In the royal capital of Allytheón, Arcadion, the bells rang in solemn, long, and deep notes, reverberating between the golden towers of the city as the snow of the new cycle gently settled on the slanted rooftops. The streets were quieter than usual, as if the people themselves could feel in their bones the weight of the moment.
Inside the colossal Palace of Aurithéa, erected in the heart of the old city, an assembly had just concluded: the long-awaited and dreaded Chamber of Crowns — the annual conclave where the Royal Family of Allytheón and the nobles of the great houses recognized throughout the kingdom convened.
The Chamber was always held between the last week of the year and the first of the new cycle, but it rarely followed its ceremonial schedule. Political disputes, new laws, tax revisions, allocation of royal budget funds, regional petitions, revocation of old measures, reforms in the judicial system — everything was debated under that sacred roof. And at times, as now, darker matters imposed themselves over the others.
This cycle, the air in the chamber seemed denser, almost suffocating.
In the main hall, protected by gigantic columns and enchanted stained glass that reflected the moods of the sky — at times bathing the room in stormy gray, other times in icy blue — were the representatives of each noble lineage. From barons of modest influence to the most powerful archdukes and grand dukes. The banners of their houses floated magically above their seats, each bearing coats of arms that told stories of glory, sacrifice, and power.
The lesser thrones were occupied by tense faces, stiff under ceremonial cloaks and robes. All wore the official rings of their families, symbols of authority and tradition. At the center, on an elevated dais clad in silver and onyx, were the members of the Royal House — adorned in royal gold, the sacred color of the royal lineage.
The main topic looming over all: the imminence of war.
Tensions in the south of the continent had intensified alarmingly in recent months. Reports obtained by secret agents and arcane sources indicated that the Kingdom of Stormhaven and the Kingdom of Emberhold were on the brink of direct conflict. Both were mobilizing armies to their borders, maintaining a tenuous and dangerous balance — like two beasts about to lunge at each other.
The situation became even more delicate with the disappearance of Ragnar's envoys in Allytheón. No evidence pointed directly to Allytheón as the culprits, but neither was there proof of their innocence. And knowing Ragnar, any pretext would be enough to justify an invasion.
Another critical point was the recent incursion into Dracknum territory. A serious matter, which Thomas Dracknum refused to hide, choosing instead to present the incident directly to the Royal Family and, by extension, to the entire nobility of Allytheón. His attitude was seen by some as prudence and courage... by others, as foolishness. After all, several houses had gone through similar incidents — organized bandit attacks, arcane phenomena, or the emergence of beasts — but chose to conceal such events to protect their honor and prestige.
Unfortunately (or not), such secrets rarely remain locked away. And now, with the people murmuring in taverns and plazas, all these facts inevitably surfaced in the Chamber of Crowns. Especially in recent months, there was too much coincidence to ignore.
The debates grew heated. In the past five years, the political balance of the continent had been unraveling: territorial disputes, scarcity of magical resources, climate changes, unidentified movements beyond the Continental Sea, and the reappearance of beings that should exist only in ancient tales.
The king, seated on the Throne of the Dawn, remained stoic. His golden eyes scanned each face with an almost piercing intensity, as if he could see beyond the spoken words. Beside him were Oswin the Royal Advisor and Leopold, the President of the Magical Tower of Aetheryon, the magical tower under the royal family's domain and management. The two were among the king's most respected advisors. They observed everything with the same studied calm of those who had faced previous crises.
Among the high-ranking nobles, tension was restrained. The lesser nobles, however, debated fervently, standing up, pointing fingers, and banging their tables, fearful of losing privileges or territories.
But not everyone was calm, not even among the powerful.
Leifred Magnum, a burly man with a thunderous voice, went so far as to rise from his seat to rail against what he called "imbeciles dressed in gold who call for war from the safety of their central thrones." As one of those responsible for defending the eastern border, Leifred spoke with the genuine anger of someone who saw danger up close.
Altair Silvermoon, on the other hand, maintained an upright and cold posture, his expression almost unshakable. But he fooled no one. Many knew that behind his patriotic rhetoric and impassioned defenses of the "rebirth of national greatness" lay a personal desire to restore the honor and prestige of a declining house.
The Chamber of Crowns was formally set to end in three days — if nothing else emerged. But few believed that the coming years would bring peace.
✦ ✦ ✦
After one of the sessions had ended, Thomas Dracknum found himself in his temporary chambers within the royal palace. The room, elegantly decorated with ancient tapestries and historic crests, was bathed in the flickering light of a lit fireplace.
Seated before a desk carved from ebony, Thomas silently observed a stack of scrolls on various matters: ancient treaties, denunciations, maps of military movements, reports from isolated regions.
A cup of steaming mountain-leaf tea rested near his left hand, its bitter and earthy aroma filling the room. With tired eyes, he read document after document. And after each reading, discreet flames danced at his fingertips, consuming the paper until only ash remained.
The gesture was methodical. Almost ceremonial.
There, among shadows cast by the fireplace and the profound silence of stone and velvet, Thomas reflected on all that had been said. On all that had been omitted.
The world was changing. And the nobles — even the most powerful — were not ready for what loomed on the horizon.
It was then that the fireplace, until then steady, had a sudden spasm.
The flames stirred against all logic, growing outward and upward, as if the fire breathed. And then, slowly, a silhouette began to form in the midst of the flames. First the outlines, then the details: a humanoid figure, made entirely of fire. Its features indistinct.
The creature stepped out from the fireplace without emitting any heat, and its embered feet glided over the wooden floor as if walking on cold stone. No flame was left behind. No trace of destruction.
When it stopped before Thomas, just inches away, it knelt in a reverent gesture.
Its voice, when it spoke, was like the crackling of a bonfire in the heart of an ancient forest: "Patriarch…"
Thomas did not reply immediately. He merely stared at the creature, his expression unchanging — the same one he bore while reading of invasions and betrayals. The entity, still kneeling, remained motionless until its voice finally broke the silence.
"As you ordered, we increased the number of crests within the inner zones of the Demonic Forest. And, as predicted, nearly all the children returned successfully."
Thomas turned slowly to the flaming figure, his golden eyes locking on where the creature's own would be.
There was a moment of hesitation. The entity seemed to understand the reason behind the gaze and answered, its voice less steady:
"Only two remained inside the forest. The first is Nikolas Beaumont… whom all believed dead. His father, however, never allowed the funeral to be held."
Thomas remained still.
"The second… is young master Alexander…" The creature considered continuing, but chose not to say the rest.
The patriarch lifted the cup to his lips, but the moment the name was spoken, his movement froze — if only for a brief millisecond. The pause was brief enough to go unnoticed. He continued drinking as if nothing had been said.
"The forest guards reported seeing him. Wandering among the various areas of the Forest. And… they fear he is adopting a stance similar to that of Nikolas Beaumont. The one who managed to conceal his presence even from the eyes of the Forest Guard."
Thomas set the cup down with meticulous calm on the desk. A faint smile — so subtle it nearly disappeared under the fireplace's flickering light — appeared on his lips.
"Interesting…" he murmured, not addressing anyone in particular.
Silence returned for a few moments. The creature waited. When Thomas finally spoke, his voice was firm, restrained, filled with the usual authority:
"Is that all?"
"No, sir. There is more. She passed the Trial successfully. She is with the others, in the waiting fields. Also…"
The phrase hung momentarily, as if the creature was considering saying more, but retreated out of caution. Thomas remained silent, listening. The creature finished the remainder of the reports with precision, then waited.
When the last word was spoken, Thomas spent a few more moments watching the fire dance in the hearth.
Then, he simply said: "Notify the Blue Squadron. We'll depart for Dracknum at dawn."
The creature seemed to waver for a second. Even without a face, its hesitation was palpable.
"…!"
Still, he quickly composed himself, his voice returning to its earlier respectful tone:
"Understood, Patriarch."
Without another word, the flaming entity rose. It took a step back and, in one smooth motion, dissolved into a spiral of fire that returned to the heart of the fireplace — as if it had never existed.
Thomas leaned back briefly in his chair. His eyes settled on the final page that had yet to be burned. The name written in faded golden ink at the top was old. Familiar.
He pulled it closer.
And the fire, patient, waited at his fingertips.
✦ ✦ ✦
In the southern portion of the Demonic Forest, the sun was finally beginning to break the veil of night. The first beams of light hesitantly pierced the dense canopy, bathing the world in a faded gold. The mist still crawled along the ground, winding around exposed roots and fallen branches like lazy serpents waking from an ancient slumber.
The silence of dawn was giving way to the scattered sounds of life beginning to breathe again — the rustle of leaves beneath small paws, the timid song of forgotten birds, the distant crack of wood succumbing to time. The breeze was cold, damp, carrying the deep scent of moss, wet earth, and decaying leaves.
Each step on the uneven ground required effort. My makeshift sandals sank slightly into the dark mud, and the lichen-covered stones made the climb treacherous. The path led to the top of a small hill, where, among the gnarled and mossy trees, a clearing hinted itself in the distance.
My muscles burned as if each fiber were about to tear. My entire body was a diary of painful memories — endless vigils, narrowly escaped ambushes, sleepless nights lying between roots and wet stones. We were soaked from head to toe, water dripping from our hair, from our trembling fingers. And still, after everything... I had made it to the top.
The ground was cold, pasty, breathing in the humidity rising from the river below. The tree before me had thick bark, wrinkled like old skin — I placed my hand on it, seeking support. I felt the trunk vibrate slightly with the wind. Or was it with my breath?
"Who would've thought…" I murmured, trying to catch my breath. My chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, gasping. The morning air, cold and damp, burned my lungs with every inhale.
"Huff… huff…" The words came out broken. Breathless. My throat scratched. The moist air entered like glass. My chest heaved violently.
Axel was at my side. He could barely stand.
"Who would've thought…" I murmured again, almost as if speaking to myself, "…that of all the zones in the forest… the southern one would be the most hellish?"
"Central? Almost lifeless. It was strange, even. Too quiet. The kind of place that scares you precisely because nothing happens."
My voice faded among the trees, but I continued.
"West… I didn't even get to explore. I remember looking in its direction and thinking that if I found nothing in the south, maybe I'd head there — after all, it was the largest and farthest from where I was."
"In the East, the beasts were actually docile. One or two would follow you with curious eyes, but nothing more than that. And in the north… those giant dry trees, they looked dead, but… they weren't. Still, magical beast encounters there were luckily rare."
I let out a short laugh. Dry. "But here… in the southern zone… it was chaos."
My hands slowly clenched. Nails dug into my palms, blood still dripping mixed with water.
"Damn mountain rats." I murmured as if it were a spell to ward them off. But no. The memory came in full — their growls in unison, tiny eyes gleaming in the darkness, the sound of dozens, maybe hundreds of paws running at once. Their bodies were no more than wet fur and thin bones… but they were everywhere.
"Level one beasts… and even so…" I spat to the side, "…they pushed me to the edge. Not that beasts at that level aren't dangerous, but rats the size of a hand? They should be the complete opposite! But their numbers. It was like a damned living tide."
I had to run, jump, dive into a river whose current nearly killed us. Axel still had bruises on his arms where the rocks had struck. And I… I could only think that, if not for the water, we would be dead.
They hated water.
The steam from my breath mixed with that rising from the ground. The mist coiled around my ankles. It almost felt like everything around us was suspended in a dirty, cold dream.
I looked at Axel. His chest was heaving as much as mine.
Silence. Only the wind through the leaves. A bird cried out in the distance.
I took a step forward and let the sun touch my face. I closed my eyes for a second. The light was soft, like a forgotten warmth. It felt... ancient. Almost familiar.
Then I took a deep breath. And I spoke.
"So long…" I said, pausing right after. My voice was hoarse, worn. "So long that I even lost count… wandering through this damn forest… doing everything I could to find a way out."
My eyes found the clearing ahead — a cluster of trees at the far end. My heart raced, but not out of fear. Out of relief.
"And even so…" I looked over my shoulder, locking eyes with Axel. "…even after three zones… I found it here. Right here. In the south."
My gaze was fixed on a robust tree, standing a bit apart from the others. On its trunk was a mark, a simplified crest.
The shield bore gothic contours, a black structure outlined in golden details and accented by blood-red strokes. In the center, a large vertical sword sliced the crest from top to bottom, piercing a grotesque demon that twisted around the blade, its claws desperately trying to wrench it from its flesh. Its eyes were hollow, its mouth frozen in a silent scream.
In the upper corners of the shield, two dragons rose in threatening posture — one to the left, black as night with golden eyes, and the other to the right, lean and cruel, with gray scales and eyes glowing a fiery red.
Below the crest, carved into the tree in a deep red hue, was a motto.
— Sanguis Solvendus Est. Sanguis Sanguinem Vocat. —
"The blood must be paid. Blood calls to blood," I repeated in a low voice, almost as if reciting a lost prayer. My hands touched the tree, feeling the rough, living texture of the bark. It was like touching old flesh. Warm, pulsing… and somehow conscious.
I tilted my face, letting my eyes scan every inch of the crest, trying to decipher its strokes like one reads an epitaph.
"If that's the case…" I murmured, almost to myself, "…I hope I'll at least receive proper retribution for my blood."
My hands, calloused and trembling, slid around the trunk.
"Once you find the crest…" I began to recite Luminus' words, as one recalls a prophecy, "…ahead of it there shall be a golden lever."
I nodded slightly, then furrowed my brow. "But…" I muttered with a skeptical chuckle, "…what guarantee do I have that this is the front?"
I stepped to the side, circling the tree. My fingers brushed against the bark, my breathing still heavy from the climb. And then, when I reached the opposite side… I stopped.
There it was. The golden lever.
Discreet, embedded in the trunk like a lost relic. Its surface gleamed under the morning light, polished and silent, as if it had been waiting for this moment a long time. It wasn't just gold — there were runes etched into its metallic body, almost invisible, briefly shimmering when viewed from a certain angle.
My hand stopped before it. I hadn't touched it yet.
I just looked.
The lever shone gently under the soft morning light, its golden hue contrasting with the dark wood.
My heart was pounding. Not from fear. Not from exhaustion. But from something I had nearly forgotten the feeling of: the sense of an ending. Or perhaps… the beginning of something real.
I breathed deeply. 'Finally…'
After so much time.
After the despair that tore me apart.
After facing death more than once.
After discovering a new meaning of family…
After finding a new place to call home… and, shortly after, losing it all.
After uncovering truths hidden in shadows.
And surviving a mirror that whispered lies with the voice of someone I loved.
'After…' my mind echoed.
The word repeated like a drumbeat. Echoing memories. So many, and all of them painful.
But now — now, maybe, I had reached something beyond.
My eyes still fixed on the lever, my chest rising and falling slowly. Axel stepped closer, saying nothing. He stopped beside me, his eyes on the same point, his body tired but steady. His silence said it all. It was as if he, too, was holding his breath with me.
'To return…'
The word surfaced, but lingered in the air. 'Is that the right term?' I wondered, frowning. There was something wrong with the idea of returning.
My eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time in a long while… a faint smile slipped from the corners of my mouth. Weak. But sincere.
'No…' I whispered. 'To know. That's it.'
I lifted my gaze to the forest before me, the wind swaying the leaves below like a rippling green sea. The air was humid, thick with mist and possibilities.
"Finally..." I murmured, more to myself than to Axel, "my journey in this world begins. Until now…" I looked again at the lever, now with conviction in my eyes "…was only the tutorial."
I turned my body slowly, as if bidding the forest farewell, and then looked at the lever one last time.
With Axel by my side and the sword strapped to my back.
My fingers touched the cold metal.
And I pulled.
"Dracknum… wait for me!"