Seated upon her throne, the Queen's gaze swept over the five before her.
Her eyes glowed faintly with silent strength—unyielding, serene, and unmistakably regal.
When she spoke, her voice resonated with a calm authority that silenced the very air.
**"Thank you for gathering.
Please... present your reports."**
Her words echoed softly through the chamber.
Naturally, the first to speak was Lord Harbard.
He drew in a short breath.
**"My Queen, I have contained the monster gatherings on the eastern front of my family's territory—for now.
But the situation is evolving. Fifth and even sixth-stage beasts are beginning to appear... slowly.
More concerning, they exhibit strategy—cunning. They hide, gather forces, then advance."**
His gaze drifted to his severed left arm, now replaced by a finely crafted mechanism. He stared at it in quiet reflection, a weight of meaning in his eyes.
**"I believe this is why the other Lords have not come.
The monsters... are evolving. Forming kings of their own.
The prophecy—spoken by that old seer—is unfolding before our eyes."**
He raised his head, glancing toward the young women seated at the table, their expressions tight with growing realization.
**"The world is entering a volatile transitional phase.
One so delicate, so perilous... it could reshape everything we know."**
He paused deliberately, letting the gravity of his words settle into the room.
From anyone else, such a statement would be dismissed as madness.
But **he** was the Iron Lord.
His mind, his might, and his foresight were beyond question.
At that moment, the girl representing **House Qian** stood.
The look in her eyes was unwavering—no trace of jest or doubt.
**"Your Majesty... Lord Harbard speaks truth.
My mother—Lord Guijon—sent word with nearly identical concerns.
She could not withdraw from the frontlines... hence her absence today."**
A beat of silence.
**"Multiple gates have opened across the Red Desert.
Encounters with fifth—and even sixth-stage monsters—are no longer rare.
I fear... this situation is growing beyond containment."**
Following these grim declarations, each of the remaining young women stepped forward in turn, reporting on their families' territories.
The pattern was unmistakable:
The same beasts.
The same signs.
The same growing catastrophes.
Fifth-stage gates were opening in alarming numbers around the First City.
And with each gate came a rising chance—however small—of a **Beast King** emerging.
Gates of the **first to fourth stages** were manageable.
Veteran Lords, battle-hardened and skilled, could deal with them swiftly—sometimes alone.
But **fifth-stage** gates were another matter entirely.
Even for the elite, such threats required precise strategy, military discipline, and heavy resource coordination.
Otherwise, the losses would be catastrophic.
As for a **sixth-stage gate**—its appearance was a red alert.
The unspoken order was simple: *evacuate immediately*.
Only the mightiest warriors could withstand the pressure of such a threat.
Lord Harbard himself had to mobilize a massive force and lead them with calculated precision to contain multiple fifth-stage breaches.
His decades of experience were what allowed him to be here in person.
So far, no sixth-stage gates had appeared within his domain.
But that wasn't the reason he had come today.
Once all the reports were delivered, the Queen stood.
And with unwavering calm, she relayed the words of **King Adam** to the assembly:
**"The generation of prophecy... has arrived."**
The young women looked to her with wide, questioning eyes.
But Lord Harbard only rubbed his beard, his gaze gleaming faintly.
A thin smile tugged at his lips beneath the dappled light streaming through the chamber.
**"So... they've appeared at last,"** he thought to himself, heart stirring.
Then he turned his full attention back to the Queen.
What followed was her detailed update on the King's situation, along with crucial internal matters that the Lords needed to know.
The meeting extended for another hour—discussing the essential strategies, challenges ahead, and reinforcing the unity of the noble houses in the face of what loomed.
By the end, the Queen rose once more, her presence unchanged—dignified and commanding.
With a graceful gesture of acknowledgment and silent gratitude, she dismissed them.
Then she turned... and departed the chamber.
The young woman representing the **House of the Depths** turned to Lord Harbard, her deep blue eyes shimmering with an uncertain light.
**"Lord Harbard,"** she said softly, her voice betraying confusion,
**"Could you explain what Her Majesty meant by the *Generation of the Prophecy*?
My father... never spoke of it to me."**
At her words, the other girls turned their attention to the Iron Lord, expectant.
Harbard exhaled a slow breath. His eyes lifted to the ceiling as if conjuring a vision only he could see—fragments of memory, perhaps.
Then, his voice came, low and resonant.
**"What you must understand is this: the prophecy speaks of three groups.
One of eight, one of five... and one of three.
The Eight are the Bearers of the legacy of Rulers.
As for the others... we'll come to know them in time. No one knows yet."**
Confusion stirred quietly in the eyes of the girls.
Prophecies, by nature, are cryptic—delivered in riddles, visions, and fragmented scenes torn from past and future alike.
That even Lord Harbard lacked clarity was, in a way, unsurprising.
Moments later, the girls rose to their feet.
One by one, they offered Lord Harbard a respectful bow and began taking their leave.
The priestess among them gave him a reverent nod.
**"Lord Harbard, I will attend to some affairs… then travel to your estate regarding your nephew's betrothal.
But please—don't expect too much, sir.."**
He chuckled, the sound deep and rough like gravel.
**"No need to worry. I've never forced anyone into anything."**
With that, she offered him a graceful bow and departed.
Only two remained at the round table.
The representative of **House Qian** glanced at him from beneath half-lowered lashes.
The soft rays of sunlight kissed her pale skin as she spoke.
**"What do you think is coming, Uncle?"**
Leaning back in his chair, Lord Harbard sighed.
**"Trouble. Plenty of it.
The world is unraveling at a pace none of us can match.
There's unrest in the Three Cities…
and then there are the humans—those fools who worship the Voice of the World, deep within the Fourth City.
I fear… war may not be far off."**
The girl's amber eyes glimmered faintly.
She lifted her hand to her chin in thought, her gaze shifting from her uncle to the empty throne before them.
She was about to speak—
—but Harbard's rough voice interrupted her with a rare smile tugging at his lips.
**"Nian... I didn't come today only for the meeting.
There's another matter. One of personal importance."**
She blinked, surprised by his tone.
**"Something important…? You need my help with something?"**
He inhaled slowly, his expression softened by a rare warmth.
**"Nian, you and my son are of age now.
I wish to propose your engagement.
Had Guijon been here, I would have made this official. But circumstances are what they are.
Even I had to take some risks today."**
For a moment, Nian's expression faltered.
Her honeyed eyes trembled.
A hint of stunned silence crossed her features—followed by a touch of pink blooming across her cheeks.
It broke through the usual composed image of her quick wit and steady poise.
She blinked twice, pressed a finger gently to her forehead, then asked—half-laughing, half-shocked:
**"You're serious... Uncle?"**
Harbard nodded firmly.
**"Yes.
You and Loki have known each other since childhood.
You trained together at the Academy.
You fought side by side on the same team.
You know him—his temperament, his strengths.
And you are both at the fourth stage of Awakening."**
His eyes drifted over the quiet hall, then returned to the girl before him.
**"The times are dire, Nian.
I'm growing old. I'm even thinking of retirement.
Loki has hit a wall—he's at the peak of the fourth stage, but he hasn't found the emotion, the clarity he needs to break through.
Even with all my training, he remains stuck.
He has no partner.
From where I stand, you're the one who truly fits him."**
He paused, then smiled gently.
**"And perhaps I'm being selfish...
but I would like to have grandchildren before I'm too far gone."**
He let out a long sigh, somewhere between exhaustion and amusement.
**"Did you know that some of my subordinates already have grandchildren?
And here I am, still charging into battles, with two children and nothing beyond."**
Nian was still recovering from the sheer abruptness of it all.
Her cheeks had flushed a deeper pink, her breath uneven as she tried to compose herself.
Placing a hand over her chest, she drew a calming breath and managed a hopeful smile.
**"Uncle… I won't deny I admire Loki.
I've always respected his strength and his heart—even back in the Academy.
But this… is something we should speak about—he and I."**
Harbard replied with calm certainty.
**"He already agreed.
Said he'd be proud to build a future with someone like you...
I'll send him to meet you soon.
I hope your talk goes well."**
With that, Lord Harbard rose to his full height.
His broad back and powerful build filled the space as he turned.
Before leaving, he cast one final glance over his shoulder.
**"By the way…
How is your little sister, suchan, doing?"**
Nian had by then collected herself.
She rose as well, her elegant yellow robes swaying softly with her movement.
**"Despite our worries and the pressure…
She succeeded.
Then left straight for the Academy. Said it was urgent."**
Harbard scratched his beard thoughtfully.
**"Hmph.
If she succeeded, then good.
But from now on, she's under your care, Nian.
Don't forget that."**