The world was burning with the fury of war.
Two kingdoms stood at the centre of the storm. On one side was the Kingdom of Solmaris, blessed by the heavens and feared by all. Their might rested upon six legendary warriors—elemental sword wielders, each one chosen and devoted to a different god: Fire, Water, Wind, Earth, Thunder, and Light. They were said to be invincible in combat, divine instruments of the god's will.
Opposing them stood the Kingdom of Oranyth. Unlike their rivals, they were not devoted to the gods. They trusted not in divine favour, but in knowledge, invention, and the strength of their people. Among them was the ancient clan of the Threadwatchers—keepers of a rare and mysterious art known as Keen Eye, a perception skill so profound it allowed one to glimpse the threads of fate itself.
In a chamber shrouded in darkness, six shadowed figures convened.
"The Keen Eye grows stronger," one rasped, his voice as brittle as old parchment. "The Threadwatchers are close to seeing their own fate. If they learn to change it..."
"They must not," hissed another. "If they awaken to their potential, they will try to defy the cosmic order."
"Then we are agreed," came a voice as cold as stone. "They must be annihilated."
"In unison," echoed all six shadows. "They must be erased."
Far across the land, in the golden halls of Solmaris, a vision was bestowed upon the most devout of the elemental sword bearers. Bathed in divine light, he knelt and delivered the message to the throne:
"The Kingdom of Oranyth is declared a sinner by the gods. They defy the heavens. Their existence is a stain upon Vespera."
No one questioned it. No council convened. The decision was divine—absolute. The war was declared.
Solmaris did not stop at condemnation. They sent word across all nations: any kingdom that dared to aid Oranyth would be marked as a sinner as well. Not one dared to stand against Solmaris. Fear silenced them all.
Inside the war room of Castle Oranyth, King Caedros Valenhart sat at the head of a long stone table. His face was pale, his jaw tight, his iron armour dulled by wear. Around him stood his most trusted generals and commanders, each man bearing the weight of defeat before the battle had even begun.
"Is there any chance... any hope we might win this war?" the King asked, his voice low but steady.
Silence.
Then, one general—an older man with scars running down his cheek—spoke. "We cannot win in open battle, Your Majesty. Not against them."
Caedros closed his eyes, exhaling heavily.
Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open. A young soldier stumbled inside, mud-stained and breathless. The soldier snapped to attention, clutching a scroll stained crimson. He hesitated.
"Speak," the King ordered.
The soldier unrolled the scroll with shaking hands and began to read in a trembling voice. "I, King Arveth of Kalior, hereby sever all ties with your blasphemous kingdom. Any of your people who step foot on our land shall be executed without exception—regardless of age, gender, or title."
A stunned silence followed.
The soldier's voice cracked. "They... they let me live only to deliver this. Everyone else—our diplomats, the refugees, even the children—they were... slaughtered. I saw it. I—" Tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face as he crumpled to his knees. "I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save them."
Caedros rose from his throne. His eyes, though weary, burned with fury and grief. "Rest now," he said softly. He gestured to a guard. "Help him. He has seen too much."
The soldier was carried out, leaving behind a silence heavy with unspoken rage. Some generals stared at the floor, fists clenched. Others bared their teeth in helpless fury.
"They agreed to help us," one muttered bitterly. "And now this... They turn their backs as our children are slaughtered?"
Then, without a word, King Caedros reached for his crown. He removed it and gently placed it on the table. The soft thud echoed like thunder. All eyes turned to him, stunned. He stood tall, a ruler stripped not of dignity, but of pretence.
"I am Caedros Valenhart, King of Oranyth," he declared, his voice like steel. "I am a ruler—and I am a protector. I will not yield to the Kingdom of Solmaris, who command slaughter. I will not watch my people burn while I sit on a throne. I will fight." He looked at each of his men, fire flickering in his eyes. "I will fight until my last breath."
The great hall was silent, heavy with unspoken dread. Torchlight flickered against the marble pillars as King Caedros rose from his throne. His voice was soft, yet unwavering, carrying the weight of inevitability.
"You all know the truth," he began. "No matter how valiantly we fight, we are destined to lose this war. So, I offer you a choice—if any among you wish to go into hiding, I will not judge you. No shame shall follow your decision." He bowed low, deeper than any present had ever seen from their monarch. "I am grateful beyond words to have had your loyalty. Thank you for everything."
A stunned silence followed. Then, one by one, every minister, councillor, and general dropped to one knee. Their voices echoed in unison through the throne room:
"We are children of Oranyth. We are ready to die protecting her and her people."
There was no remorse in their eyes. No fear. Only a fierce, unyielding determination.
King Caedros's eyes widened, glimmering with emotion. "Good... Good."
Turning sharply, he addressed one of his ministers. "Summon all those who have married into foreign kingdoms. This is urgent."
Before the minister could move, a soldier burst into the room, blood on his sleeves, panic on his face. "Your Majesty! The soldier who brought the message... he—he's taken his life."
The king rushed past everyone, finding the soldier's almost lifeless body slumped against the hallway wall, a bloodied dagger beside him. Caedros dropped to his knees, cradling the young man's body. The soldier's eyes fluttered weakly open.
"Why...?" the king whispered.
The soldier's voice was a trembling whisper, his breath shallow. "I... I couldn't bear it, Your Majesty. They shackled me... I watched my brothers scream, children cry... mothers begging for their little ones... only to be run through by spears... I'm sorry... I couldn't carry the guilt. Long live Oran—" His voice broke off. His eyes stared lifelessly into the void.
With trembling hands, Caedros gently closed the soldier's eyes. A single word escaped his lips. "Idiot."
"Give him a proper funeral," the king said quietly, his voice trembling. "And do not spread that he took his own life. He was brave. He was strong. He carried a burden no one should have to."
A single tear escaped Caedros's eye, tracing a solemn path down his cheek. For a man who bore the weight of a kingdom, it was the first time anyone had seen him cry.