THE ROYAL PALACE OF AETHELGARD.
A flash of lightning parted the curtains, briefly illuminating a dark room filled with tall bookshelves. In that momentary glow, a ten-year-old boy—Reinhardt—sat on a chair.
With intense concentration, he stared at a wooden soldier doll in front of him. His still-childish hand trembled as he reached out, focusing every bit of Fels within him.
"With this, I sacrifice my nail..." he whispered softly, his voice almost drowned out by the roar of rain and thunder outside. "O Ignis, The Burner, lend the flame of life to this doll!"
Bzzzt!
A Matrix Circle suddenly ignited on the wooden floor, encircling the doll. Its lines glowed blue, adorned with intricate triangular symbols and ancient runes—a pattern he had daringly copied from his father's forbidden book.
Reinhardt held his breath. His wide gray eyes sparkled in the magical light. He felt something warm and alive flowing from his body, through his arm, and out from his fingertips—his sacrifice was accepted. The nail he had cut began to bleed.
Creek.
The sound of shifting wood.
A thin, luminous smoke—like a miniature soul—drifted from the wooden doll's eyes. Then, its painted eyes blinked. Its head turned slowly, staring at Reinhardt.
"I... I did it!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling between awe and fear. "I have to tell Father I can do it!"
BOOM! Thunder roared as if in response, startling him.
With his heart pounding, he grabbed his enchanted doll and ran out of the room. His small feet raced along the majestic palace hallway. A wide red carpet stretched beneath his feet, while the golden light from wall lanterns and torches reflected in his shining, triumphant gray eyes. His shadow danced on the stone walls adorned with the kingdom's crest—a young prince with a secret and newfound power.
He paid no mind to his injured finger.
Thunder growled outside, as if warning of something. Clutching the doll tightly, he ran from his dark room.
His small legs carried him through the familiar lantern-lit corridor. His mind had only one goal: to find his father, King Askeld, and show him his achievement.
Thump!
He bumped into something soft. A servant fell, a tray of luxurious food scattering across the red carpet, plates shattering.
"Watch your path!" Reinhardt shouted without thinking, his guilt overshadowed by euphoria. He didn't even glance back to help and immediately continued running.
"Brother, where are you going?" his little sister's voice called from a corridor intersection. Reinhardt ignored her, his focus fixed on one goal.
He stopped in front of a large wooden door he knew well—the throne room. From the slightly ajar door, the sound of two people arguing fiercely could be heard.
Carefully, Reinhardt pushed the door slowly, his small steps entering the dark room before suddenly halting at a scream.
The dim light from the large stained-glass window behind the throne illuminated a scene that made his blood run cold.
His father, King Askeld, stood firm on the main floor, facing someone standing on the throne steps—Uncle William, his brother.
"Askeld, we must harness that power! Its strength is far greater, almost without need for sacrifice!" William shouted, his voice full of toxic conviction. "Several neighboring kingdoms already use it. Our combat power will be the greatest!"
"William, that is not power—it is a curse!" Askeld replied, his voice trembling yet firm. "You've seen the consequences! The Kingdom of Hermes is now hell—its people have turned hollow, its land barren! I will not use my people as your test subjects!"
"Oh, my brother, they simply couldn't control it. I have mastered it. We will not share their fate."
"I oppose you! This foreign power we do not understand is not the way! It is too risky!"
"Askeld... You never understood how corrupt the old system is," William hissed, his tone turning bitter. "You never felt how the common people must sacrifice far more for power that doesn't even compare to ours."
"I know that inequality!" Askeld answered, his voice shaking but filled with certainty. "But precisely because of that, we who are fortunate enough to be in higher positions must help those below. Trusting in an unknown foreign power is too dangerous. As the King here, the final decision is mine."
William hissed, his eyes burning with anger and disappointment. "You are too selfish and narrow-minded... I am smarter than you, superior in Matrix mastery than you. I care for all the people here, even more than you do! I excel in everything, so why...?" His voice broke with suppressed emotion. "Father... and you are the same. Askeld... I'm sorry."
His hand suddenly emitted a purple light, ready to cast a spell.
"What are you trying to do, William?!" Askeld shouted, stepping back slightly.
"I will take the throne that should have been mine!"
William's gaze suddenly caught a small shadow behind Askeld. King Askeld turned to follow his line of sight, his face paling when he saw Reinhardt standing there.
"RUN, REINHARDT!"
But it was too late.
A blackish-purple Magic Circle—completely different from Reinhardt's blue circle—suddenly burned on the floor beneath King Askeld. From within it, dark energy tentacles shot out, wrapping around his body and lifting him into the air. Distorted, evil energy surged from the circle, injecting darkness into his father.
"AAAAAARRRGGGHHH!"
Askeld's body stiffened violently. His eyes glowed red, shining with a pain and rage not his own. His roar was no longer human. The tentacles lowered him slowly, turning him to face Reinhardt.
"Run... Run..." a groan escaped Askeld's mouth, but his voice was altered, distorted and terrifying. His face began to crack, his form shifting into something alien and monstrous.
Reinhardt couldn't move. His legs were locked by his own fear; his body trembled violently. He clutched his wooden doll tighter.
"Father...?" he called softly, his pupils shaking in disbelief. Instantly, a deep red light poured through the window, filling the room with eerie shadows.
With a jerky, unnatural movement, the creature that was once his father leaped toward him.
---
Reinhardt groaned. His body twitched uncontrollably, struggling to break free from the grip of his nightmare. His hands fumbled over the hard mattress, searching for something real to hold onto.
After what felt like an eternity, his eyes flew open. He stared at the dark ceiling, trying to recognize familiar shapes. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His entire body felt feverish, his skin hot despite being damp with cold sweat.
Slowly, he lowered his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. His gaze swept across the room. His chamber was narrow, dark, and musty. Gray morning mist seeped through the window crack, adding to the gloom.
He buried his face in his palms, trying to calm himself.
"Sir, are you alright?" A voice broke the silence. A wooden doll leaning against the desk stood motionless, yet its voice was clear.
"Did you have another nightmare, Sir?" the doll continued, its tone full of concern.
"Yes…" Reinhardt answered shortly, his voice still hoarse.
"It seems you still haven't been able to forget that day, have you? If only I could move, I would make you a warm tea to calm yourself. Childhood experiences are the hardest to forget, aren't they?"
Reinhardt raised his head and looked at the wooden doll. A warm sense of gratitude dispelled some of the chill from his nightmare.
"Thank you, Barnaby. Your presence alone is a great help to me."
"Very well, Sir. Don't you have work today?"
Reinhardt didn't answer. He got up and walked to a water basin. His hand drew symbols in the air, weaving glowing blue patterns. "Goddess Aquaria, lend me your strength," he murmured softly. A matrix circle formed, and from it, clear water showered down like gentle rain. Reinhardt cupped his hands, splashing his face to refresh himself.
"Sir, isn't that a waste of Fels energy?" Barnaby chided, his voice filled with worry. "You might faint again."
"Don't worry, it's just a little," Reinhardt replied briefly.
He tidied his long black hair, combing it back with his fingers. Yet, a few stubborn strands fell back, framing his face. With practiced ease, he donned his simple yet dignified long robe. Then, he grasped a sturdy wooden staff, its tip carved into a crescent moon shape with a clear crystal embedded in the center. The emerald necklace left by his father also hung low on his chest.
"As always, you look very handsome, Sir," Barnaby remarked.
Reinhardt responded with a faint smile. He walked toward the door, but Barnaby's voice called out again.
"Be careful, Sir…" the wooden doll's voice weakened, its eyes flickering uncertainly. The energy sustaining its consciousness was nearly depleted. "Don't make… Princess Nina sad… because you come home injured again." His words were broken, forced out before 'sleeping'.
Reinhardt turned and approached. As the distance between them shortened, the energy around Barnaby replenished. The wooden doll's gaze refocused on Reinhardt.
"Don't worry. I promise it won't be like that again," Reinhardt assured.
"I wish… I could always be by your side. Protecting you. But unfortunately, I cannot move."
"You're saying that again," Reinhardt sighed lightly, but there was a promise in his eyes. "If I ever find a spell that can make you move, I swear I will master it for you."
Reinhardt turned back to the door. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the new day. As his hand pushed open the creaky wooden door, his heart nearly leaped out of his chest. An unexpected figure stood behind the door.