The bells of Sun City rang out, but no one came to pray. No one answered the call. The streets, once full of life, were now filled with fire and blood. The proud white walls of the palace stood cracked and burning. Smoke rose high into the sky, turning the moon red.
On the highest balcony of the palace stood a man, cloaked in black. His silver mask, marked with a long crack down the middle, glowed in the firelight. The mask hid his face, but not his cold, sharp eyes.
He was called many names — traitor, monster, villain. But tonight, the world would remember him as one thing:
The Puppet Master.
---
The man who once was called Jaren looked down on Sun City. He saw the guards trying to hold the gates. He saw the people running, the towers falling, the flags burning.
This was his plan. Ten years of waiting. Ten years of lies, deals, and blood.
Now the city that betrayed him was falling — just as he wanted.
At the gates, young Prince Aron tried to lead the last of the king's men. His gold armor was broken. His sword arm dripped blood. But still, he stood tall.
"For the king! For the city!" Aron shouted, voice shaking with rage and fear.
Jaren watched. The boy had heart — but heart meant nothing in the game Jaren played.
"End it," Jaren whispered.
From the shadows came his men — thieves, killers, traitors bought with gold. Silent archers shot down the city guards. Knives flashed. Blood spilled. The prince's last hope died under the weight of Jaren's plan.
Aron fought hard. His sword struck true. He brought down three of Jaren's men, then four. But they kept coming. His strength faded. His blade grew heavy. His breath came short.
---
Behind him, the palace doors burst open. Fire poured out as the royal hall collapsed.
A lone knight, old and broken, staggered onto the balcony. His face was black with soot. His armor was cracked and dented.
He fell to his knees before the masked man.
"Jaren... please. End this. You were a good man once. A loyal man. Don't become this."
Jaren stared down at him. The flames lit his mask, making the crack look like a bleeding wound.
"That name is dead," Jaren said quietly. "It died when you left me to hang."
The old knight's eyes filled with tears. "Mercy... for the boy. For the people..."
Jaren's hand moved fast. A small blade flew from his fingers, striking the knight's heart. The old man fell without a sound.
---
Below, Aron saw the knight fall. His heart sank. The last man he trusted — gone. The city, his home — gone. And above, the mask watched him like death itself.
Jaren raised his hand, and the fires seemed to burn brighter, higher.
"Sun City," he said, voice hard as stone. "You took my name. My life. Tonight I take yours."
The prince fell to his knees, sword slipping from his hand. The weight of defeat crushed him. The weight of the Puppet Master's game.
---
The night of ashes had come.
And the game had just begun.