"You lost them?"
Lucifer's voice was low — calm, almost too calm — but behind that calm was something far more dangerous than rage. The golden throne room of Osric shimmered faintly with firelight, but even the flames seemed to shrink beneath his gaze.
Morvain knelt, his head bowed, his cloak brushing the black marble floor. "Yes, my lord. They vanished before our arrival. Without a trace."
Lucifer leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint, knowing smirk. "Vanished…" he murmured. "Then the old man was not what he seemed."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. The only sound was the flickering hiss of torches struggling against the weight of the air.
"I'll find them," Morvain said, raising his eyes. "No matter where they've gone."
Lucifer rose slowly, his movements smooth, deliberate — almost regal. His crimson cloak trailed like smoke behind him.
"You will not," he said simply, turning his head slightly toward Morvain. "Because you cannot."
The ministers shifted uncomfortably on their benches, eyes darting between the king and his advisor. The golden throne gleamed faintly, catching the shimmer of Lucifer's smile.
"That will be all," he said coldly, dismissing them with a flick of his fingers.
The echo of his footsteps was soft but heavy as he left the hall, Morvain trailing behind. When the great doors closed, the remaining ministers finally breathed out — as if released from a spell.
"I hope this will not bring Osric to ruin," murmured Baruk, the eldest among them. His words were heavy, his tone stripped of hope. The others exchanged wary glances, too afraid to answer.
---
In the corridor, torchlight bent toward Lucifer as he passed. The air grew colder, shadows deepening in his wake.
Morvain followed, silent, until Lucifer spoke — not turning, his voice a velvet whisper.
"If you have something to ask, Morvain, speak it. You've been thinking too loudly."
Morvain hesitated, then said, "How will you bring the other kingdoms to their knees, my lord, without the Crown of Life?"
Lucifer stopped. The corridor fell silent. The torches flickered once — and then steadied, as if the air itself awaited his reply.
Slowly, he turned. His eyes, dark as obsidian, caught the firelight and gleamed with cruel intelligence.
"The crown is a tool," he said. "I am the will behind it. Power does not vanish with a relic; it only changes its vessel."
Morvain frowned. "But the destruction of the crown will break the balance between realms. The Celestial Order will intervene."
Lucifer smiled — a smile of quiet menace. "Let them intervene. I will not be stopped by heaven's pity or hell's law. If balance is broken, I will rebuild it — in my own image."
His voice was soft, but it shook the corridor like thunder. Even the guards standing at attention lowered their heads, trembling.
"Let the other kingdoms rise," Lucifer continued, resuming his walk. "When they do… they will find me waiting."
The words lingered long after he was gone — heavy as prophecy.
---
Meanwhile, in the hidden domain…
The air shimmered faintly as dawn spread over the valley. Light spilled across the soft hills, catching the dew on the grass until it glittered like a sea of diamonds.
Leofric stood frozen, sword still sheathed at his side. His mind reeled as he tried to reconcile what his eyes saw. Before him stood not the weary blacksmith who had once offered them shelter — but a being wrapped in celestial calm.
Eldric's mortal guise had fallen away. His silver-white robes glowed faintly, adorned with sacred runes that shimmered like living light. His hair, no longer gray, shone with golden strands that seemed to hold the very light of dawn.
Leofric swallowed hard. "Who are you?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "What are you?"
The man's gaze softened, though his presence radiated quiet power. "I am what I have always been," he said. "Only the veil has lifted."
Leofric's pulse raced. "Then tell me who you are."
A brief silence followed. The wind stilled. The air itself seemed to bend around him as he spoke.
"My true name is Wilfred," he said at last. "Heavenly Lord Wilfred — chosen of the Seven Celestial Gods, bearer of the Crown of Light, guardian of balance between heaven and earth."
Edith gasped softly, clutching Olivia closer. The little girl, wide-eyed and fearless, pointed at him. "Shiny man," she whispered with a giggle.
Wilfred smiled faintly at her innocence. "Long ago," he continued, "darkness rose from the depths of the Nether Realm. I fought it — sealed it — but could not destroy it. Afterward, I withdrew from the world, knowing that one day, the shadow would rise again. And so it has."
Leofric and Edith exchanged uneasy glances.
Wilfred turned his gaze to Olivia. "The crown may be shattered, but its light endures — within her. She carries the essence of the Divine Flame. She is the destined one."
Leofric stepped forward. "A child?" he asked softly. "You're saying she will restore the crown?"
Wilfred nodded. "The Seven Crystals of Creation were scattered when the crown was broken. Each crystal represents a virtue — Courage, Wisdom, Compassion, Faith, Truth, Justice, and Sacrifice. Only she can reunite them. Only she can heal the realms."
Edith's voice trembled. "But she's just a girl. How can she bear such a fate?"
Wilfred's tone was calm but resolute. "Because the light chooses not the mighty, but the pure."
A long silence followed. Then Leofric lowered his head. "If that is her destiny… then I will protect her with my life."
Wilfred smiled faintly. "You are a knight by blood and spirit. You will teach her courage and the sword. I will teach her wisdom and balance. And Edith—" his eyes turned to her "—you will teach her survival, compassion, and heart."
"Me?" Edith gasped. "But I'm not—"
Wilfred raised a hand gently. "You underestimate the strength that nurtures. Warriors fight. But those who heal… preserve the world."
The valley wind swept around them, whispering through the grass as though bowing to his words.
Leofric dropped to one knee. "Then let me serve," he said, voice low. "Forgive my doubt, my Lord."
Wilfred's expression softened. "Rise, Leofric. You have done no wrong. The light sees through doubt — it is what makes faith real."
Leofric stood. "Then tell us what comes next."
Wilfred turned toward the distant hills, where light shimmered faintly over the mist. "Now we prepare. The girl's journey begins here — in peace. But soon, she must walk paths filled with shadow."
He looked back at them, his expression solemn. "Come. Rest for now. The dawn of her destiny will not wait long."
They followed him toward the small hut. As the door opened, warm light spilled into the valley — and for a moment, the land itself seemed to sigh in relief.
---
In Drakthar Dominion…
Far beyond the peaceful valley, the world trembled under a different dawn.
The citadel of Drakthar loomed like a wound upon the earth — its towers carved from black stone, its skies choked by ash and flame. Inside, the vast throne hall stretched into darkness, its walls alive with faint whispers.
Upon the onyx throne sat King Kaelen Veynar, his golden eyes gleaming like molten suns beneath his iron crown.
Before him knelt a figure cloaked in shadow — Valen, the assassin of the old order. His voice was calm, cold, and sharp as a blade.
"My Lord, the crystal cannot be found. I searched every land, every ruin. It is gone."
Kaelen's fingers drummed slowly against the armrest, his expression unreadable. "Gone," he echoed. "How convenient."
Valen lifted his head slightly, revealing eyes of silver fire beneath his hood — eyes that had once belonged to an immortal.
"Shall I continue the search?" he asked.
Kaelen rose. The motion was unhurried, but the shadows around the throne quivered as he did. "No," he said, his voice calm — too calm. "There are other ways to shape destiny."
He began to pace slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. "Osric's court hides behind gold and prayer, believing themselves untouchable. Let them. In seven days, they will learn what power truly is."
Valen's voice was low. "Then it is war."
Kaelen turned, a cruel smile curving his lips. "No. It is correction."
The air darkened. The torches flickered and dimmed.
Valen bowed deeply, his voice little more than a whisper. "Then I shall prepare, my King."
He rose — and as he did, his form dissolved, melting into smoke and shadow until the hall was empty once more.
Kaelen watched the fading darkness, his smirk deepening. "Let the heavens bless their chosen," he murmured. "When the storm comes, even gods will kneel."
His laughter rolled through the citadel like thunder, shaking the black towers of Drakthar.