The grand hall of the Imperial Palace was a spectacle of opulence and power, its towering ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the triumphs of the Xenon Empire. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the polished marble floor. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of unease that seemed to seep into the very walls of the hall. At the center of it all stood Emperor Rynar Ravenshade II, his presence commanding the attention of every soul in the room. His piercing golden eyes, sharp and calculating, swept across the assembled advisors and generals, his expression a mixture of frustration and steely resolve. In his hand, he clutched a letter—a missive that had sent ripples of dread through the empire.
"Abyss Walkers," the Emperor said, his voice low and heavy with disdain. He spat the name as if it were a curse, his fingers tightening around the parchment until the edges crumpled under the pressure. "They dare to resurface now, after centuries of silence. They are a blight upon this world, a plague that should have been eradicated long ago."
Julius stepped forward, his weathered face etched with grim determination. His scarred visage bore the marks of countless battles, a testament to his storied past. "They are more than a blight, Emperor," he said, his voice gravelly and resolute. "They are a force of chaos that thrives on destruction. And now, they have declared war not only on us but on the Feldan and Aestrian Empires as well."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed as he turned to Julius, his gaze sharp and probing. "Precisely. But the question remains… why now? Why wait until this moment to strike? They could have attacked during the Xen-Fel War, when our forces were divided and vulnerable. What has changed?"
Martel Vuzu, the Emperor's chief strategist and a man renowned for his sharp intellect, stepped into the conversation. His polished boots clicked against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the hall. His voice was calm but laced with concern, each word measured and deliberate. "That is the mystery we must unravel, Your Majesty. The Abyss Walkers are not known for their patience or restraint. Their decision to bide their time suggests a greater plan at work—one that we have yet to comprehend."
At a distance, Hali—now fully embracing his new identity as Ilis Damas—stood with a group of young nobles, his mind racing as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. The Abyss Walkers. The name echoed in his thoughts, stirring fragments of memories that were not his own. Through Ilis's recollections, he could recall the terror they had wrought upon the Xenon Empire, their insidious theft of Shadow Magic, and the devastation they had left in their wake.
*Shadow Magic…* Ilis clenched his fists, feeling the familiar surge of power within him. It was a force he had grown to wield with surprising skill, What is my role in all of this? The questions swirled in his mind, each one more pressing than the last. He had transmigrated into this world, but for what purpose? Was he meant to be a pawn in this unfolding conflict, or was there a greater destiny awaiting him?
As the Emperor and his advisors continued their discussion, Ilis's attention drifted to the letter in the Emperor's hand. The words of the Abyss Walkers, though unspoken, seemed to reverberate through the hall, their malevolence palpable. He could almost feel the weight of their threat, the promise of annihilation that hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
The letter itself was a masterpiece of intimidation, its words etched in dark ink that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light. It read:
"Emperor Rynar Ravenshade II, Descendant of the Weapon Master, Lucian Ravenshade,
The time of your fragile dominion over this world has come to an end. From the depths of the abyss, where light dares not tread, we rise. We are the Abyss Walkers, the harbingers of oblivion, the eternal shadow that consumes all. Your empires, built upon the arrogance of mortal ambition, shall crumble before our might.
You have long ignored the whispers of the void, the warnings etched in the blood of your fallen. But now, the silence is broken. The abyss has spoken, and its voice is thunder. We come not as conquerors, but as executioners. Your lands will burn, your cities will fall, and your people will kneel—or perish.
We do not seek your surrender, for it is meaningless. We seek your annihilation. Your armies, your kings, your gods—they are but dust before the tide of darkness we bring. The abyss hungers, and it will feast upon your world.
Prepare yourselves, for the hour of reckoning is at hand. When the sun sets and the sky bleeds crimson, know that we are coming. When the earth trembles and the stars fade, know that your end is near.
This is not a declaration of war. It is a proclamation of extinction.
— High Warden Malachar, Herald of the Void, Bearer of the Black Crown, Commander of the Eternal Shadow."
The hall fell into a heavy silence as the Emperor finished reading the letter aloud. The weight of its words seemed to press down on everyone present, a suffocating reminder of the threat they now faced. The Abyss Walkers were not merely an enemy; they were an existential force, a darkness that sought to consume everything in its path.
Julius broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Your Majesty, we cannot afford to underestimate them. The Abyss Walkers are not like the Feldan or Aestrian Empires. They do not fight for territory or power. They fight to destroy. To erase. If we are to survive, we must act swiftly and decisively."
The Emperor nodded, his expression grim. "Agreed. But we must also understand their motives. Why now? What has changed to prompt their return after centuries of silence?"
Martel stepped forward once more, his sharp eyes scanning the room. "Your Majesty, it is possible that they have been waiting for the right moment—a moment when the empires are weakened or divided. The Xen-Fel War may have been a distraction, a prelude to their true attack. Or perhaps they have been gathering their strength, biding their time until they could strike with overwhelming force."
The Emperor's jaw tightened, his golden eyes flashing with frustration. "Whatever their reasons, we cannot afford to wait for their next move. We must prepare for war. Julius, I want you to oversee the training of our forces. Martel, you will continue to gather intelligence. We must know everything there is to know about the Abyss Walkers—their strengths, their weaknesses, their plans."
As the meeting drew to a close, Julius and Ilis prepared to return to their mansion. The journey home was a quiet one, the weight of the impending war hanging heavily over them. Ilis, lost in thought, barely noticed the familiar streets of the capital. His mind was consumed by the revelations of the day, the memories of Ilis's past life intertwining with his own.
Upon arriving home, Ilis realized he hadn't eaten since morning. The exhaustion of the day finally caught up with him, and he decided to prioritize a meal before delving into the history of the Great War. He needed to understand the full scope of the conflict, to uncover the secrets that had shaped this world. As he ate, Julius joined him at the table, his expression grave.
"Son," Julius began, his voice steady but tinged with concern, "the return of the Abyss Walkers changes everything. Without Aestro Zentus, we are vulnerable. If they ally with the Chaos Empire, our chances of survival diminish significantly. We cannot afford to wait for their attack. That is why we have decided to send you and the other young nobles to Balthar for training."
Ilis froze, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. *Balthar.* The name sent a shiver down his spine. From Ilis's memories, he knew Balthar as the legendary trainer of the Royal Knights—a man whose methods were as brutal as they were effective. The thought of enduring his training filled Ilis with a mixture of dread and determination.
"Balthar…?" Ilis echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. *This is it. Whether I'm ready or not, the storm is coming—and I must be prepared to face it.*
Julius placed a hand on Ilis's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "You have the potential to be great, Ilis. But potential means nothing without discipline and strength. Balthar will push you to your limits, but he will also prepare you for what lies ahead. Trust in yourself, and trust in the power within you."
Ilis nodded, his resolve hardening. He had been thrust into this world, into this body, for a reason. Whether by fate or chance, if the Abyss Walkers were coming, he would be ready. His mind still racing with thoughts of the future. The storm was gathering, and he could feel its approach in the very air around him. But amidst the fear and uncertainty, there was also a spark of hope.