It was a quiet night, unusual for the royal palace. The silver moon crept through the long window, drawing calm lines on the wooden floor of the room. But Elios, young and timid, sat curled up on his bed, his eyes scanning the dark corners, silently anticipating something.
Slow footsteps, a light tap on the door, and then Orestos entered. His face was lit with a warm, paternal smile, and his heavy cloak was draped over his shoulder. He said in a low voice,as if afraid to disturb the night:
< "What's wrong, my boy? Why aren't you asleep yet?"
Elios lifted his head hesitantly, then whispered:
< "Father... I think... I think there's something behind the wardrobe."
Orestos smiled, leaned his knee on the edge of the bed, and placed his hand on his son's shoulder.
< "Something, huh? Is it a mythical beast? Or perhaps a soldier from the Fifth Kingdom has sneaked in here?"
Elios shook his head quickly, more serious than necessary:
< "Don't laugh, Father... I'm sure."
Orestos let out a short laugh, but it wasn't mocking; it was reassuring. Then he said as he stood up:
< "Then... let's see this thing together. Come."
He took his son's hand and led him toward the large wardrobe in the corner of the room. But at the last step,Elios stopped, his feet seeming glued to the floor.
· "No... I don't want to, Father."
Orestos bent down until his face was level with his son's and said:
· "Elios... my love, the things we fear are often very small, but our fear makes them seem like monsters. If you want to become strong, you must see for yourself."
Elios remained hesitant, but his father's look was enough to push him. He slowly extended his small hand, his heart pounding, took a deep breath, and pulled the wardrobe aside a little... and there, in the shadow, was... a small, black cat, looking at him curiously and meowing.
Elios let out a short laugh mixed with surprise, then turned to his father.
< "It was... just a cat"!
Orestos smiled and patted his head:
< "See? Not everything we fear is a monster."
They sat on the edge of the bed, laughing at the joke, then Orestos said in a quieter voice:
< "Remember, my son... you must rely on yourself more, because I... will not always be here."
Elios laughed, thinking it was a joke:
"What do you mean? Where are you going, Father?"
But when he lifted his head, the seat beside him was empty... Orestos was not there.
He was confused, and his voice began to rise:
< "Father?... Father?!!"
Father!!!
A scream pierced the battlefield like a spear of fire, carrying with it all the hope left in Elios's heart. It wasn't just a word... it was a primal cry, raw, emanating from the deepest point of his soul.
Dust swirled and the sky was the color of ash, the sounds of explosions and clashing iron tearing through the air. Amidst all this, the image he feared more than anything else unfolded before his eyes: his father, Orestos, king of the Third Kingdom.
Kneeling on his knees, his head bowed, his sword plunged into the earth like a pillar trying to prevent his complete collapse.
Copious blood seeped from beneath his armor, dripping onto the ground and mixing with the dust, while his breaths came heavy and ragged; each inhalation was a battle in itself.
Before Orestos stood Darkis... tall, calm, but his eyes glinted with a deadly cold. Behind him, his "Theater of Absence" was slowly folding its limbs, like a theatrical shadow preparing to lower the curtain on the final scene. Darkis did not take a step... but he didn't need to, for defeat was already written on the king's body.
Elios felt that time had shattered. Everything around him became blurred... the sounds of battle faded as if coming from another world, and only one sound echoed in his head... the echo of his father's laughter years ago, saying to him: "I won't always be here, Elios...".
That scene from his childhood suddenly flooded his mind: the warm room, his father's gentle voice, the fear of the cat behind the wardrobe, the laughter
after discovering it... and then that mysterious sentence he hadn't understood at the time. And now,seeing his father staggering before a merciless enemy, he realized that those words were not a joke.
Elios ran... or tried to run. The ground beneath his feet felt heavy, as if trying to stop him, and the distance between him and his father widened with every step he took.
< "Father"!!
He called out again and again, but Orestos did not turn, perhaps because he was fighting to stay alive for one more moment, or perhaps because... he knew the end had come.
As for Darkis, his expression did not change, but the shadows of his being slowly turned toward Elios, as if watching to see if the son would reach out before the curtain truly fell.
In Elios's heart, this was not just a battle scene... it was a scene separating his past as a man who aspired to be like his father,
and his present where he had to decide: would he stand as a spectator, or change what seemed inevitable?
Elios ran, mustering all his strength into his legs, cutting through the distance separating him from his father amid the fog of war, the whir of swords, and the sound of distant explosions. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, and every step felt like the last before collapse.
When he arrived, Orestos was kneeling on his knees, his head tilted forward, his eyes half-closed, strands of blood trickling from his forehead onto the dirt. Elios quickly approached, reaching out to his father's shoulder, but he felt a weight as if he were carrying the burden of an entire kingdom. This was not just the weight of a body... it was the weight of years of battles, of decisions, of secrets left untold:
"Father... please... don't sleep now..."
But Orestos did not answer, only a heavy breath escaped his chest, and his eyes broke toward his son for a brief moment, as if saying: "I'm sorry."
Elios lifted his father's head from under his chin, held it firmly to his chest, until he felt the hot blood seeping onto his hands. His
fingers trembled, not from fear, but from the anger and despair intertwined in his heart.
Behind him, Darkis advanced slowly, his steps steady, their sound echoing on the ground like the ticking of a clock of doom. The tendrils of "The Theater of Absence" moved like long arms, coiling around the two as if preparing to pull them into the void.
Elios closed his eyes for a moment... and summoned from his memory that feeling he had learned from childhood, that mix of play and confrontation, of challenge and cunning. He opened his eyes suddenly, clenched his jaw, and whispered in a voice charged with energy:
· "The Lobby"