Caisson stepped into the hidden chambers of the palace, the ancient stone door sealing shut behind him with a heavy echo. The room came alive the moment he entered. Soft white light flickered from the enchanted walls, recognising its master after years of silence. Shelves of relics, enchanted crystals, and forgotten artifacts lined the space—but Caisson's gaze didn't waver.He walked toward the far corner, where a pedestal stood wrapped in layers of magical wards, humming with dormant power.
The Silver Sword.
At first glance, it looked aged—rusted, dull, and lifeless to the untrained eye. But for those who could sense aura, it pulsed with sleeping wrath.
Caisson stood silently before it, the weight of memory and responsibility settling heavy on his shoulders.
A voice broke the quiet.
"Why did Selene use the fake one?" Liam stepped out from the shadows, arms crossed, expression stormy.
Caisson didn't look at him.
"You can guess why. Isn't that just like her—laying traps within traps? Always the strategist." His voice softened, almost regretful.
"But this time… she couldn't escape."
Liam's jaw clenched.
"If I had known, I would've gone with her. Facing him alone was foolish."
Caisson turned to him at last, eyes sharp.
"Did either of you—any of my children—ever ask for help?"
Liam said nothing. The silence answered for him.
"The Silver Sword will shine again," Caisson said, placing his hand near the warded field. The blade pulsed faintly.
"When the time is right. Until then, we hold the line."
Liam stepped forward, frustration in his voice.
"But how long can we hold, Father?"
From behind them, another voice spoke—deep, calm, resolute.
"Father, I think you should use it now. Icarus agrees."
Theodore stood in the shadows, his presence firm like a mountain.
Caisson looked between his sons.
"If it must come to that," he said, gaze returning to the sword, "then I will. Even if it means waking what was never meant to rise again."
Without hesitation, Caisson raised his hand
"Barakhael."
The name rang like thunder in the hidden chamber.
A low rumble echoed through the palace foundations. The very stones trembled as the air thickened with primal magic. Light bent and warped as something immense broke through the veil of reality.
And then—he appeared.
Barakhael, the Crownbreaker Elephant, emerged like a living mountain. His skin shimmered like obsidian threaded with veins of glowing gold. Each step made the earth groan and settle. His colossal tusks cracked with molten light, pulsing with silent fury and wisdom born of eons.
His gaze, ancient and unreadable, settled on Caisson.
"So," his voice echoed directly into Caisson's mind like the toll of a divine bell, "you've finally found a reason to wake me."
Caisson did not kneel. He didn't need to. Barakhael had never asked for worship—only purpose.
"We are running out of time," Caisson said firmly. "I need a barrier. A wall no evil can see or break. We must buy time before war spills into every street and field of our kingdom."
For a moment, Barakhael was silent. Then a deep, resonant laugh rippled through the air.
"A wall?" he said. "I would like to see what creature—be it devil, king, or god—dares to shatter my work."
He lifted his massive trunk and tusks toward the sky, and the chamber exploded with radiant magic. The runes on the floor blazed to life. The walls hummed like a living heart.
Outside the palace, across the kingdom, the earth answered.
Mountains groaned. Rivers trembled. The horizon itself blurred with light as a vast, invisible wall rose—not of stone, but of truth and ancestral will. It shimmered for only a second, then vanished from mortal sight.
But the land knew.
Magic pulsed deep through its roots, stabilizing, cleansing, shielding.
Without another word, Barakhael stepped back into the shadows, his colossal form folding into the cracks of the earth itself. The light dimmed, the chamber's hum quieted, and the air returned to stillness—yet something deep within the land had changed.
The magic remained.
"This will give us enough time to prepare," Caisson murmured, his voice low but resolute.
Liam and Theo stood in silence, watching the empty space where the Crownbreaker had vanished. The weight of what they had just witnessed clung to their skin like dust after battle.
They had only seen Barakhael twice before in their lives.
To see him now… was no small thing.
"He really answered you," Theo said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Of course he did," Caisson replied. "But I don't call him lightly. Not unless the kingdom itself is at risk."
Liam looked to the palace walls, where the faint pulse of Barakhael's magic still lingered like veins of light beneath the stone.