The grand hall of Valoria was cold marble and gold, banners of the blazing sun draped from vaulted ceilings that seemed to stretch into the heavens themselves. Candles flickered in great silver chandeliers, but their glow felt dim tonight, as though even fire feared what had been awakened.
The chamber, so often a place of feasts, laughter, and the clamor of politics, was instead drowned in silence. Not joyous silence—fearful silence.
Dozens of knights knelt in rows before the dais, their armor clinking in uneasy rhythm, a sound that betrayed nerves even their discipline could not suppress. Behind them, cloaked mages leaned on staffs of crystal and iron, their lips muttering spells of stabilization as if the act of whispering magic kept their courage intact. The faint glow at the tips of their rods trembled.
One mage, pale and sweating, finally spoke, voice cracking like brittle glass.
"It was no natural quake," he muttered, clutching his robe tighter. "The Abyssal Behemoth… it roared."
The words spread through the hall like a curse. A ripple of unease surged across the armored ranks of knights. Some instinctively touched their weapons as though steel could protect them from the thought alone.
The youngest knight, a boy barely past his rites, whispered hoarsely, "But that monster hasn't moved in decades… why now?" His voice carried, trembling, and more than one soldier stiffened at his words.
The commander of the knights snapped his head toward him, eyes hard beneath his helm.
"Quiet. This is no tavern gossip. We speak only facts before the court."
The knight lowered his head instantly, shame burning his cheeks, though his hands would not stop trembling.
The mage shook his head, refusing to be silenced. His brow shone with sweat, his hands tightening on his staff as though he feared it would be ripped away.
"Fact enough is this: the roar shook the realm. From the demon border to the heart of Valoria, we all felt it. The creature stirs."
His words were final, undeniable, and they hung in the air like the toll of a bell.
✦ The Debate
"Then it must be the demons," one noble spat, rising from his chair so suddenly his goblet toppled. Red wine spilled across the polished marble, dripping like blood. His jeweled fingers tapped against the table with barely concealed fury. "Who else but those devils could awaken such a terror? They seek our destruction, and now they rattle the Behemoth's cage!"
Murmurs rippled across the chamber, the gathered nobles exchanging fearful glances.
Another noble—a thin, hawk-nosed man with silver embroidery stitched into his cloak—scoffed sharply. He leaned back in his chair, his voice cool and disdainful.
"Or perhaps the beast woke naturally. Monsters of that scale do not answer to kings or crowns, demon or human. Do you truly think the demons would be foolish enough to provoke it? Even they would not risk its wrath. Their realm is closer to it than ours. They would be devoured first."
"Then why now?" a lady in dark violet demanded, her voice trembling though she forced her spine straight. "The Behemoth has slumbered for decades. We built towns, roads, trade routes with the assumption it would never stir. Yet the earth itself shook. Why?"
The knights shifted uncomfortably in their armor, their gauntlets clinking as the unease of the nobles infected them too.
The commander of the knights rose from his place at the foot of the dais, his voice cutting like tempered steel.
"Speculation gains us nothing. My men report corrupted mana still lingering in the east. The land itself is tainted. Something powerful has been unleashed. Something unnatural."
He scanned the nobles, his gaze hard beneath his helm. "Whether it was accident or design does not matter. If the demons are behind it—if this was their doing—then Valoria cannot sit idle."
The words rang out, echoing across the vaulted hall.
A hush fell over the chamber.
The nobles looked away, some pale, some frowning, but none could deny the truth buried in his tone. Even the mages, who had been muttering among themselves, grew silent, their staffs dimming as though the light feared to shine.
They all knew what his words implied.
Not vigilance.
Not watchfulness.
War.
The very word lingered unsaid, but it was present in every set jaw, every clenched fist, every fearful glance exchanged in the chamber.
For to act against demons was not merely defense. It was declaration.
And everyone present knew once war began, it would not be easily ended.
✦ The King of Valoria
And then, from the shadowed dais at the far end of the hall, a calm voice broke the silence.
"…So. The beast stirred."
The words were quiet, almost lazy, but they rippled through the chamber like a blade across silk. Every knight, mage, and noble immediately dropped lower in their bows, foreheads nearly touching the cold marble floor. Even the torches seemed to dim, their flames bending faintly toward the dais as if compelled to listen.
From the throne, the King of Valoria—rose.
He moved without haste, his tall frame cloaked in a mantle of midnight blue stitched with veins of gold thread. Jewels caught the faint torchlight, but no ornament could match the stillness in his gaze. His crown gleamed faintly, yet it was his eyes—steady, sharp, and unbearably calm—that bound the hall in silence. They carried the kind of weight that could burn empires to ash… yet chose, for now, not to.
The King descended the dais one step at a time. His boots echoed across the marble, each step measured and unhurried. To any other man, such pacing would have seemed idle, but for him, it was a reminder: he never needed to rush. If the king acted, the world would move with him.
Despite the unhurried approach, no one dared lift their gaze. Knights who had faced battlefields without trembling felt their armor grow heavy. Mages whose spells could crack mountains suddenly found themselves gripping their staffs tighter. Fear and respect braided into one unbreakable chain, and every soul present knew the truth: their king was adored by his people, but he was also feared by all who truly understood his strength.
When he finally spoke again, his voice carried effortlessly, not because it was loud, but because it didn't need to be.
"Send the scouts."
The words were quiet, almost casual, as though he were remarking on the weather. Yet they rolled across the chamber like thunder. "Not openly. The demons must not sense our intent. Let our knights move as merchants, as pilgrims, even as thieves if they must. I want answers. I want proof."
His tone was calm, but none mistook it for softness. It was the calm of a blade sheathed at one's throat.
One noble, pale and sweating, stammered, "Y-Your Majesty… if the Demon King is behind this—"
"Then we will know," the king interrupted, smoothly, effortlessly, as though brushing dust from his sleeve. His lips curved faintly, almost in amusement at the man's fear. "Ignorance is the greatest danger. A storm brews in the Demon Realm… and storms do not rise without cause."
His mantle swept behind him as he turned, the air itself shifting subtly with his presence. Those nearest him felt something unexplainable ripple through the chamber—a sense that standing too close to him was both a blessing and a curse. Yet no one dared breathe a word.
The King of Valoria had spoken. And when he chose to act, even the world itself listened.
✦ The Shadows Move
The knights slammed armored fists against their chests, voices echoing as one.
"By your will, sire!"
The chamber shook with the force of it, but the king remained perfectly still. He lingered before the great map of the continent etched deep into the marble floor, his mantle of midnight blue draping like shadow across gold-veined stone. His eyes traced the borders—human kingdoms gilded in bright sigils, and there, at the edge, the blackened sprawl that marked the Demon Realm.
Torchlight flickered along the walls, throwing his silhouette long across the map. In that moment, he seemed less like a king and more like something ancient wearing the guise of one. His calm voice broke the silence, almost conversational.
"Interesting…" he murmured, the word carrying more weight than a command. His lips curved faintly, as though the shifting of empires amused him. "Very interesting."
No one dared breathe until his hand flicked lazily, dismissing the air itself. "Move quickly. Quietly. And remember—should the demons falter…" His gaze lingered on the dark corner of the map. "…Valoria will be ready."
The court erupted in assent, nobles crying their loyalty, knights and mages thundering with vows. But the king lifted one hand—slow, almost bored—and the sound died instantly, crushed into silence like embers drowned in deep water.
When he spoke again, his tone was softer than a whisper, yet it carried to every corner of the chamber.
"Not a word of this leaves this hall."
The chill that followed was suffocating. Knights who had braved the blood-soaked fields of the frontier bowed lower. Mages who commanded storms and flames felt their throats tighten, daring not even to swallow. Nobles, their jeweled fingers trembling, folded deeper into obeisance. The silence wasn't simply commanded—it was absolute.
Erevos allowed it to stretch, unbroken, until the very walls seemed to bow beneath it. Then, with deliberate calm, he turned and strode back toward his throne. His mantle swept across the marble like midnight mist. His people adored him, yes—but in that moment, what filled the chamber wasn't love. It was awe. It was fear.
Because none truly knew what their king was. Only that when he willed, nations bent.
As the council dispersed in hushed, hurried movements, one truth remained, heavy as iron in the air:
The shadows of Valoria had begun to move.