The heavy doors of the royal palace slammed shut, their deep echo ringing through the open courtyard. Emperor Alaric marched down the marble steps with quick, measured strides. His black-and-gold cloak whipped wildly in the rising wind. Right beside him, Commander Darius matched his pace, heavy armor clinking in the dark.
The night air was crisp. It smelled faintly of coming rain. But beneath the calm sky, a heavy, unspoken panic pushed them forward.
Alaric didn't even look back as he spoke.
"Have our magisters identified the Terra King's exact species?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Darius answered, his tone strictly professional. "Based on the intense elemental aura and the bright crimson markings on the shell, they are absolutely certain. The egg belongs to a Flamore Lionous. It is a fire-elemental Terra King."
Alaric froze mid-step. His cloak swirled and settled around his boots. He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as the puzzle pieces finally clicked together. For a split second, pure dread flashed across the Emperor's face.
"So..." Alaric muttered to himself. "That is why."
Darius stopped beside him. "My Emperor?"
Alaric's voice dropped. It was low, grave, and laced with absolute bitterness.
"No wonder the Infris Empire moved so fast. Their royal bloodline is tied to the fire element. The pure power of the sun practically runs through their veins. If they hatch and tame a Flamore Lionous, the flames of their armies will surge past all mortal limits. Their military strength wouldn't just grow... it would become completely unstoppable."
The cold air between the two men suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
Alaric's jaw locked tight. "We cannot let this happen. That egg must never fall into the hands of Infris. If they get it, the entire balance of the Elyrain Continent will burn to ash."
Darius instantly dropped to one knee, his metal gauntlet smashing against the marble floor. "As you command, my Emperor. The egg will be ours."
For a long moment, the courtyard was dead silent. The wind carried the distant, eerie toll of a watchtower bell. It sounded like a warning.
Alaric's voice finally cut through the dark, cold as ice. "Ready the march. We move out before dawn."
The two men vanished into the heart of the military fortress. On the horizon, the storm of war was already brewing.
**Three Hours Earlier — The Ruins of Baron Vislisk's Estate**
Thick, black smoke drifted lazily into the night sky. The proud stronghold of Baron Vislisk was gone. In its place was a wasteland of blackened stone, jagged ruins, and scorched banners. The proud sigil of the Voltaire Empire was half-buried in bloody dirt.
The ground itself still glowed with hot, red embers. The sickening smell of ash and burnt flesh hung in the air.
Standing right in the center of the total devastation was a tall man. He wore a dark cloak of black and crimson. His hair, the color of dark, burnished gold, caught the flicker of the dying fires. His eyes were like molten lava—bright, glowing, and completely merciless. He stared at the destruction without a single shred of guilt.
The air around him literally shimmered with intense heat. The surrounding flames seemed to lean toward him, bowing to his presence.
Rows of heavily armed soldiers kneeled in the dirt behind him. Their heads were bowed low in absolute fear. Nobody dared to make a sound, until one soldier finally found the courage to step forward. He was trembling violently.
"Y-Your Majesty..." the soldier stammered. "We searched every single inch of the ruins. The egg... it is not here."
The cloaked man did not turn around. His glowing eyes stayed locked on the burning horizon. When he spoke, his voice was terrifyingly calm, yet sharp enough to cut bone.
"Then tell me," he whispered. "Where is it?"
The soldier swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his pale face. "According to our spies, the Voltaire dogs moved it. They transferred the egg to Earl Saer's keep, under the banner of Duke Viron."
A horrifying silence fell over the ruins. It was the kind of silence that made your skin crawl. Even the roaring fires nearby seemed to shrink back, terrified of the man standing in the ash.
Finally, the man spoke again. His words dripped with venom.
"So... the Voltaire dogs moved it quickly."
The terrified soldier barely lifted his head. "Your Majesty... what are your orders?"
A slow, incredibly cruel smile stretched across the man's face. The firelight caught his sharp features, making him look like a demon painted in gold and blood.
"We take it," he said simply. "At all costs."
The second the words left his mouth, a massive gust of hot wind exploded outward. The dying fires roared back to life, shooting high into the night sky, as if the world itself obeyed his anger.
This was Rayling Infris. He was the Supreme Emperor of the Infris Empire.
He was a sovereign whose fire was said to rival the sun itself. And very soon, his terrifying wrath would set the entire continent on fire.
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