.....
The twilight sky seemed swallowed by darkness arriving sooner than usual. Thick black clouds drifted slowly to cover the last traces of light, like a burial shroud gently enfolding the world. Amid the shadows of ancient trees whose branches stretched like skeletal fingers, a figure moved in utter silence. It left no trace, made no sound, gliding like a cold breeze seeping through cracks in the walls; its sharp gaze remained fixed steadily upon the grand structure in the distance—the residence that now served as both fortress and cage for those who held the fate of the Kingdom of Roses.
Inside the meeting room, which smelled of dust and nearly spent candles, the air felt so heavy it seemed to press against every corner. King Erico, Eleonor Silvio, and Karrens Bluehost sat gathered around an old wooden table marked with the scratches of history. They had just discussed terrifying matters—facts that shook the foundations of their convictions, a blood‑stained past, and a threat now hanging over their heads like a sword suspended by a single thread.
King Erico stared at the map spread before him, his eyes weary yet smoldering with suppressed rage. He drew a long breath, then suddenly brought his palm down upon the table with all his strength.
CRACK.....!
The sound echoed sharply, shattering the stillness, making the windowpanes tremble faintly, and sending candle flames dancing wildly as if in terror.
Eleonor Silvio flinched, her fingers gripping the table's edge until her knuckles turned white. Her usually calm and resolute face was now pale, her eyes fixed upon the King with a mixture of deep worry and anxiety.
"Your Majesty..." her voice trembled softly, heavy and aching. "What burden do you carry alone that your anger strikes even this table? Has the news we have just heard—of darkness rising again, and of secrets buried with the past—weighed so heavily upon your soul that you can no longer bear it?"
Karrens Bluehost fell silent for a moment, bowing his head low, his gaze dark and filled with unanswered questions. He looked at the King's still‑shaking hand, then spoke in a tone that was cold yet thick with concern, as if reading a somber destiny written in the air.
"It is true... as though the world holds us in a cold, rigid embrace. All we know is merely the tip of an iceberg submerged in a sea of uncertainty. And every step we take... feels like treading along the edge of a bottomless chasm. Are we truly ready to welcome what draws near... or are we simply waiting for the moment we fall into it?"
King Erico sighed deeply, lifting his hand—reddened and still stinging from the blow. He stared at his own palm as if seeing his strength slowly eroded by time.
"For today... let us end here," he said quietly, his voice sounding fragile yet still striving for resolve, like an ancient tree enduring a storm. "It seems my head has begun to ache terribly, as if thousands of needles from the past are piercing my memories. Shadows that should have died... now return to haunt me, and names that should have vanished... whisper in my ears, demanding their place back. I am tired... tired of carrying burdens that do not fully belong to me."
Eleonor Silvio stood quickly, yet her movements felt slow and heavy, as if unseen chains bound her feet. She bowed respectfully, though her eyes shone with profound sorrow.
"I-if that is so... very well, Your Majesty," she replied gently but firmly. "We shall return to the Alliance Headquarters. Rest now, before the darkness within your mind consumes your own light. We shall guard this fortress, defend every inch of this land—even though we know... that fate cannot always be held back by walls of stone, no matter how strong."
Karrens Bluehost also rose, his robe sweeping softly with his motion. He looked at the King one last time with a sharp gaze that held a painful understanding.
"...Yes, very well, Your Majesty," he said coolly, yet a sorrowful note lingered beneath his words. "Rest. For when the sun sets completely... who knows how much longer we may enjoy quiet like this, before nightmares become reality right before our eyes."
The two turned slowly and stepped out of the room. The door closed softly behind them, leaving King Erico alone amidst the dimming candle shadows. Outside, the wind howled long and low, like the world weeping for what was yet to come. And far away, that shadowy figure stood motionless, gazing straight toward the window of the meeting room—as if waiting for the right moment to knock upon a door that had long been sealed shut.
The footsteps of the two slowly faded away at the end of the corridor, leaving behind a silence so thick and suffocating that it seemed to press against the very walls of the room. King Erico stood still for a moment, then slowly covered his face with his hands—the gesture heavy with exhaustion, as if he were holding back the collapse of his entire world upon his shoulders. His shoulders trembled faintly, and through the gaps between his fingers, tears began to soak his rough, weary skin.
His mind drifted far back, to the most beautiful yet most agonizing moments of his life. He saw his wife's face again—her soothing smile, the laughter that once seemed to melt away every burden, and the gaze that had always held nothing but boundless love. He remembered their very first meeting in the palace gardens, when roses bloomed in riotous color and the world felt so bright and full of promise. But that vision twisted instantly into a nightmare: blood soaking the stone floor, breath fading in his arms, and that final look in her eyes, holding words she would never get to speak, before those beautiful lids closed forever.
"Forgive me… forgive me, my love…" he sobbed softly, until his grief broke completely. His powerful frame hunched over in his royal chair, looking utterly fragile and helpless. "I have not kept my promise… I have not made this world as safe as the place we swore it would be…"
His weeping grew louder, echoing through the silent room like an endless lament. Yet before his tears could dry, the stillness was suddenly torn apart—by the sound of footsteps, slow, heavy, and unmistakably clear, coming from the dark corridor beyond.
Clack… clack… clack… clack… clack… clack…
The rhythm was perfect and unhurried, as if the walker knew with absolute certainty that no barrier could stop them. The steps drew closer, ever closer, until they halted right behind the meeting room door, which stood slightly ajar.
Then came a low, rasping chuckle, a sound that sent cold shivers down King Erico's spine and made his heart skip a beat.
"Well… well… well… Look who we find weeping upon his throne…" The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, while the figure remained hidden in deepest shadow behind the doorframe. "Is this what greatness looks like? Is this the face of the King of Kings who once struck fear across the continent?"
SWISH…!
King Erico flinched violently; cold sweat instantly drenched his back. Without hesitation, he drew his longsword from its sheath in a flash, the steel blade glinting faintly in the candlelight. His eyes locked fiercely onto the shadow at the doorway, blazing with wariness and rising fury, and he thrust the blade forward.
GRIP…! His fingers tightened so hard around the hilt that veins bulged along his arms.
CLANG…! The sharp scrape of steel cut through the air.
"Who… who are you?!" he roared, his voice shaking yet striving to sound menacing. "How could you possibly… how did you pierce the palace's magical barriers?! Speak, or face death at my hands this instant!"
The shadow shifted slowly, and the voice returned—now so close it felt like a whisper right against his ear.
"Easy now, Your Majesty. No need… to be so hasty…"
King Erico stumbled back a step, his breath catching in his throat. "What… what did you—"
He never finished. He realized then that the figure was already standing directly behind him. The movement had been so swift, so silent, that it was as if the darkness itself had simply reshaped itself into form.
"Hmm… why so pale?" the stranger murmured again, tone mocking yet icy enough to freeze the blood in his veins. "What can you possibly do to stop me? What is left of your power now? Just a sword? Just a title? Tell me… is this what you wanted to see after your wife died such a tragic, pitiful death?"
The words pierced his heart more deeply than any blade could. Slowly, the figure reached out—a hand cold as eternal frost—and touched the King's neck, stroking and circling his skin with a motion that felt gentle yet utterly terrifying, like someone caressing a toy they were about to crush.
"Do you truly believe you know everything?" the voice hissed. "Do you think her death was merely an accident, merely ill fortune that befell you? Or… have you begun to suspect there were invisible threads guiding the hand that killed her?"
"What… what are you talking about?" King Erico stammered, his whole body trembling with terror and a painful, desperate hope. "That truth… that secret was meant to be known only to me and Eilis! Who are you?! Do you know what really happened?!"
The figure laughed slowly, a sound like scraping metal grinding against stone.
"Ah… even that is not yet fully certain," it whispered, then slowly drew its hand away. "But tell me—will you be satisfied with only that much? Do you think knowing the truth will bring you peace?"
It stepped back, its shadow beginning to fade, yet its voice remained clear and threatening in his ears.
"Walk very carefully from now on, King Erico. Trust no one too quickly, and never take your own memories for granted. Remember this… Lord is waiting for you. He cannot wait to see how far you will go before you, too, fall into that same darkness…"
Laughter burst forth again, echoing through the chamber until the stone walls themselves seemed to tremble.
"Hehehehe… Watch your own shadow, Your Majesty. For sometimes… it is the shadow that swallows you whole."
Slowly the voice died away, and the presence vanished completely, as if it had never been there at all. Yet the air remained unnaturally cold, charged with dread, and leaving behind questions far more horrifying than any threat just spoken. King Erico stood frozen where he was; his sword slipped from his numb fingers and clattered loudly onto the floor. In that moment, he understood one terrible truth: his wife's death had not been the end of the tragedy. It had only been the beginning of a trap—crafted for him alone.
...
At the Rose Knights Headquarters
The office space, usually cluttered with reports and strategy maps, felt unbearably stiff. Eleonor Silvio and Karrens Bluehost sat facing one another across the long table, their gazes locked in a sharp duel as if they were clashing with sheer will alone. Not a single word passed between them, yet the air between them seemed to boil—their lips twitched now and then as if silently arguing back, but neither would speak first.
At the far end of the table, the current Head of the Knights, Aulon Bakers, watched them in turn with growing confusion. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and shook his head.
"Wait… why has the atmosphere turned so hostile? Someone needs to step in before this office becomes a battlefield too!"
Finally Aulon stood, cleared his throat loudly to get their attention, and stepped closer, looking from one to the other with narrowed curiosity.
"You two…" he began, half‑exasperated and half‑amused, tapping the table right between them. "This is always how you are whenever you're together! What exactly are you hiding from me, hmm?"
Eleonor Silvio let out a long sigh, then turned her gaze toward the window, hiding the flicker of doubt in her eyes. "It's not like that, Head. There are simply matters that are not yet fit to be spoken of carelessly. Not yet, at least."
Karrens Bluehost scoffed, crossing his arms and staring sharply back at her. "Or perhaps you're the one afraid to say what you truly think, Eleonor? Are you hesitating over what we've just learned?"
"Do not accuse me of hesitation when you're the one who looks ready to find an escape route," she shot back quickly, her voice rising. "We simply do not know how deep the pit we're stepping into really is. Would you leap in without first looking down?"
"And would you stand at the edge forever until the pit swallows us first?" Karrens countered, refusing to yield.
Aulon Bakers looked back and forth between them, his brow furrowing deeper. "Hmmm… it seems they really do need a lesson to stop bickering in circles like this," he thought. Veins at his temples bulged as he fought back frustration—until a crafty grin slowly spread across his face.
"Enough! Enough of this!" he cut in firmly, then smirked broadly. "Instead of sitting here glaring and silently sniping at each other, I have a special mission for the two of you! How does that sound?"
"A mission?" Eleonor and Karrens said in perfect unison, then glanced at each other suspiciously—convinced this was nothing but a trap set specifically for them.
Meanwhile, in King Erico's Palace
Back at the palace, the room lay wrapped in deep silence. King Erico sat before the towering stack of documents he had neglected for months. Candles burned brightly beside him, illuminating lines of neat handwriting—yet his fingers felt too heavy to lift his quill.
He drew a long breath, trying to focus on the words before him, but the shadow's voice kept echoing in his mind, repeating over and over like an inescapable echo.
"Is this what you wanted after your wife died such a tragic death…?"
"Do you think her death was merely misfortune…?"
"Lord is waiting for you…"
King Erico set his quill down slowly, pressing both palms flat against the desk and bowing his head in exhaustion.
"What did he mean…?" he murmured inwardly, his gaze drifting blankly to the stone floor. "For years I believed it was a terrible accident, an unprovoked attack that took her without reason. But those words… it was as if he knew something I have tried so hard to bury. Could it be true? Was there another hand guiding her death? Is this 'Lord' truly the mastermind behind it all? Or does this connect to the secrets we uncovered in Del Mundus? Has this ancient threat been moving against us all along, long before we ever suspected it?"
He lifted his head, staring at his own reflection in a small mirror in the corner. His face looked older, dark circles deepening beneath his eyes.
"A few months ago… there were reports from the northern border—shadow figures attacking patrols, marks of magic we had never seen before. I dismissed it as mere disturbance, leftover rogue spells running wild. But now… if all of that links to the being who stood right here in this room… then this danger has been far ahead of us for a very long time. And I… I may have let her killer walk free all these years."
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, overwhelmed by a storm of guilt, rage, and heart‑piercing fear. He looked again at the documents, yet the words blurred, as if the paper itself held truths he was not yet strong enough to read.
"I must know the truth," he resolved deep within his heart, though his voice was only a whisper. "I must learn who this 'Lord' truly is, and what binds him to every wound of our past. Even if that truth is more terrifying than the shadow that just threatened me."