The room was carved from solid stone—dark, ancient, and cold, as if it had been built long before any kingdom claimed the land. The walls rose high and unbroken, lit by a few lanterns that burned with steady white flames, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor like skeletal fingers. At the center stood a heavy stone table, its surface a chaotic landscape of scrolls, sealed letters, and markers representing moving armies and shifting borders. Dust drifted lazily in the air, disturbed only when one of the five figures shifted.
Five men stood inside the chamber. Five kings.
Each wore a white cloak draped over polished white armor that gleamed like a mirror. At their waists hung white-bladed swords, identical in shape but each vibrating with a unique aura—the distinct mark of their dominion. They waited in a silence so heavy it felt physical.
King Nipolla stood near the table, arms crossed and eyes sharp. King Zanders leaned against the far wall, his expression unreadable beneath his hood. King Tcil remained perfectly upright, his gaze fixed on the scrolls as if analyzing every detail without touching a single one.
And then, there were the two whose names had remained unspoken until now.
King Daryon, the Northern Sovereign, was a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver-streaked hair and eyes like frozen steel. He leaned against the left wall, his presence heavy enough to make the lantern flames bend toward him as if drawn by his gravity. Across from him stood King Vareon, the Western Highblade. Younger than the others but no less imposing, he tapped a finger against the hilt of his white blade in a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
The room felt small with all of them inside—not because of its dimensions, but because of the weight of their combined authority.
Vareon finally leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling sharply. "What is taking that damn mage so long?"
"Not sure," Tcil answered, his voice calm but edged with the same impatience they all felt.
The wooden door creaked open, spilling a soft white glow into the room. Dyuke stepped inside, wearing a long white robe that looked slightly oversized. His blue aura flickered faintly, reacting to the concentrated power of the five rulers.
"Sorry for running late," Dyuke said, closing the door. "I wasn't sure if this robe looked nice on me, but we did agree to the attire." He walked to the table and, with a flick of his wrist, pulled out a letter glowing with a white aura. The seal shimmered with divine energy.
Vareon pushed off the wall. "You had us meet, dress in this attire, for what? Can you hurry it up?"
Dyuke ignored the bite in his tone and leaned over the table. "I called you all in because the Council of Gods has reached out to us."
The atmosphere tightened instantly.
"The day after the incident," Dyuke continued, "a vampire reported that the two great enemies had fallen. My mages retrieved the bodies of the Angel King and Yajin. We stored them with the others—Reia, her daughters, Uzak'me, and the Celestials. Then, last night, Larry the God delivered this letter to me in person."
Nipolla blinked. "Larry… the God?"
Dyuke sighed. "Yes. Larry. He handed it to me at midnight. I'd just gotten out of the bath. I'm still not sure how he got past my guards, but I suppose transforming into a cat makes him more discreet."
Zanders snorted under his breath as Dyuke tapped the glowing parchment and began to read:
"Dear Dyuke, leader of the Council of Mages, and the Five Powerful Kings,
We send this letter demanding the bodies of Uzak'me, Reia, her daughters, the Angel King, Yajin, their weapons, and the Celestials' bodies. This is a request made by the Council of Gods. We also ask you to reach out to the Seven Great Sages, as we have seven open positions for them in our council.
Additionally, find Eiden, the First Divinity, and Morvath, the Umbramage, and instruct them to head to the Land of Gods. We have a barrier no one can pass except the gods; give them specific instructions to meet at the west entrance. We request that this task be handled by the six of you, as you control the largest armies and scouting networks.
We suspect the Sages are recovering somewhere within the Unclaimed Lands. One of our members sent birds to search every village and kingdom—nothing. Please find them and deliver our word.
— The Council of Gods"
Vareon scoffed, his voice echoing off the stone. "What's the deal? Why are they so important?"
Nipolla stared at him as if he'd asked if the sun was real. "Are you seriously asking? Eiden defeated Yajin by himself. Morvath defeated the Angel King by himself."
"And," Daryon added, his armor whispering as he shifted, "Yajin possessed the Sword of Judgement. A blade even the Demon King and Civilar feared. Yajin was top of the food chain with that blade, but Eiden faced him alone… and survived." Daryon turned his gaze toward the mage. "Oh—reminds me. Dyuke, did you retrieve the blade?"
The room went still. Dyuke shook his head.
"The hell do you mean?!" Vareon shouted.
"I mean, we didn't find it at all," Dyuke said, his blue aura dimming. "We searched for hours. Every crater. Every trace of aura. It's vanished. We suspect the Sages may have taken it, or someone else reached the battlefield before we did. Let's pray it isn't someone with the mindset of Civilar or Yajin."
Before Dyuke could continue, the door slammed open. A young scout in a brown cloak far too large for him stumbled in, his hair a mess of ruffles.
"Uh—sorry, sirs," he stammered. "Sir Dyuke… I found the Sages. They're staying within Lord Zeth's castle. They're safe. I made sure myself."
Dyuke nodded. "Understood. Thank you."
The boy bowed awkwardly and scrambled out.
"I will be going," Dyuke said, adjusting his robe, "but I'll leave you with a warning. Be very careful. There is a cloaked man breaching dungeons and my research storages. He has taken everything related to the Three Gods and the Grimoire of Divinark."
"So why haven't you caught him?" Zanders asked.
Dyuke's jaw tightened. "Because this man is a Black Dragon. He flies off before anyone can reach him, and none of our mages can fly."
Vareon scoffed. "I thought mages had a flying spell. What's so difficult?"
The other four kings sighed in a long, exhausted unison. Daryon rubbed his forehead. "You are unbelievably clueless. That spell requires a century to master. One mistake, and you fall."
"Tch. Whose dumbass decided to create that spell anyway?" Vareon muttered.
"Watch your mouth," Nipolla snapped. "That spell was made by the Three Gods."
Dyuke departed, leaving the five rulers alone. Zanders finally broke the silence.
"Kings… while we're here, I must inform you: the seal on the Great Demon Jarfa is fading. I propose that in two days' time, we handle that beast once and for all."
"Why would you recommend an enemy even the Demon King finds a threat?" Vareon stepped forward. "Jarfa was his general, and even he feared him!"
"He's right," Nipolla agreed. "That demon is far more powerful than the Demon King. It is best we ask one of the Sages. Not all of them fought in the battle."
Zanders sighed. "Fine. I'll ask Dyuke to inform them. Oh—and one more thing." He paused at the doorway, his expression darkening. "The first Twelve-Tailed Wolf has run wild. It's been stealing food from homes. It keeps wandering through the lands… exploring, searching, or looking for something. Keep an eye on it."
He stepped out, and the door clicked shut. The kings were left in the cold silence, each realizing the world was shifting faster than any of them were prepared for.