The dawn light filtered through the high windows of the Celestial Palace, turning the marble floors into rivers of gold. Beneath the vast dome of the training courtyard, the air rang with the clash of steel, the hum of magic, and the shouts of determination.
From the balcony above, the Eternal Queen stood in silence, her blue and black robes flowing like waves of twilight. Her golden scales of balance floated at her side, slowly spinning, their faint light reflecting in her calm.
Below, the new hero fought with one of the kingdom's strongest knights—a veteran known as Sir Aldren, the commander of the First Order. Sparks leapt each time their blades met. The young man's movements were clumsy at first, but his reflexes were sharp, and his spirit burned fiercely beneath the surface.
The Queen watched them closely, her hands folded before her. Each strike, each dodge, each burst of courage told her more about this boy from another world.
Sir Aldren parried the boy's swing and countered with a quick strike to the side, disarming him. The sword clattered across the stone floor.
"You hesitate too much, hero," Aldren said, his voice stern but not unkind. "In battle, hesitation is death. You must strike as if your life—and the lives of all who follow you—depend on it."
The boy caught his breath, sweat running down his face. "I know," he said between gasps. "But it's harder than it looks!"
The Queen's lips curved faintly. "He learns quickly," she murmured.
Beside her, Captain Lyra—the commander of the palace guard—bowed slightly. "He does, Your Majesty. But his body is untrained for war. He'll need at least a month to reach battle readiness."
The Queen turned her gaze toward the horizon, where the faint shimmer of dark magic pulsed far beyond the mountains. "A month…" she repeated softly. "That may be all the time we have."
Lyra hesitated, glancing up at her. "Do you believe the Demon King will move soon?"
The Queen did not answer immediately. The wind stirred her veil as she watched the hero below resume training, determination lighting his once more.
"No," she said at last. "He will wait. He always waits. Each of his kind understands patience better than mortals. He will forge his army first… sharpen every blade, strengthen every spell. When his strike comes, it will be absolute."
Lyra frowned. "Then should we not strike first?"
The Queen lowered her gaze. "We do not rush into darkness blindly. That is the mistake of mortals—and the reason the cycle never ends."
For a long moment, only the sound of the courtyard filled the silence. The Queen's expression remained serene, but deep within her eyes, a shadow flickered—a memory of countless wars, countless heroes who fought and fell before her.
She turned from the balcony and began walking down the marble corridor, her golden ornaments chiming softly with each step. Lyra followed behind her, silent as a shadow.
When they reached the grand throne room, the light had shifted, casting long patterns through the stained-glass windows. The Queen ascended the steps to her throne—a towering seat of gold and blue crystal, glowing faintly with ancient magic. She sat gracefully, resting her hands on the armrests, and for a moment, she closed her eyes.
The world outside was quiet—too quiet.
The stillness was not peace. It was the sound of the storm gathering strength before it breaks.
"Send word to all captains," the Queen said suddenly, her voice calm but resonant, carrying across the chamber. "Training is to begin at dawn and end at dusk. No rest until every soldier stands ready."
Lyra bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."
"And the knights?"
"They already train, my Queen. Sir Aldren oversees the hero personally."
The Queen nodded. "Good. He will need both strength and discipline if he is to face what lies ahead."
She opened her eyes then—clear as the light of dawn, yet burdened with the weight of ages. "Tell the captains to train beside their men. The soldiers must see that even those who command them bleed for the same cause. Unity is our greatest weapon."
Lyra placed her hand over her heart. "Yes, my Queen."
As the captain departed to carry out her orders, the Queen leaned back against her throne. Her gaze drifted upward to the grand clock embedded in the dome above—the clock that had not stopped ticking for six thousand years. Each swing of its pendulum marked another heartbeat of eternity.
A faint whisper of magic filled the air, and a spectral image appeared before her—a projection from her seers stationed at the border. The vision showed only darkness: the Demon Realm, still dormant, its fires flickering low.
No movement yet.
The Queen's expression did not change, but her fingers tightened slightly on the armrest.
"You wait, Demon King," she murmured. "You forge your armies, as I forge mine. We both prepare for a war neither of us truly desires… yet both are bound to repeat."
For a moment, she thought she felt something—a distant pulse of power echoing across the world. A reminder that the Demon King, too, was watching her, waiting.
She rose once more, walking toward the great window behind her throne. The light of the setting sun bathed her figure in gold, and her reflection shimmered faintly in the glass—her face serene, her eyes endless.
"The cycle turns again," she whispered. "And once more, I play my part."
Outside, the bells began to toll across the capital as the soldiers assembled for their evening drills. The rhythmic clash of their training rose like a song—a song of resolve, of courage, of defiance against the darkness that loomed beyond the horizon.
The Eternal Queen stood in the fading light, silent as the statues that lined the hall, and waited for the world to tremble once more.