The bells of Gravenhalt tolled only once that night. Not in mourning, nor in triumph—but as if the kingdom itself dared not speak louder, fearful of the child who now stood upon its throne.
She was fifteen. Pale hands draped in velvet, a crown too heavy for her brow. Eyes as cold as obsidian glass, yet lit with a terrible brilliance that made even seasoned generals avert their gaze. She was Isolde Malvera Dravena—the girl who had slaughtered her father, brothers, stepmother, and even her emperor to seize what none had thought possible.
Her rise was painted in blood. Emperor Valtheris, once a titan of kings, lay in a grave dug by his granddaughter's blade. King Dravenor, her uncle, fell with his line. Dreadrik, her father, and her brothers Malrik, Veylor, and Morvane—all swept aside like pawns in her merciless game. Even Velmora, her stepmother, elegant and ruthless, gasped her last breath upon Isolde's dagger.
But the people of Gravenhalt… they did not curse her name. No, they knelt. For though she was cruel and unyielding to her enemies, she was kind to her own. Bread filled empty bellies. Gold poured into markets. Soldiers were rewarded, peasants protected. She was their tyrant—and their savior.
Thus was born the legend of the Crimson Empress, youngest ruler in history.
---
Far across the sea, in the luminous kingdom of Aurelia, the bells tolled differently. Not of fear, but of warning. King Rowlan Edric Dawnward, protector of light, watched the shadows of Gravenhalt stretch across his borders. Once, he had called Emperor Valtheris a friend. Now that friendship lay in ashes, replaced by the bloodstained ambition of Valtheris's heir.
Beside him stood Cedric Luminara, his most trusted knight, and Cedric's daughter, Elara Solenne Luminara—a girl whispered to be touched by divinity. Radiant and unshaken, she gazed into the horizon, her heart heavy with prophecy.
"The darkness will not stop at Gravenhalt," Elara said softly. "It will swallow us all."
Her voice carried conviction beyond her sixteen years. For she was no mere maiden of faith—she was the first Saintess in Aurelia's history strong enough to pierce the veil between worlds. In the stillness of night, she knelt before the altar, her prayers reaching through time and space.
And somewhere, in a small town in America, the sky split open.
---
Mason Carter was seventeen, with calloused hands from labor and a steady spirit hardened by loss. He had lived quietly with his grandmother, tethered to a life of responsibility. By his side, Skye Turner laughed and dreamed, bold where he was grounded, light where he was stone. Together they carried the innocence of youth, believing their world small and their love enough.
Until the light swallowed them.
One heartbeat they were in their quiet town, the next upon the marble floors of Aurelia's grand cathedral, summoned as heroes. Mason felt his veins ignite with a dragon's fire, strength surging through him like an unbroken tide. Skye's hands shimmered with radiant brilliance, light bending and shattering at her will.
The Saintess bowed. "The world is dying," she whispered. "And you are the only ones who can save it."
---
Thus begins the clash of light and shadow.
The kind yet merciless Empress Isolde, youngest tyrant of Gravenhalt.
The steadfast King Rowlan and the saintess who summoned hope across worlds.
The heroes, Mason and Skye, torn from their lives to wield powers they barely understood.
And above them all, the storm of war.
For when kingdoms burn and crowns fall, only one truth remains:
Light cannot exist without shadow. And shadow cannot rise without light.