I walked with the prince and the general through the town streets. The festival decorations still hung between the buildings, ribbons fluttering in the breeze and paper lanterns swaying even though it was broad daylight. Children ran past with wooden toy swords, pretending to duel in the alleys. Street vendors called out their last offers of sweets left over from the celebrations.
People waved at us as we passed. Some bowed politely, whispering about the prince. Others cheered like we were some kind of parade. The prince gave his usual soft smile, perfectly measured—not too cold, not too friendly. Meanwhile, the general waved both arms like a parade marshal, grinning at every child that shouted his name.
"Show-off," I muttered.
As time passed, our arms grew heavier with bags of fruits, all gifted by the townspeople. Apples, oranges, even an entire basket of grapes—like they thought we were starving. The general laughed through the weight while the prince's face didn't change at all. We carried them to the palace gates, where guards rushed to take them off our hands. I nearly collapsed with relief when the last basket left my grip.
Inside the palace, the air changed. The halls were quiet, polished marble floors echoing with every step. A few generals stood in groups, talking in hushed tones. Others leaned on the walls with their arms crossed, chatting casually with guards. Everyone seemed tense beneath the surface, but pretending not to be.
Then it happened. A group of women walked past us in the corridor. I wouldn't have noticed them if not for one detail—one of them looked exactly like the prince. Same hair, same eyes. It was like looking at his reflection in a mirror, if the mirror was tilted into another world.
I glanced at him. The prince had lowered his gaze, walking stiffly, pretending not to notice. He didn't say a word.
Huh. Interesting.
We reached the royal hall, where a massive round table dominated the center. Twelve generals already sat in their seats. Five chairs and the throne remained empty. The moment we entered, the chatter faded into silence. The three of us sat down, the weight of eyes settling on us.
Then, a heavy presence filled the room. A man entered from the far side, and the atmosphere instantly changed.
The King.
He wasn't anything like I imagined. His eyes were completely covered in bandages, but he walked without hesitation, each step heavy with authority. A tall, rune-inscribed scythe rested against his shoulder, glowing faintly as if alive. He didn't need guards or ceremony. He simply walked in and sat on the throne, laying the scythe across his lap like it belonged there more than anywhere else.
I couldn't help it. The words slipped out before I could stop myself.
"Who the heck wear something like that in a royal meeting?"
The silence shattered. Heads turned toward me, eyes widening. Some generals looked horrified, others amused. Even the king's head turned slightly, as if he were… looking at me.
Wait. Could he actually see?
One of the generals cleared his throat and stood up quickly, trying to pull attention away from my very probable execution.
"We're all here to discuss the recent events: the sudden assault attempt by Nameless Faith on our borders."
He paused, scanning the table. His jaw tightened before continuing.
"It's still not clear why they attacked, but we can't deny it anymore—they're planning something larger. Last week's incident in Emberbrook confirms that. We lost all contact with the village. No messengers, no birds. Scouts returned with nothing but ashes. The entire village burned. Not a trace of living was found there ."
I stiffened. "Wait… what did he just say about the village?"
Another general rose to speak. His voice was grim.
"Their power is growing. Not just in numbers… but in something darker. ."
A murmur ran through the room, but it ended instantly when the king tapped his scythe against the ground.
"That's enough," he said. His tone was calm, but the weight behind it silenced the hall. "We will deal with Nameless Faith. But there is another matter I want to speak of."
The room went still, colder than before.
***
The scene shifted to the prince's mansion.
Inside a training room, Luka was trying to cast a spell but failed every time .
Athena sat cross-legged beside her, twirling a strand of hair with her finger.es.
"So wait—how can you still not understand spells, even after I explained everything?"
Luka let out a long sigh. "We went over this yesterday."
"Yeah, but that was yesterday. You should know I forget theory stuff easily!" Athena poked her shoulder like a child pestering a parent.
Luka deadpanned. "How much did you score in your studies again?"
Athena grinned sheepishly. "Just passing. I only focused on casting spells, not all the boring theory."
"You realize the theory is how you control magic, right?" Luka asked flatly.
Athena stood proudly, attempting to prove her point. A spark burst from her fingertip, Luka raised one eyebrow, flicked her wrist, and calmly extinguished it like blowing out a candle.
Meanwhile, outside in the garden, Kite was sprinting around with the twins—Lapis and Emerald—clinging to him like wild monkeys. Silver sat on the steps, arms crossed, gaze distant as usual.
Kite finally collapsed into the grass, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Okay, okay! I'm done. Too old for this!"
"You're like nineteen," Silver muttered.
"I age emotionally," Kite shot back, groaning dramatically as the twins pulled on his hair. Lapis giggled while Emerald clapped her hands.
Kite sighed, lifted both twins, and spun them in the air, sparks of fire and lightning trailing from his palms like a firework show. Their laughter rang through the garden,
****
[Emberbrook Village – a few days ago]
Smoke choked the sky like a permanent scar. Ash blanketed the ruins. The air reeked of burning flesh.
Bodies littered the streets—students, teachers, elders ,some unknown people . Their faces frozen mid-scream. Some still clutched weapons that had done nothing to save them. A playground swing creaked in the wind, its seat burned to half-charcoal.
At the edge of the academy ruins, the principal lay dying. His robes torn, one arm gone, a hole in his stomach spilling blood into the dirt. His breaths came shallow, ragged.
"You… Nameless Faith… monsters…" His voice was barely a whisper. "Why… why would you do this? These people… these students… they were innocent."
some people walked among the dead, their faces hidden beneath mask. One of them carried a book, its cover pulsing with red-black light.
The principal's vision blurred. Memories flooded—children laughing in the courtyard, teachers arguing over lesson plans, his wife's warm smile, his sons running into his arms.
His fingers curled weakly into the dirt. "My students… my sons… avenge our home…"
His head dropped. His final breath left him.
The masked figure stepped forward, A black mist came from the pages and mixed with the sky. He began to chant in a language like performing a ritual
One by one, the bodies twitched. A hand moved, A head turned. Then, with cracks, they all rose.
Teachers. Students. Villagers. Even the principal himself.
Their wounds sealed unnaturally, skin stitching together as if time rewound, but their faces were blank. Their eyes pitch black .
They bowed to the masked figure as the last words of the chant
A cold wind swept through the ashes. Emberbrook Village was no longer dead. It was enslaved.
To be continued…