Rocky's suite overlooked the valley below, but even the gilded comfort of the palace could not ease the tension coiling in his chest. From this vantage, he could see everything—the formations of the Empire's army, the chaos of war, and most of all… Sylvia.
She stood at the front lines like a living beacon of steel and authority. Armor glinting under the sun, sword in hand, she commanded her soldiers with absolute precision. Each gesture, each shout of orders, carried weight; even the most battle-hardened troops obeyed without hesitation.
And then he saw it.
The Dark Knight Lucifer—a figure cloaked in shadows, feared by armies and whispered about in legends—was advancing toward Sylvia's forces, moving with terrifying grace. The soldiers hesitated, struck with fear, but Sylvia's voice cut through it all:
"Slay the Dark Knight Lucifer! Do not let him survive!"
The words hit Rocky like a thunderclap. The woman he loved was commanding the slaughter of a legendary figure. His heart twisted. Part of him ached to stop her, to warn her, to leap into the battlefield and take her hand. But he was trapped—celebrated as royalty, yet a prisoner of the Empire.
He leaned closer to the window, eyes narrowing. He could see the doubt flickering across her features, the tiny hesitation in her movements. She didn't want this… but duty, honor, or perhaps the pressure of the Empire's gaze forced her hand.
"Sylvia…" Rocky whispered, barely audible, his fist tightening against the window frame. "I can't… I can't just sit here."
The soldiers surged forward, clashing with Lucifer. Sparks flew, steel met steel, and dark magic pulsed through the battlefield. Rocky's stomach knotted. Every strike she gave, every order she shouted, risked her life—and yet she moved with grace, skill, and determination. She was formidable, unstoppable, and utterly mesmerizing.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe. He could summon a force capable of bending the battlefield, but acting recklessly could destroy Sylvia, or worse, force him into direct conflict with the Empire. His legendary powers, his Gravitational Force Dragon, were useless here… restrained by distance and circumstance.
And yet, watching her, he felt something stronger than magic or strategy: the ache of love, of longing, of wanting to protect her even when powerless.
He opened his eyes again. Sylvia's figure remained a beacon amidst chaos, sword raised, eyes fixed on the enemy. Rocky's jaw tightened. He knew the next moves would decide more than the battle—they would test their hearts, their loyalties, and their fates.
From the palace window, Rocky swore to himself: no matter the walls, the guards, or the Emperor's schemes, he would find a way to reach her. To stop the needless killing. To save both the Dark Knight Lucifer… and the woman he loved.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the valley. War raged below, but the true storm—the collision of love, loyalty, and power—was only beginning.