposing, with graying brown hair and a scar running from his temple to his chin. Amber eyes gleaming with perpetual disdain. Dressed in crimson armor, even within the court.
Velmoor Family
Leader: Elara Velmoor
Age: 38
Appearance: Tall, statuesque, platinum hair, ice-blue eyes. Cloaked in flowing dark violet gowns lined with fur and jewels. Her beauty matched only by her cruelty.
Dareth Family
Leader: Kael Dareth
Age: 47
Appearance: Gaunt and severe, hollow cheeks, dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. His long black-and-gray hair slicked back. Simple, stark robes in contrast to his family's wealth.
Zaurak Family
Leader: Vion Zaurak
Age: 61
Appearance: Stocky, with a well-groomed silver beard and piercing green eyes. Muscular despite his age. A presence like a storm about to break.
Myralis Family
Leader: Seres Myralis
Age: 33
Appearance: Slender, pale, dark red hair cascading down her back. Violet eyes that never blink. Soft-spoken, but her words were poison-laced.
Grevarn Family
Leader: Aldren Grevarn
Age: 50
Appearance: Towering, broad-shouldered, scars from countless battles. Bald, with a thick salt-and-pepper beard. One eye covered by a black eyepatch, his remaining eye dark brown and filled with rage.
Othrael Family
Leader: Edrik Othrael
Age: 42
Appearance: Tall, wiry, with long silver-streaked black hair. Golden eyes glinting with cunning. His sharp features gave him a predatory look, made all the more menacing by his perpetual smirk.
They stood in tense silence, their rivalry almost tangible, thick enough to suffocate anyone foolish enough to speak without permission.
Sugen Riku, however, stood apart, detached, an island of stillness in the sea of hostility that churned around him. His eyes were closed, his posture serene. A stark contrast to the rest of the room.
And then, the silence shattered.
Vion Zaurak's voice slithered through the air, deliberate, slow, and filled with poison.
"So... I think we all know why the Emperor summoned us here. And we know the rumors circulating throughout the Empire."
Eyes shifted, first to Zaurak, then to Riku. Riku's eyes opened, cutting through the air like a blade, his gaze cold and deadly.
"Mr. Zaurak," Riku's voice rang out, smooth and venomous. "What exactly are you implying?"
Zaurak's low chuckle vibrated through the chamber like a sinister echo.
"Hahaha... Mr. Sugen, no need for subtleties. While our rivalries will never fade... I believe we can all agree on one thing." His eyes gleamed with malice. "We all despise that commoner Supreme Commander. And it seems he's been missing for seven days."
A ripple of dark amusement spread through the room.
Zaurak's voice sharpened as he continued. "There's a rumor circulating. That you sent assassins after him. And though the body hasn't been found, it seems they succeeded."
Before he could continue, Edrik Othrael's voice sliced through the tension.
"Oh-ho... So, can we assume Veythor is dead?"
The room held its breath. All eyes turned to Sugen Riku.
He let the silence stretch, savoring the tension, the anticipation. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice as cold and unforgiving as ice.
"Why the hell should I explain myself to any of you?"
A gasp rippled through the room, but no one dared speak.
Riku continued, his voice like a quiet blade, cutting through the tension. "But… as we are united in our hatred for that wretched commoner, I'll share what I know."
A pause. Just long enough for the weight of his words to settle.
"Yes. My men reported that Veythor was attacked. Gravely wounded. In the process, he killed every last one of my assassins."
Another wave of shock spread through the room. But Riku wasn't finished.
"However… he was struck near the heart. Even if he is alive and I doubt he is his days are numbered. And if by some miracle he returns..." Riku's voice hardened, each word a cold promise. "I, Sugen Riku, swear on my family's name... I will crush him personally."
The court murmured a sound of both eagerness and uncertainty.
Zaurak watched Riku in silence, his old instincts whispering caution. The younger man's arrogance was as dangerous as it was grating. A wounded beast was often the most vicious, but to entertain the idea of Veythor's return was a perilous thought.
And then, the massive doors groaned open, the sound reverberating like breaking bones.
The guards snapped to attention in unison.
"Attention! Presenting the 28th Emperor of Narzan... Avantis Astaline!"
The air thickened. The nobles stood motionless.
Through the thickening shadows, a figure emerged tall, regal, and bearing the weight of unyielding power.
As the Emperor entered, his gaze locked onto Sugen Riku. In that single glance, the temperature in the room plummeted, a coldness so intense it could suffocate.
The Emperor smiled, a slow, dangerous curl of his lips, and the court of predators fell silent.
The royal capital of Narzan stood still, an ominous quiet hanging in the air. The heads of the eight noble families knelt before Emperor Avantis Astaline, their faces lowered in reverence or perhaps in fear.
The Emperor, a figure of cold authority, strode forward with measured steps, the weight of his rule emanating from every movement. Behind him, his family followed in somber silence: his wife, Milena, ever the shadow to his rule; his daughters, each a reflection of deadly beauty; and his youngest son, Nolan, walking quietly at his side.
At 67, Emperor Avantis Astaline was the embodiment of ruthless power. His icy silver eyes, sharp and unforgiving, cut through the air, while his graying black hair only added to the gravitas of his presence. He exuded an authority that commanded silence in his wake, and none in the room dared to speak unless called upon.
Beside him stood Milena Astaline, the Emperor's true wife. Her dark hair cascaded like an ever-present night around her shoulders, and her figure remained concealed in shadows—a quiet mystery. She said little, but her presence held the room in unspoken tension. Their children, who carried the bloodline of the Astaline dynasty, were a collection of ambitious minds and brutal wills.
The Emperor's sons, each a different reflection of his empire's ambitions, stood like dark sentinels:
Canon Astaline (37): The Crown Prince, a warlord whose battle scars were as much a part of him as his name.
Adrian Astaline (31): A foul-tongued man, who's mouth doesn't know its limits.
Genichi Astaline (28): The strategist, whose calm demeanor concealed a mind as sharp as a blade.
Nolan Astaline (24): The youngest, a prodigy in both magic and swordsmanship, but his inexperience made him the least dangerous... for now.
And his daughters, each a formidable force in her own right:
Vaelina Astaline (26): The eldest, whose sharp intellect and beauty made her the brightest of the royal children.
Sana Astaline (22): The political mastermind, whose venomous cruelty was masked by her striking platinum hair and emerald eyes.
Erisa Astaline (18): The youngest, whose golden eyes and unnerving presence fueled rumors of forbidden magic and alchemy.
Though bound by blood, these siblings were locked in a brutal game for power, each one vying for the Emperor's favor and their own survival. Only the princesses and the youngest prince were present today.
The Emperor moved with purpose, his steps deliberate as he approached his throne, a crown of pure gold glinting in the light. His family took their positions beside him, the tension in the room palpable. The noble heads remained kneeling, their silence broken only by the soft shuffle of their movements.
The Emperor's eyes swept over them, cold and unyielding. His voice shattered the stillness.
"You may rise."
The noble families slowly rose, their faces etched with fear and respect. They dared not speak unless summoned.
The Emperor's gaze was like a blade as it passed over the gathered nobles. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and measured, every word laced with ice.
"Today, I have gathered you all for a reason, and I believe you already know what that reason is."
The air grew heavier. The Emperor's eyes locked onto Sugen Riku, the head of the Riku family. There was a brief, chilling moment of silence before Riku, ever the brave man in his own domain, lowered his eyes. Sweat beaded on his brow, but it was quickly concealed beneath a mask of dignity. He stood tall, his shoulders squared as he addressed the Emperor with a voice full of controlled pride, tempered by the authority of the Emperor before him.
"Your Majesty," Riku began, his voice firm but respectful, "I greet you in service to the crown."
He hesitated briefly, his eyes narrowing with a hint of pride, but he quickly regained composure.
"We all know the reason for the disappearance of our Supreme Commander, Veythor."
The moment the name was spoken, the eldest princess, Vaelina, felt a storm rise in her chest. Her nails dug into her palms, the pain a distant thing compared to the fury building within. She kept her face a mask, but inside, a thousand thoughts burned.
Riku continued.
"Your Majesty, I stand before you not as a criminal but as the head of the Sugen family. We have heard rumors, whispers that I and my family sought to harm Supreme Commander Veythor. Such accusations are beneath us, and I believe you already know that. We do not engage in such petty retribution. The Sugen family's legacy is built on more than such baseless attacks. We are a family of influence, not one to sully its name with trivial acts."
Riku's voice remained calm, though the pride of his lineage was unmistakable.
"However, if these accusations have reached the throne, then we will submit ourselves to the Emperor's justice."
The Emperor's gaze remained cold, his silver eyes piercing through Riku's every word. The tension between them was palpable, but there was no sign of weakness in the Emperor's expression. Riku's proud stance did not faze him.
"Yes, you will," the Emperor's voice cut through, final and unyielding. "And I will see to it personally that this matter is dealt with."
Riku's pride remained intact, but he lowered his gaze just slightly.
"Of course, Your Majesty," he replied, his voice steady. "The Sugen family always stands ready to prove its innocence."
The Emperor's lips curved into a thin smile, though there was no warmth in it.
"You will do more than that, Riku. If I find you or your family guilty of these crimes, there will be no place for you to hide. Understand this: nothing and nobody will save you."
Riku met the Emperor's gaze without flinching, his posture still proud, though he understood the weight of the Emperor's words.
"Understood, Your Majesty."
The Emperor's cold voice once again broke the silence.
"I have already dispatched Puxxian to handle this matter. Let us see what he uncovers."
The room fell silent as Riku gave a short nod, his pride slightly tempered, but his resolve unshaken.
Suddenly, a knocking sound echoed through the royal court's doors. A guard's voice rang from outside.
"Your Majesty! Sir Puxxian seeks entrance!"
At the mention of Puxxian's name, Riku's eyes narrowed.
The Emperor's smirk deepened.
"Let him in."
The gates of the royal court swung open, and a young man entered. He had long black hair, pale skin, and black pupils. His silver knight's armor gleamed under the light, immaculate and proud.
He walked straight toward the Emperor without sparing a glance at anyone else. Every eye in the room followed his approach, the weight of his presence undeniable. When he reached a certain distance, he knelt before Avantis and spoke.
"Greetings, Your Majesty."
With practiced grace, he placed a broken sword before the Emperor. The room grew colder.
"I bring grave news. As you know, my search party and I spent seven days investigating Lord Veythor's disappearance. Today, near the borders of the Eternal Forest of Darkness, we found... these."
He gestured to the broken sword and the fragments of Veythor's armor laid beside it.
"This sword, broken as it is, belongs to Lord Veythor. I am certain of it. It was the very sword gifted to him by Your Majesty's own hand."
The room froze. Vaelina's breath caught. The Emperor's eyes darkened as they fixed on the broken weapon a relic of power, now shattered.
And with it, perhaps, the fate of the Supreme Commander himself.
The room hung in a suffocating silence. The sight of Veythor's broken sword lay like an accusation before the throne an omen of death and ruin.
Vaelina's heart pounded violently in her chest, but her face remained a mask of ice. Still, she felt the tremor in her hands, hidden within the folds of her gown. The air was thick, oppressive, as if the entire court held its breath, waiting for the Emperor's word.
But before Avantis could speak, the heavy doors of the royal court burst open with a thunderous crack.
A messenger stumbled in, his face pale and streaked with sweat, his cloak torn and muddied from long travel. Guards moved instantly, but the Emperor raised a single hand, halting them. The messenger fell to his knees, his breath ragged.
"Your Majesty!" the man gasped, his voice hoarse. "News... urgent news!"
The Emperor's eyes narrowed.
"Speak."
The messenger swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.
"It's... it's Lord Veythor, Your Majesty. He... he is alive."
For a moment, the entire court seemed to freeze. The air itself felt heavier.
Vaelina's heart skipped a beat. She forced herself to remain still, but her nails dug deeper into her palms, drawing blood.
Sugen Riku's eyes flickered with something dangerous something that was not quite fear, but close. The other noble heads exchanged tense glances, the weight of those words crashing over them like a wave.
Zaurak tried to interrupt, but the messenger wasn't done. His next words fell like thunder.
"Lord Veythor... has already entered Kranel and gone straight toward his house. He is gravely injured, for some unknown reason that we don't yet know."
The room erupted. Gasps, whispers, and hurried conversations broke out all at once. Kranel the heart of Narzan's political strife, a city riddled with power-hungry factions and hidden knives.
The Emperor's face remained unreadable, but his silver eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
Vaelina's lips curled into the barest hint of a smile.
And far away, in the shadowed streets of Kranel, Veythor walked his crimson red eyes burning with purpose.