The morning sun rose crimson over Zorenthia, casting long shadows across the marble courtyards. The air was thick with the scent of steel and sweat. Drums thundered in the distance as thousands of soldiers assembled before the palace gates — shields gleaming, banners fluttering like tongues of fire.
King Heidra stood upon the high balcony overlooking them, dressed in a robe of red and gold. A black crown rested upon his head — forged from volcanic stone, heavy with ancient symbols. His gaze swept over his army like a flame searching for fuel.
At his side stood Endro, his most loyal warlord. A scar ran down his cheek, earned in the Battle of Tharn, where he had once saved the king's life. Yet today, Endro's loyalty wavered. His heart was uneasy, and his eyes often drifted toward the eastern horizon — where the moon had yet to fade completely from the sky.
Heidra raised his hand, and the crowd fell silent.
> "Men of Zorenthia!" his voice boomed. "The gods have given us dominion over flame, over power, over destiny itself! But there are those who seek to steal that gift — witches who hide beneath silver light and call themselves guardians of the moon!"
The soldiers shouted, pounding their weapons against their shields.
> "We will march," Heidra continued, "beyond the Valley of Ashes, beyond the Mountains of Dust. We will seize the Orb of Eternity, and none shall deny the will of fire again!"
Cheers erupted. Yet among the thousands, not all voices joined. Some soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. They had heard the stories — of moons that spoke, and rivers that bled silver.
As the crowd dispersed, Endro approached the king. "My liege," he began carefully, "the omens grow darker each night. Perhaps we should wait, seek counsel from the priests before we advance."
Heidra's eyes blazed. "Counsel? From cowards who tremble at light?" He turned sharply. "The gods test us, Endro. They send fear to measure our strength. Shall we fail them now?"
Endro bowed low, but his heart ached. "No, my king. Never."
When the king departed, Endro remained behind, watching the soldiers march toward the stables. His gaze found Prince Adi, standing quietly beside Siegel. The two had been speaking in whispers since dawn.
He approached them, lowering his voice. "The king's mind burns too hot. You must not let him cross the valley."
Adi frowned. "He will not listen to reason."
Endro nodded grimly. "Then you must find another way." He handed Adi a sealed scroll. "This was written by Denku — the scholar. He believes the Orb's power is not what the king thinks it is. Guard it well."
Adi took the scroll, feeling the weight of the parchment as though it were fate itself. "What does it say?"
Endro's eyes darkened. "That the fire Heidra seeks to master does not belong to the gods… but to the abyss."
---
Later that evening, as the sun sank behind the dunes, Adi and Siegel retreated to the old library to read Denku's message. The room smelled of dust and forgotten wisdom. Moonlight spilled through broken windows, illuminating the ancient scrolls.
Adi unsealed the letter carefully. Inside, Denku's handwriting flowed in neat, deliberate strokes:
> To those who would understand the truth,
The Orb of Eternity is not a source of creation, but a gate — a bridge between worlds. The light within it is neither good nor evil; it reflects the heart of whoever commands it. When darkness holds it, it burns. When wisdom holds it, it heals. When greed holds it… it devours.
Beware the prophecy of balance. When fire rises without restraint, the moon shall call the tide — and the world will drown in silver.
Siegel's voice trembled. "Heidra… will destroy us all."
Adi's jaw tightened. "Unless we stop him."
They exchanged a look — the kind that carried both fear and resolve.
---
Meanwhile, deep within the Hall of Embers, the king prepared a ritual. The chamber was lit by a hundred torches, each burning blue — the sacred flame reserved for summoning.
Heidra knelt before a black stone altar. Around him, priests chanted in low, rhythmic tones. A golden bowl filled with burning oil sat before him, and in its reflection, he saw his own eyes — glowing faintly with something unearthly.
> "O flames of the ancient," he murmured, "grant me the power to consume the light of the moon. Let no silver shadow dim my fire."
The oil flared violently, and a voice answered — deep, distorted, hungry.
> "You call upon the forgotten flame… and the forgotten flame hears you."
Heidra gasped as the fire stretched upward like a serpent, wrapping around his hands. It did not burn him — it entered him. For a moment, the entire chamber dimmed, and the priests fell silent.
When the fire settled, Heidra rose slowly. His eyes now burned with an inner red glow, faint but constant. The power had answered.
---
Outside the palace, thunder rolled though the sky was clear. Siegel clutched Adi's arm as the earth trembled beneath them.
"The air… it's changing," she whispered.
Adi looked toward the horizon — the stars above were fading, one by one, as if swallowed by something unseen.
He turned to her. "We have to leave tonight. Find Denku. Warn the kingdoms beyond the valley."
Siegel hesitated. "And your father?"
Adi's face was hard. "My father is already gone."
---
At dawn, the army of Zorenthia began its march. Thousands of armored men and beasts moved like a river of bronze through the desert sands. Heidra rode at the front, his cloak trailing behind like a streak of fire.
Endro followed silently, his hand resting on his sword — not out of loyalty this time, but out of dread.
High above them, the moon lingered pale against the morning sky, refusing to fade. And from the mountains far ahead, Erdriel watched — her silver eyes calm but sorrowful.
> "He comes," she whispered again. "And the world burns not from hatred… but from hunger."
The wind carried her voice through the desert — unseen, unheard, yet powerful enough to stir even the flames.