The next day
The royal palace in the kingdom of Roscardin, neighboring Tarolinia
In the heart of the royal palace there was a hall several metres wide; a hall with a ceiling rising up to twenty metres, its surface painted with masterful images of stars, the sun, and galaxies — as if the entire night sky had come alive on the ceiling. Black columns streaked with gold, like massive guardians, surrounded the hall.
The air was heavy; the hall's temperature was roughly 18°C, but because of the many people and the candles burning along the sides, a mild, pleasant warmth flowed through the space. The scent of fresh flowers — especially jasmine and white rose — filled the air, creating a strange sense of calm and purity amid all that solemnity. Candlelight danced over the columns and the court's glittering jewels, their reflections casting moving shadows across the great walls.
Servants in formal cream-and-black uniforms, heads bowed and wearing imploring looks, were scattered throughout the hall in deep silence. Ministers and courtiers spoke among themselves; whispers of politics, economics, military news, and agricultural problems braided together. The atmosphere was a mixture of controlled bustle and heavy expectation.
Suddenly the heavy wooden doors swung open with a thunderous sound, producing an abrupt silence. A servant in formal attire and a special hat announced in a clear, resonant voice:
"Her Majesty Queen Celia is entering."
Everyone present in the hall instinctively knelt and lowered their heads; their eyes were fixed on the floor, a sign of respect and fear of a power that from that moment made the air even heavier.
Amid the halo of silence, Queen Celia stepped into the hall. A tall woman, about 180 centimetres, with smooth pale skin, long red hair shining like a burning sun, and a black gown patterned with red roses that glowed like a mysterious shadow. Her red eyes, the color of blood, were piercing yet majestic, full of pride and confidence; each of her steps carried a wave of dignity and authority. She wore a crown shaped like the night's stars, set at its center with a dazzling blue jewel the size of an eye.
The queen's face was stern and unsmiling; faint lines of worry and severity traced her forehead and the corners of her mouth. Anyone who looked at her felt, involuntarily, that this woman was not only a ruler but a shadow of the kingdom's looming fate.
That was Celia, the queen who had reigned over the kingdom of Roscardin for centuries; also known as the Red Sage, she was one of the seven wise sages in the world today.
With calm, confident steps, the queen moved toward her throne at the far end of the hall. The throne — large, carved from dark wood with golden engravings — seemed like a crown upon her crown. With perfect grace she sat down, crossing her right leg over her left and resting a hand on her chin, as if plunged into deep thought.
A heavy silence swept through the hall and all the ministers and courtiers raised their heads, awaiting the queen's command and address.
The queen spoke in a quiet voice, nevertheless full of power and dignity:
"What are today's reports?"
One by one the ministers came forward. Each minister, in a different tone, delivered reports about agriculture, industrial production, the military situation, and the economy — from grain shortages to suspicious movements at the borders — all presented with precise, documented details.
After about an hour had passed, it was the Interior Minister's turn. He stepped forward with bowed head, as if bearing a heavy burden, and said:
"Your Majesty, I have reports concerning the kingdom of Tarolinia."
The queen raised her eyebrows slightly and asked, calmly but curiously:
"Interesting… what news? You have permission to speak."
The minister glanced around, then continued in a low but clear voice:
"The reports indicate that over the past month violence and murders in Tarolinia's capital have sharply increased. Our spies say that hundreds of people in the capital and surrounding villages have been killed, and it is reported that their bodies have been crucified in different parts of the city. This suggests a cult or secret organization intends to disturb the country's peace."
The queen gave a cold, disappointed smile and asked calmly:
"Murder has increased? What does that have to do with us?"
The minister replied, with some hesitation and agitation:
"This situation is not only dangerous for Tarolinia. It appears this unrest might spread to neighbouring countries, including ours. Tarolinia's king has ordered his forces to quickly identify and eliminate these threats. Also, many of our exports to Tarolinia are being rigorously inspected; some have even been returned. Much of the food we sent was rejected and cannot be used. If this continues, it could severely damage Roscardin's economy and security."
The queen's face tightened. In a serious, resolute voice she said:
"Our nations have spent centuries at war with one another, and I was present in all of them, but I do not wish for war again. Since the new generation of kings ascended there, my desire to fight them has waned… they have appeared weaker than Richard the First. How disappointing."
She paused, rose from her seat, and said forcefully:
"Send a letter to the kingdom of Tarolinia offering our assistance."
The minister bowed his head respectfully and said:
"Your command will be obeyed, Your Majesty."
...
Meanwhile, in the depths of the kingdom of Tarolinia…
A cold breeze moved through the tall windows of the great hall and set the heavy crimson velvet drapes gently swaying. The palace, with red marble walls and embossed golden motifs, beat like a tired but splendid heart in the city's core. The high hall's ceiling was adorned with paintings of angels in flight and luminous skies. Flickering yellow light from crystal chandeliers reflected on the cold, polished stone floor, casting shimmering reflections across faces.
The smell of burning wood and bitter eastern incense filled the room. The air was slightly heavy and damp, as if last night's rain had not fully left the thick walls. Tired murmurs from ministers and generals wound through the hall; conversations full of worry, conjecture, and doubt. Their faces were weary and disordered, marked with lines of sleeplessness.
King Elyos and Queen Asria sat upon thrones carved from black ivory and gold. The king — cloaked in deep blue with a fur-lined collar — was a man in his early fifties, but years of ruling had nearly whitened his hair entirely. His skin was creased and his green eyes sunken in shadows. He would sometimes press his lips together, as if a bitter taste from recent events lingered on his tongue.
Beside him, Queen Asria appeared calmer but no less fierce. Dark hair threaded with silver glinted beneath a slim jeweled crown. Her hazel eyes were fixed on the ministers without a blink.
Suddenly the king raised one hand gently. Time seemed to pause in the hall. The murmurs ceased and a cold, terrifying silence filled the room.
He drew a deep breath and, his voice flowing into the chamber like a cold stream, said:
"It seems that over the past month we have made no progress in resolving this crisis. If this continues, not only will the kingdom's prestige be questioned, but the very foundations of our people's security will be weakened. This issue is, more than military or political, psychological and social… people are losing faith."
Queen Asria sharpened her gaze and continued, in a tone full of controlled wrath:
"Our economy is already taking severe hits. Trading caravans are cancelling contracts one after another. Grain prices have tripled. Medicines that used to come from the East are now scarce. Merchants fear to set foot in our land. You have still not rooted out this organization. Why?"
A hush fell until one of the generals, a broad-shouldered man in half-polished armour whose voice trembled though he tried to sound strong, stepped forward:
"My lady… Your Majesty, forgive us… but it seems they are not merely a band of killers. We are facing an organized structure. Trails we have found indicate that some high-ranking officials are collaborating with this organization. That has blinded us. The deeper we go, the more we realize this corruption has penetrated the very bones of government…"
The king drew his brows together; his cheeks flushed. His anger was not a shout but a quiet, severe firmness when he said:
"So what shall we do? Shall we let these people play with our citizens' fate? Watch bodies appear hung in the streets each day?"
No one spoke. The ministers and generals only exchanged looks — looks filled with terror, confusion, and the silence of despair.
The king paused, gripped the arms of his chair, and then declared firmly:
"This is a royal decree. From this moment, anyone proven to have collaborated with this organization will be punished without mercy. Their property will be confiscated, their families enslaved, and they themselves will be executed in the central square of the city. Before everyone's eyes. So others will know this soil is no place for traitors."