The ride to the capital took nearly 3 days . The road wound through fertile valleys, dense forests, and wide-open plains where banners of Valdoria fluttered proudly above border forts. Along the way, Kael trained when he could, practicing his strikes during camp halts under the watchful eyes of Sir Alaric and Maverick. Yet despite the distractions, his thoughts never strayed far from his father—or his mother's last breath.
At dawn on the seventh day, the horizon opened, and the capital finally revealed itself.
The Capital of Valdoria, Eryndor, rose like a dream carved from stone and steel. Towering white walls ringed the city, gleaming as the sunlight kissed their battlements. Dozens of high watchtowers loomed above, banners of crimson and gold unfurling in the morning wind. Beyond the walls, spires of marble and copper rooftops pierced the sky, their glittering domes catching the sun like fire. The air was alive with the sound of merchants shouting, bells tolling, and music drifting faintly from distant plazas.
A colossal gate, adorned with engraved lions and dragons, marked the city's entrance. As Kael's company approached, the gates swung wide, and they passed into streets thrumming with life.
Kael's eyes widened. Stalls overflowed with fabrics of every color, exotic spices, and rare gems. Fountains carved in the shapes of heroes sprayed water into the air. People bustled everywhere—traders, nobles, knights in polished armor, and children chasing each other between cobblestones.
Yet as the boy rode past, the people's chatter shifted. Heads turned. Eyes followed him.
"Isn't that…?" a woman whispered.
"Yes. That's Kael Draven. The Duke's son."
"How tragic," another murmured, hand pressed to her lips. "I heard his mother was slain during the attack."
"And the Duke has not returned. Poor child… how can one so young carry such weight?"
Kael kept his head down, but their voices sliced into him like blades. He gripped the reins tighter, jaw clenched. I will bear it. I must.
Sir Alaric noticed, guiding his horse closer. "Do not let their words crush you, young master. People talk because they do not understand. But soon, you will show them who you are."
Kael gave a faint nod, though the storm in his heart only grew stronger.
At the city's center stood the Royal Palace of Valdoria.
It was not merely a palace—it was a fortress of breathtaking majesty. Walls of pale stone soared high, embedded with veins of crystal that glimmered faintly. Wide stairways climbed toward massive bronze doors, each engraved with depictions of Valdoria's greatest victories. Two colossal statues of lions stood guard, their eyes set with rubies that seemed to glow with life.
As the gates opened, Kael's breath caught. The Throne Hall was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its ceiling arched impossibly high, painted with murals of gods, dragons, and celestial battles. Chandeliers of gold and crystal bathed the hall in warm light. Rows of armored guards lined the marble floor, their polished halberds gleaming.
And at the far end, seated upon a throne of obsidian inlaid with gold, was King Alden Valerius III.
He was a man of middle years, broad-shouldered and stern, his hair black streaked with silver, his eyes sharp and unyielding. He wore no crown, only a circlet of steel, for Valdoria's kings were warriors first and monarchs second. His presence filled the chamber, commanding silence.
But Kael's eyes did not only fall upon the king. Surrounding the throne, standing like a wall of steel and honor, were six figures—the Six Generals of Valdoria.
Sir Garrick the Ironwall – A giant of a man clad in full plate, his shield taller than most men. He was the kingdom's immovable defense, protector of the realm's borders.
Lady Seraphine Dawnblade – The only woman among them, her golden hair and silver armor glimmered as if touched by light itself. She commanded the holy orders and was famed for her speed in battle.
Lord Darius Blackthorn – Dark-eyed and cloaked in crimson, his blade whispered of shadows. He was the spymaster-general, feared for his cunning and mastery of secrets.
Sir Roland Stormbreaker – Broad-shouldered, with a mane of wild hair, his axe strapped across his back. He was said to command thunder itself on the battlefield.
Sir Cedric Galeheart – The youngest of the generals, clad in sleek armor of blue and silver. His spear was said to strike faster than the eye could follow.
Lord Magnus Crownsbane – The oldest, his beard white but his eyes still sharp. He wore dark armor, his greatsword resting easily at his side. Once, it was said, he had defeated ten knights alone.
Each radiated power and experience. Together, they were the steel spine of Valdoria.
The air grew heavy as Kael walked forward, flanked by Sir Alaric and Maverick perched upon his shoulder. His boots echoed on the marble. Every eye in the chamber watched him—the boy who had survived where a city had burned.
Kael dropped to one knee. "Your Majesty."
King Alden's voice rolled like distant thunder. "Kael Draven, son of Duke Lucien Draven. You have endured much for one so young. Rise."
Kael obeyed, standing though his hands trembled slightly.
The king's gaze studied him. "News of the attack has reached me. The loss of your mother is a tragedy I cannot ease. And yet, your father has not returned from his campaign. Do you know why?"
Kael shook his head. "No, Your Majesty. I only know… he should have been here. But he has not come."
The six generals exchanged brief glances. Lord Darius's dark eyes narrowed;
King Alden leaned forward slightly. "That is why I summoned you. There are whispers of enemies moving in the shadows, enemies even within our borders. What happened in your city may not have been mere banditry… but the strike of something far darker."
Kael's heart hammered. "Then… do you know who sent them? Who killed my mother?"
The king's expression hardened. "That, we do not yet know. But what I can tell you, boy, is this: the fate of House Draven is not yet sealed. Your father may still live. And you… you must prepare yourself, for your family's name now rests on your shoulders."
The words sank into Kael's chest like heavy stones. Around him, the six generals watched closely, their expressions unreadable.
Maverick's tail flicked, his golden eyes never leaving the throne. Kael did not notice, but the cat's gaze was sharper than ever, as though testing the power that filled this hall.
The king's voice deepened. "Kael Draven. Will you bear this burden? Will you stand, even as the world seeks to break you?"
Kael's fists clenched. The memory of his mother's blood, the burning city, the masked knight—they all surged back. His voice shook, but his words were firm.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I will bear it. I will not break."
For a moment, silence ruled the hall. Then King Alden gave a single nod.
"So be it."