At the peak of a jagged cliff, the Royal Palace of Aerndhal stood in arrogant defiance of sky and time. Its white towers pierced upward like frozen prayers, while below it sprawled the city of Eldora, encircled by massive, impenetrable walls.
Around it stretched fertile lands and rivers shimmering in tranquil brilliance—as if the world had never known that rot could grow most abundantly behind palace walls.
The crown prince of the kingdom was a stain no one wished to acknowledge.
Prince Arvyn Elric Ironblood. Prince Arvyn—or simply Arvyn, as he was commonly called—possessed a grotesquely obese body. His steps were heavy, his breath often ragged, as if his own flesh had become his greatest adversary. Physically frail, he was far removed from the ideal image of a prince sung in the ballads of the people. Yet his character was far worse than his physique. Arvyn was stubborn, cruel in both word and deed, and accustomed to indulging his desires without regard for consequence.
His days were consumed by endless feasts—tables laden with roasted meats, expensive wines flowing without restraint, and entertainments shared with sons and daughters of noble families. These distractions allowed him to forget that one day the crown would truly become his. The council's advice he dismissed as nothing more than tiresome chatter. The responsibilities of the kingdom were merely interruptions between his pleasures.
One day, driven by a boredom sharper than guilt, Arvyn wandered alone—without royal guards or attendants—toward the Royal Armory, a place he rarely visited and barely remembered existed. The stone hall was silent and cold, filled with ancient weapons that held stories of war and sacrifice.
Legendary swords hung in solemn order, cracked shields stood in mute vigil, as though staring at him in silent condemnation.
Arvyn's gaze halted upon a small object resting in the corner of the chamber.
A pendant bearing a pitch-black gemstone hung from a silver chain dulled by age. The gem did not shimmer like other precious stones—it devoured the surrounding light, as though it possessed a will of its own. A strange pulse emanated from it, felt even before Arvyn touched it.
With a dismissive smirk, he reached for the pendant. Yet his thick, careless fingers lost their grip. The pendant fell onto the stone floor, striking hard and bouncing—followed by a crack that echoed throughout the hall.
At once, the air grew heavy. The torch flames dimmed, and shadows crept wildly along the walls. From the fractured black gem, dark smoke began to seep out, accompanied by ancient whispers that made the floor tremble and the heart beat unnaturally fast.
The pendant was no mere ancient artifact.
It was a forbidden seal, a relic from a primordial age—a prison for the soul of the Black Dragon King, sovereign of fire and devastation, who once nearly reduced the world to ruin. A seal forged through immense sacrifice. A seal that should never have been touched by hands so careless and consumed by greed.
Now, through the negligence of a prince whose life was defined by indulgence and arrogance, the seal had begun to shatter.
And within the dark smoke pulsing like the breath of a living creature, something stirred—waiting for the perfect moment to claim its freedom, along with the destruction that would herald the awakening of the Black Dragon King.