Eiden's boots crunched softly against the emerald grass, the morning wind tugging at his cloak as he moved past the rhythmic quiet of sleeping towns and distant, fog-drenched farms. Behind him, the sun crested the horizon like a rising furnace, casting his long, lean shadow far across the plains. Hours bled into the trek until the horizon itself seemed to ignite—gold began to gleam.
The Golden Throne Kingdom.
It had expanded into a titan of stone and light since his last visit. Three colossal golden gates stood as sentinels at the front, their surfaces etched with celestial runes that shimmered like slow-moving molten sunlight. The white stone walls billowed outward in a vast, defensive arc, reinforced with shimmering layers of divine architecture. Beyond the fortifications lay a sprawling metropolis of marble and sun-drenched gold—wide avenues, lanterns drifting on the air like captive stars, and towering spires that culminated in a massive golden-and-white castle rising like a mountain of pure radiance.
A guard turned, his eyes snapping wide. "Mister… Eiden? We didn't expect you until tomorrow."
"I left early," Eiden replied, the leather strap of his gear shifting across his broad, powerful shoulder. "The sooner we end this, the better. Are the others inside? Prinston?"
"Yes, sir. In the war room. I'll take you to them immediately."
They crossed the threshold of the first golden gate, stepping into the kingdom's beating heart. Eiden walked past market stalls where enchanted relics hummed with trapped energy, fountains that sprayed crystalline arcs of blue light, and training yards where legions of golden-clad soldiers moved in a synchronized, lethal dance. Their armor caught the sun in blinding flashes, every movement sharp, disciplined, and heavy with intent.
Above them, winged knights in aerial patrols carved lines through the clouds. Children played in the shadow of the spires, swinging wooden swords and shouting the names of legends. Everywhere Eiden moved, the world seemed to tilt toward him—heads bowed, whispers rippled through the crowds, and eyes followed his towering frame with a mix of awe and trepidation.
The guard led him through a cathedral-like avenue of glowing golden trees, their leaves vibrating with a soft, melodic hum, before ascending a grand staircase carved from a single, gargantuan block of marble. At the peak stood the War Hall, guarded by two towering statues of ancient heroes whose stony gazes seemed to judge all who entered.
The heavy doors groaned open.
The air inside was a thick, intoxicating cocktail of aged parchment, cold steel, and the weight of history.
Gathered around a massive obsidian war table were Prinston, Tenadey, Zanme, Bevollo, Pokilo, Dartolio, Uzak'me—standing tall in his white plate and cloak, notably without a blade at his hip—Ou'weii, Hamphane, Ruby, Lily, Bengie, Laustr, and Mayble. They were a vision of military perfection, clad in white-and-gold plate armor beneath flowing yellow cloaks, their silver longswords gleaming at their waists.
Prinston's head snapped up. "Ha! Eiden!" he roared, lunging forward to pull him into a brief, crushing hug.
Bengie stepped up next, a wry smirk on his face. "I still hate that I was doing favors for a legend without knowing it. You'd better make that grimoire dance if we're going to win this."
Before Eiden could find his voice—
"EIDEN!"
Uzak'me and Ou'weii bellowed in unison, sandwiching him in a dual, bone-creaking embrace. When they finally released him, Uzak'me stepped back, eyeing Eiden's massive, heavy chest and sculpted physique.
"Did you get buffer? I swear your shoulders were narrower last time I saw you."
"I—"
"Alright, focus!" Prinston interrupted, his palms hitting the table with a loud crack. "To the map."
Eiden approached the obsidian surface, Uzak'me and Ou'weii flanking him like two pillars of iron. Prinston traced a finger over the shifting tactical displays.
"So, Eiden. Give it to us straight. Who in this room is actually strong enough to look Civilar in the eye?"
Eiden's gaze sharpened. He let his senses drift, feeling the pulse of every aura, the weight of every mana signature in the hall.
"The three black dragons, Prinston, Ou'weii, Uzak'me, Mayble, and Ruby," Eiden said. "The rest of you… your strength is needed here, guarding the heart of the kingdom."
Bevollo's brow furrowed. "You're calling us weak?"
"I'm calling this surgical," Eiden countered. "We need a specific frequency of power against Civilar. Based on the density of your auras and the scars of your experience, those I named are the ones who won't break when the pressure shifts."
Prinston leaned further over the map. "Then let's talk logistics. How do we take him down?"
Eiden's expression darkened.
"That's the real problem," he said. "Civilar won't hold back. Not for a second. Not against any of you. His double won't either. When you face that duplicate, it will attack with everything it has from the very first moment."
A cold silence swept the room.
Ruby's fingers tightened around her hilt. Mayble's jaw clenched. Ou'weii's aura flared like a storm. Uzak'me's eyes narrowed, remembering old horrors.
"And there's more," Eiden continued. "The duplicate will try to trick and toy with you. It will use illusions—perfect illusions. It will make you think you've won. It will make you think it's dead. It will make you think your allies are beside you when they aren't. It will mimic your voices, your footsteps, your aura signatures. It will even create false wounds on itself to lure you in."
Prinston's face hardened. "So it's a psychological battlefield."
"Exactly," Eiden said. "It will try to break your mind before it breaks your body. If you hesitate for even a heartbeat, it will kill you."
The room grew still.
Ruby nodded slowly. "Then we'll need to fight with our eyes closed and our instincts open."
Eiden shook his head. "No. I've already accounted for that."
He gestured toward their swords.
"I embedded an ability into your blades. When you wield them, none of Civilar's illusions will work on you. Not the double's tricks. Not the false victories. Not the fake allies. The blade will cut through every lie."
A wave of relief—mixed with renewed fear—passed through the room.
Prinston exhaled. "Alright then. Eiden, you don't need to be here for the fine details. We'll discuss formations, stealth roles, and blade assignments."
"I see. Then I'll leave you to it."
Eiden turned and exited the hall.
Outside, the kingdom felt surreal—too bright, too warm, too peaceful. He walked to a marble bench and sat, tilting his head back as the golden sunlight washed over his face. He closed his eyes.
A soft pulse of aura brushed against him—gentle, warm, familiar.
Agora.
Through the ring, he felt her presence materialize around him. He felt the phantom sensation of her arms wrapping around his torso, her head resting against his heavy chest. Not physically—just through the bond.
He exhaled a long, steady breath.
"Soon…" he whispered. "Soon I will achieve peace."