Shadowfell – Darksoul Palace – Inside Duke Sathiron Blackmirth's Chamber
Rain poured heavily, hammering against the tall windows as though reflecting the turmoil raging within the palace walls. In the duke's chamber, where black chandeliers hung from the ceiling casting the flicker of restless candlelight, Duke Sathiron Blackmirth stood before the window overlooking the town below.
His body was stiff, though exhaustion was etched deeply into his pale features. His silver eyes—once the embodiment of authority—still glimmered, but without their usual sharpness. They carried instead a simmering fury laced with profound fatigue. His black hair, streaked with grey, fell disheveled across his forehead, more unruly than usual, as though illness itself had begun to drain his strength.
His slender fingers, trembling ever so slightly, drummed violently against the wooden surface, while his gaze darted sharply across the room—skimming over the members of his family, who stood in tense silence, carefully avoiding his eyes, as though the storm brewing inside him might burst and consume them all.
At the far end of the table stood the countess, Silvia, his eldest daughter, dressed in a dark gown embroidered with silver threads. She kept her composure, her face calm though the air itself seemed heavy with dread. Beside her stood her younger brothers, Cyril and Thian, both watching their father warily, as if expecting him to explode at any moment.
Sathiron: "Am I a fool in your eyes, Silvia?!"
His words were low, yet charged with fury—like thunder before the storm.
She did not answer, standing motionless, her cold eyes fixed on him without the slightest waver.
Sathiron, his voice rough, but still weighted with command: "Weeks ago… weeks! You told me yourself that the one to be crowned king would be Lucas Nightover."
His words echoed through the chamber before his palm slammed down on the table with a violent crack, the sharp sound jolting everyone in place.
Sathiron, voice dripping with anger and despair: "I stood there, before all, ready to receive the king we had been expecting—only to be struck by betrayal when that wretch Blatir Vanhiem ascended the throne instead!!? Why do we sit here upon our land while that vermin, whose name I should not even utter before me, occupies the throne, surrounded by sycophants, as if he were born to it?!"
Thian, the youngest, glanced at his father with worried eyes but hesitated to speak, while Cyril, the more aggressive of the two, scoffed openly, arms crossed.
Cyril: "Perhaps we should've driven a dagger into his back before he ever reached the throne."
Slowly, Sathiron turned toward him, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint.
Sathiron: "You understand nothing, do you? That moment was their chance—to humiliate us."
He swung his gaze back to Silvia, as if to pour every ounce of his wrath upon her: "Do you know what Vanhiem did when I entered the royal hall? When I expected them to bow before me—me, Duke Sathiron Blackmirth?"
Silvia narrowed her eyes slightly, though she remained silent, watching her father as he struggled to contain his fury.
Sathiron, exhaling sharply as his gaze drifted aside: "That arrogant fool dared—before all present—to force me to kneel to his son. That boy who does not even bear a noble title… He declared him crown prince, plain and simple."
Cyril's eyes darkened with suppressed rage, while Sathiron clenched his fist so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Silvia, rarely one to show emotion, raised an eyebrow and spoke with chilling calm, her voice laced with a deadly stillness.
Silvia: "So… you are angry because he outplayed you politically?"
A heavy silence fell. Cyril arched an eyebrow at her remark, while Thian snapped his head toward her, incredulous that she had dared to say such a thing.
The duke, however, simply stared at her, his breathing uneven, before he slowly reached for the wine glass before him. His grip was so fierce that the glass began to crack in his hand.
Sathiron: "Clever daughter… yet still a fool."
He finally spat the words before hurling the glass violently against the wall, shattering it into glittering shards. His voice followed, low and feral, like a growl:
Sathiron: "This is no mere political maneuver, Silvia. This is humiliation!! He wanted us broken—mere pawns in his new kingdom!"
He spun suddenly toward the map hanging on the wall, his eyes ablaze as he glared at it: "But I will not forget this… and I will not let him forget it either."
After a moment of silence, Sathiron spoke again, his tone quieter, yet dripping with suspicion: "Silvia…"
She lifted her chin slightly, bracing for what was to come.
For the first time since he began speaking, his voice carried a trace of hesitation: "I will ask you one last time… When you told me so—did you see it with your own eyes? Did you see King Irvin relinquish his crown and grant the throne to Lucas Nightover before you in council?"
The air itself seemed to still before Silvia replied, her voice unwavering, firm, without the slightest tremor of doubt.
Silvia: "Yes. I saw it with my own eyes."
A suffocating silence descended over the chamber. Her answer was resolute, unshaken, and Sathiron knew well she had not lied.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, resting his hand beneath his chin as though sinking into thought. His eyes no longer burned with fury but flickered instead with a strange unease—a tension he could not explain.
Sathiron, murmuring to himself, barely audible: "Then… something else stirs in the shadows."
The duke moved toward the window's edge, drawing his dark cloak around him in silence. His stern features tilted ever so slightly, marked by a grim resolve. He fixed his gaze upon the horizon, where heavy clouds blanketed the skies, their shadows washing over the distant lands, as if gently erasing the traces of an older world.
He stood there for a long while… eyes locked upon the unspoken.
Then, in a voice soft yet razor-sharp, he whispered:
Sathiron: "Because… in the shadows lies the truth no one sees."
And his silence that followed was no mere quiet. It was a silence born of wisdom—wisdom granted only to those who had once been betrayed by the light.
Silence returned, but none within the room felt reprieve. The storm had not ended… it was only about to begin.
Frostenov – Everwinter Palace – Inside the Chamber
Silence shrouded the castle in its biting frost. It was not a natural silence, but a heavy one that pressed against the walls, as if the place itself awaited something yet to come.
The daylight was cold… unbearably so. Beyond the glass windows, the sky resembled a black abyss without end, not a single star to pierce its darkness, as though the universe itself had dissolved into nothingness.
On the stone balcony of his chamber, Aqua Nightover stood still. His body was motionless, his gaze fixed on the far horizon, but within him… there was turmoil. He did not know the cause, but he could feel it.
Then—
A knock at the door.
It was not loud, yet it sliced through the silence like a blade striking the heart of stillness.
Aqua, his voice calm but sharp: "Enter."
The door creaked open slowly, and with it a gust of cold wind swept inside, making the lamplight tremble for a fleeting moment, as though it were breathing… or dying. It felt as if something unseen had crossed the threshold.
The head servant, Ranold Nightover, stepped in. His movements were measured, his body unshaken by the cold… but by something else.
He bowed slightly, speaking in a low tone, as though the words themselves resisted being spoken: "My lord… there is a guest."
Aqua, his voice dropping with suspicion, as though something within his chest had tightened: "A guest? … At this hour?"
A moment of silence passed—long enough for him to sense the answer was far from ordinary.
He turned slowly, inhaling deeply before descending the stairs.
He did not know why… but with every step he took, the weight in his chest grew heavier.
Varlom – Novarth Palace – The Chamber of Duke Blatir Vanhiem
Here, silence lingered like a nightmare unfinished. Raymond Vanhiem pushed the door open slowly. A faint shaft of moonlight slipped through the shattered window, casting pale shadows across the ruins of the room that once belonged to his father. He did not know why he had returned here, but he felt something… something he could not yet grasp, chasing him like a distorted dream that refused to fade.
He walked slowly, each step echoing in the stillness, until he halted in the center of the chamber. It was as he had left it… destroyed, a mute witness to something untold. His eyes swept across the broken wooden shelves, searching as though for a ghost unseen.
Then, suddenly… he froze.
His heart pounded violently, as though some buried instinct had seized the truth before his mind could catch it. He stared at the upper shelf. His eyes widened at the sight of a faint mark… a smear of dried blood.
It was small, barely visible. But here, in this exact spot… the air in the chamber grew suddenly heavy.
Raymond: "Why is there blood here? This place… it's too high. If it were a blow to the head… then it must have…"
He raised his hand slowly, measuring the distance… the height… and it matched.
His breath quickened. He needed no further measure; his mind had already completed the picture. The height aligned perfectly with that of his mother, Sabrina.
He closed his eyes for a moment… and it was as if the room breathed around him, reweaving a scene no one had witnessed.
Raymond: "The wound… it wasn't a stab, it wasn't sharp… it was blunt. Her head struck this shelf."
A cold shiver crawled through his body.
Raymond, in his thoughts: "[A professional killer? No… killers don't leave a trace like this. Killers don't strike the head of their victim in such a way—not when killing is their purpose.]"
He lifted his gaze, memories flooding back, and the image of the burial returned in all its dreadful detail…
That moment… when Deon covered his mother's face.
At the time, Raymond had thought little of it, drowning in grief. But now… now, standing before the truth his mind had fought to deny, he remembered everything.
Raymond, thinking: "[And Deon was nervous. When I asked him the cause of death… he hesitated. He couldn't say a single sentence without seeming to grope for the words.]"
His body went rigid, then he moved swiftly, as though his blood had turned colder than the stone walls around him. There was no more doubt, no more room for coincidence or illusion.
Deon… was hiding something.
Something dreadful.
Something… unforgivable.
"There is something concealed… and they know what it is."
Frostenov – Everwinter Palace – Reception Hall
Aqua's footsteps echoed along the grand staircase, each one laden with an unfamiliar weight, as though the ancient walls of the corridor watched him in frozen silence, breathing dread with every step he took. The air was frigid, saturated with the scent of old wood and the marrow-deep chill—but it was not the cold that burdened his heart. It was something else, something strange clinging to his chest, aching with every beat.
When he reached the midpoint of the staircase, the guest turned slowly—as if the motion itself were an effort—and revealed his face.
Marquees Leon Cypher.
His eyes were lifeless, frozen like a statue carved from glacial stone, without color, without light, as though they opened onto worlds devoid of soul. Aqua stood before him, brows knit with suspicion and unease, the beating of his heart whispering warnings before he spoke in a voice calm, yet brittle as ice:
Aqua: "Welcome, Lord Cypher… How may I be of service to you?"
Leon's voice was low, but hesitant, laden with some hidden weight, each syllable heavy upon his tongue.
Leon: "I have… something to discuss with you, but… could we speak in a place more… private?"
Aqua raised his eyebrows sharply, as if his patience were finally slipping. "Speak your mind, Marquees Cypher… I am not available today."
Leon hesitated for a moment, as if the words had suddenly fled his mind. The corners of his lips trembled, but he finally spoke in a low, almost whispering voice.
Leon: "Ah… are you sure?"
Aqua turned his gaze away, feeling anger creeping slowly through him, breaking the silence of the hall. Marquees s Cypher, if you have nothing to say, I will leave now."
Then, suddenly, Leon grasped Aqua's wrist. His grip was cold, yet charged with an unspoken determination.
Leon: "Wait!"
His voice trembled as though he were gathering scattered strength. He let out a heavy sigh, as if momentarily carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He turned toward the guards stationed behind him, their posture rigid, every line of their faces radiating complete readiness. With a single word, he commanded: "Bring him in."
The guards moved with precision, almost mechanical. The large door creaked open slowly, and a cold wind swept through, heralding the arrival of something unfamiliar. Behind the door appeared four men, clad in dark black armor, arms tense, carrying something covered by a white cloth, silent as ghosts.
And when the cover was pulled back…
A shroud.
The air seemed to freeze. Aqua's steps halted; his heart stopped for a moment. His awareness centered entirely on that single instant, where dread choked his breath. The white cloth was more than mere fabric… it was a window into another reality, into the silence of death looming in the room, shrouding everything around it, heavy with the scent of the end, of the unbelievable.
Time itself seemed frozen, as if the entire universe held its breath, watching what would happen next…
Aqua's eyes widened in shock, as though his vision betrayed him, as if the air around him had solidified. He could barely breathe. He didn't move; all he did was stare. They placed the shroud in front of him slowly… their calm was deadly, as if they were not delivering a body, but laying an eternal curse upon the ground.
Aqua: "…What is this?!"
The words escaped with difficulty, as though his vocal cords resisted. But the silence was heavier than any answer.
Leon did not reply immediately. He stood still, staring at the floor as if searching for words that did not exist. His lips were tight, his hands hidden within his cloak, as if trying to conceal a hidden guilt.
Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to Aqua.
In his eyes was a story more horrifying than any words could convey.
Leon: "I offer you my condolences."
The phrase echoed in Aqua's mind, shattering something within him that he was not prepared to lose.
His mind refused to accept it.
His eyes gradually widened, blinking unconsciously, as if his eyelids were trying to close the scene, as if they refused to believe what lay before him.
Aqua: "No… this can't be…"
With heavy steps, he approached the shroud. The air felt thick, as though the entire world pressed down upon his shoulders. He bent slowly, extending his trembling hand to touch the white cloth. His fingers barely grazed the fabric, yet terror coursed through his veins as if death itself lurked beneath.
Then he pulled the covering away.
One look. Just one… was enough to make the entire world collapse upon him.
His father's face.
But it was not exactly him… it was a mutilated face, a deep wound creating a wide gap across his head, slicing through his neck. The blood had dried, yet it never left his features. The skin had lost its color, and the eyes—those once-powerful eyes—were now empty, lifeless.
Aqua: "No…!!!"
He fell to his knees as if his soul had shattered into pieces. His trembling hands moved unconsciously, touching his father's cold face as though trying to bring him back to life.
Aqua: "No… no…no.. no.. no!! this can't be real… it can't be real!!!"
He screamed, his voice broken and raw. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the dried blood, as if trying to wash away the marks of death.
But death cannot be washed away.
In a moment of madness, Aqua began banging his head against the ground.
One.
Two.
Three… four… five… six… seven times.
Blood began to flow from his forehead, running down his cheeks, mingling with his tears. Yet he felt nothing. He felt nothing but the terrifying void swallowing him whole.
Aqua: "Wake… wake up, father… don't do this to me!!"
It was a funeral without farewell. The body remained silent before him. Cold. Dead. Like a stone set down, as if it had never been a living man. He held it, embraced it, scolded it, smiled at it.
Time no longer moved—or perhaps it did, but Aqua could no longer perceive it.
Then something happened… or perhaps nothing happened at all.
All he felt was the collapse of something inside him. Invisible, yet heavier than a mountain, something that had sustained him his entire life, now shattered into ashes.
A strangled scream erupted from his chest before reaching his lips. Then suddenly, as if someone had broken his chains, he threw himself upon the body, with all the strength he had left, all the hope he still carried, all the denial he clung to.
His father's body was cold. Yet he could not believe it, refused to believe it.
Aqua: "I'm sorry… I'm sorry! I'll listen to everything you want to say… please… please, don't leave me an orphan!…"
But death did not listen. It did not answer. It only tightened its grip on the body before him, as if declaring its final victory.
In that moment, Aqua realized…
Death is not merely the absence of life. It is the absence of the voice you were used to hearing. The absence of the hand that touched your shoulder. The absence of the presence that supported you whenever you stumbled.
It is the void that swallows everything, leaving only a deadly silence behind.
Aqua remained on his knees, hunched over the lifeless body, his fingers tense upon the white shroud, as if death, were it to loosen its grip for even a moment, would take him entirely.
But he did not need to touch it to know the truth. He was gone.
Silence engulfed the hall. All that could be heard were Aqua's ragged, broken breaths, struggling between hopeless inhalation and exhalation, as if wrestling with something far greater than himself, seeking an escape.
Then… suddenly, a sharp sound pierced the silence, like a knife.
Aqua, voice trembling yet clear: "Who?"
It was not a question, but a death sentence waiting for a name.
Leon did not hesitate. His gaze did not waver. He made no effort to soften his words, as if no embellishment was needed for their cruelty.
Leon: "King Blatir Vanhiem."
For a moment, Aqua did not move. He didn't even blink. It was as if the name had not reached his ears. As if he had not heard.
But his body froze. His breath halted. His eyes remained fixed on the void until he turned to face him.
His face was empty… but his eyes?
They were cold hellfires, a sea of rage and madness, a mixture of fear and loss, a desperate attempt to comprehend something his mind refused to accept.
In that moment, Aqua was no longer human. He had become a storm. A sharpened blade for slaughter. Destruction embodied in the shape of a man.
But Leon did not give him time to process it. He continued with cold detachment, as if every word drove a deeper dagger into Aqua's chest.
Leon, in a calm voice: "Your father was supposed to be crowned and become the King of Arcadia by the order of the late King Irvin…"
He took a slow breath, as if what he was about to say next was the worst. "But yesterday… he vanished suddenly."
He raised his eyes to meet Aqua's, with a gaze colder than death itself. "Then I found his body by the hall's doorway… covered in blood…"
Aqua's breath froze, as if refusing to hear. "And King Blatir Vanhiem…"
His legs felt as though they could no longer support him. "Embedded in his head."
Aqua's eyes widened until his pupils nearly vanished into the white: "I… I took it out… and brought it with me… before he sensed my presence."
In that moment, there was no difference between life and death for Aqua.
No difference between consciousness and madness. There was nothing left but a single desire…
A bloody, killing desire that nothing could stop.
Aqua, his face stripped of all human expression, reached out and pulled the shroud over his father's face. He did not want to see him like this. He did not want this image engraved in his memory.
Then he lifted him.
He carried him in his arms as if holding his entire world, standing slowly, the weight nearly crushing his soul before his body.
He breathed heavily, yet no sound escaped. No sobs, no broken breaths, no words.
Just deadly silence. Yet when he turned to the head servant, his eyes carried every unspoken word.
Aqua, in a low voice, sharp as a blade "Bring me a shovel."
The head servant did not argue. He did not question. He only bowed his head, closed his eyes for a moment, then disappeared from the room.
As for Aqua… he moved.
With slow steps, each one pressing upon his heart, he walked behind the palace. No goal. No plan. Only one desire: to bury his father with his own hands.
Finally, he found the right place. Solid ground, but not harder than the heart of a killer.
He laid the body on the earth and began to dig. Every strike of the shovel pierced the ground, yet it pierced his chest as well. Every handful thrown aside took a piece of his soul with it.
Leon Cypher stood at a distance, watching silently. He did not speak. His eyes followed Aqua as he buried the last remnants of his humanity beneath the dirt.
Then… for a fleeting moment, a cold smile appeared on Leon's lips. A smile that lasted no longer than a second. It vanished as quickly as if it had never existed.
And when Aqua finished… when the last mound of earth fell, when he cast one final glance, when he whispered words of farewell spoken first by his heart before his tongue…
He grasped the hilt of his sword.
He drew it slowly from its sheath, the metal screeching as it slid, as if it already knew it would soon taste blood.
Then, still staring at the grave, he whispered in a low voice, yet one carrying a storm igniting beneath the ashes:
Aqua: "Wait for me…"
Then he stood.
His eyes no longer held tears. They held fire. Then… he began to walk. Fast. Determined. Nothing could stop him. He did not walk like a man, but like a storm moving toward its target, like an unavoidable fate.
Leon: "Aqua!"
Leon called after him, as if testing him, as if he wanted to see… would he falter? Was there anything left of the old Aqua Nightover?
But Aqua did not stop.
He did not look back. He did not slow down.
Leon: "Can I help you? The palace is currently in temporary disarray, so there might be an opportunity for us."
But Aqua… continued forward. And in a voice that carried no trace of hesitation, only a deep roar rising from beneath the ashes, he whispered two words:
Aqua: "I'll handle it myself…"
And in that moment, Leon Cypher realized one thing.
Arcadia had breathed its last.
Dreamcrown – Three Days Later – Inside the Throne Hall
It was a foggy evening, the moon hidden behind a dense cloud, while winds howled through the palace's wide windows. Inside the hall, the lights were dim, yet a halo of authority filled the space. Silence dominated the room, broken only by faint whispers drifting from distant corners.
His footsteps echoed through the dark corridors of the palace, the heel of his fine shoe striking the air like a nostalgic reverberation from the past. Each step he took heightened the tension that filled his being. His feet finally reached the end of the long corridor, where lantern light scattered across the distant horizon, sneaking through the high windows.
At the great doors, he paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath to calm the anxiety gripping his heart, then pushed them open forcefully, causing them to swing slightly. The hall ahead seemed to conceal secrets in its shadowed corners. Yet what shocked him most was the unexpected gathering, a crowd larger than he had anticipated.
The watchful eyes were like hidden soldiers, staring intently—not just from the courtiers or nobles, but also from the kingdom's prominent figures and a few mysterious ones who were meant to remain in the shadows. From those eyes radiated tension and anticipation, as if everything in that moment depended on his presence here, now.
The atmosphere thickened, heavy and strange at once. All eyes were fixed on his entrance, but Raymond, despite the sudden jolt to his heart, held his courage. His steps were steady, though his body seemed to be holding its breath in a world full of questions. He felt something odd, as if time itself had stopped. The high ceiling scattered dancing candlelight, while the colors streaming from the tall windows made the hall appear like a rare painting, distorted by the shadows of past and present.
Tension charged the room, the dim candlelight reflecting off intricate mosaic decorations on the walls. Guest whispers merged with the heavy rhythm of Raymond's steps across the marble floor, while his heart pounded with questions and unease. His eyes scanned the hall, evaluating every movement, every expression, every whisper. And in that moment, he found himself staring at the king.
Though the hall was filled with nobles, his focus narrowed to one person: his father, King Blatir Vanhiem. Standing at the edge of the throne, he held a gleaming golden cup, sipping his wine with detached coldness, surrounded by a group of nobles exchanging polite words. His hands moved gently between cup and conversation, while every eye upon him carried a mixture of respect and fear.
Raymond stopped, staring at Blatir with eyes that revealed neither question nor refusal. His gaze remained fixed on his father's face, colliding with him as if the words and moments that had separated them had accumulated into that single instant. Everything seemed to slow down, and the guests' voices vanished from his mind; with every passing second, the weight on his heart grew heavier.
Then, suddenly, Blatir noticed him. A short silence fell, but it was laden with everything unsaid. They exchanged sharp glances, as if fate itself were deciding their destinies. After a moment of staring, Blatir moved. He raised his cup, then placed it slowly on the table beside him, smiling a cold smile that left no room for doubt.
Blatir, in a firm voice, addressing the crowd: "Ladies and Lords of the nobility… I present to you my firstborn. My heir. The protector of the kingdom… Raymond Vanhiem."
Silence swept through the hall once again. Blatir's words hit like bullets, heavy enough to create a rift in time. All eyes turned to Raymond, standing beside his father. Every gaze was fixed on him, as if everything had frozen in that moment.
Yet Raymond's eyes remained fixed on Blatir. He acknowledged the crowd with cold, unpolished gestures, his eyes still glued to his father. A strange feeling swept over him, as if the air in the hall had grown unbearably heavy, like walking on the edge of a cliff. Then he moved toward Blatir, whispering in a low voice filled with determination, carrying far less resentment than in the past.
Raymond, calmly, his hands steady: "I want to speak with you in private."
Blatir studied his son for a long moment, his eyes hiding something deeper than mere concern. Then he nodded, stepping away from the crowd and picking up another cup from the nearby table. He raised it slowly, then tapped it with a spoon until a sudden silence fell over the hall. The faint sound captured everyone's attention at that instant.
That simple gesture was like magic, turning everything into lethal stillness. All eyes were on King Blatir, and for that moment, it felt as though the entire hall had frozen.
Raymond's eyes widened silently as he felt his heart flutter violently. Everything around him seemed to sway, and his next steps felt like inevitable fate. There was a moment between him and Blatir—a moment in which his destiny would be decided.
In a calm voice, Blatir began speaking as he returned to his throne, his steps slow and deliberate, as if everything in the world moved at an impossibly slow pace for him.
Blatir, quietly, as he sat on the throne: "Come, my son. Stand here by my side."
There was no room for objection. No other choice. Raymond turned to the crowd, then followed his father to the throne, where Blatir gestured for him to stand beside him, as if the entire place had submitted to this silent encounter between father and son.
In that moment, when Raymond stood beside Blatir, the only sound filling the air was the wind howling through the windows, and the eternal silence surrounding them, as if everything was about to change in an instant.
In the throne hall, where the eyes of nobles and spectators were fixed on a single image, King Blatir Vanhiem stood, his rigid face showing nothing but authority and stern power. From behind his throne, he raised his voice to fill the hall, where every ear listened and every eye watched.
Blatir, in a calm and confident voice, with the dignity of ages past: "Esteemed gentlemen, and the great people of our kingdom, the people of Dreamcrown, today I speak to you not only as a king, but as a servant of this throne, as I always have been.
Yes, you may think the throne grants me power, but the truth is that power comes from you—from your loyalty, your devotion, from the will that drives you to share in the destiny of this ancient structure."
He fixed the crowd with a sharp gaze, then raised his hand in a simple gesture, preparing for deeper words. The echo of his voice carried with solemnity.
Blatir: "But… do not let this scene blind you to the truth. The times we have endured, the crises we have faced, were a test. A test of our loyalty, of our choices. And today, we face even harsher times. Times that demand we choose between loyalty and cowardice, between greatness and retreat."
He looked at the crowd for a moment, then continued in a quieter yet stronger voice, as if every word carried precision.
Blatir: "The people have chosen to give us this kingdom. They chose to raise this throne, but do not ask me about its costs. The cost of greatness is not measured in money, but in blood and tears. Greatness is neither bought nor gifted; it is earned. We have built this edifice with our own hands, but do not think anyone can remove us from our place. Just as the throne is our will, the power upon it is our will as well."
He smiled coldly and performed a calculated gesture, placing his hand over his chest.
Blatir: "Today, this day is not merely a celebration. It is a day in which we all acknowledge that we cannot retreat. History will remember us not for what we promised, but for what we have done. We, who bear the responsibility of the throne, will allow no force to shake this realm, no matter the cost."
The eyes of the crowd watched the king with both admiration and fear, fully aware that he was not merely speaking of politics, but of the very fate of the kingdom he ruled.
Blatir: "I tell you all, if anyone believes that this kingdom will collapse or falter, then he has never known Blatir Vanhiem. There will be no appeasement, and there will be no retreat. We will march forward, clinging to strength, with unyielding resolve, for this is the only path to secure our future. We rule, and we shall continue to inherit this rule, generation after generation. Forever."
His voice was resolute, as though his words had been carved into the very walls of the hall.
And in that moment, while silence engulfed the palace, a fear awaited outside that none had foreseen.
Outside the Royal Palace – Before the Inner Gate
In the courtyard of the palace, under the dim light of the moon, four guards stood like statues, keeping watch. The air was cold, and the weight that pressed upon the place felt unnatural, as though something dark was weaving its threads around them.
At the front, the first and second guards kept their eyes fixed on the narrow passage leading to the palace. Their breaths blended with the surrounding stillness. Then, suddenly, the first guard froze, sensing something strange—as if the shadows in the air had begun to move in an unfamiliar way.
He gestured toward the guard on his left, his eyes widening in astonishment. "Do you see that?" he whispered, his voice trembling as though he were trying to steady himself.
The second guard peered ahead, his eyes darting between the shadows, wondering for a fleeting moment if his mind was playing tricks on him. But there was something wrong with the air, as though everything around them had dissolved into darkness… except for that shadow, which was slowly beginning to take shape upon the steps.
A human face rose from the air, lifting itself gradually. The shadow was indistinct, its edges flickering as though something was devouring the light around it. He shut his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to believe it was nothing but a mirage. Yet when he opened them again, he found precisely what he had feared.
The second guard exhaled weakly, fumbling for an explanation. "What?… That's only Peter…"
But his words collapsed in the air, never to return.
And then, abruptly, his mind stopped working. His eyes widened with unrestrained terror, his breath caught in his chest. His mouth fell open in stunned silence, but no words emerged. For an instant, he thought of screaming, or moving… but he remained frozen in place, paralyzed by a dread that seeped into his veins.
As he stood in disbelief, the first guard noticed it too. His body began to tremble, a shiver crawling into his depths before it seemed that something within his mind snapped. The shadow was drawing closer, the entity climbing the steps in silence… its movements utterly inhuman, unnervingly unnatural.
And then, at that moment… he appeared before them. Aqua Nightover.
It was as though darkness itself had condensed into human form. He advanced steadily, each step striking them like a thunderclap, bearing with him something unbearable. In his hands, he carried a human head, blood cascading from it in torrents, every drop composing a dreadful symphony of terror and death. The blood splattered with each movement, as if the earth itself were drinking it in, leaving behind distorted traces.
The eyes of that severed head stared at them… hollow, shattered, brimming with torment, as though they could still see but no longer comprehend. As though they had yet to realize they no longer belonged among the living. The head screamed in silence, swallowed by the abyss, its anguish overflowing like a legend that had drained the last drop of hope. The body had been wholly consumed by darkness, vanished as though it were a past erased into nothingness, leaving only this being carrying its remains.
And in that instant, time froze. Everything became an unbearable silence, as if existence itself awaited annihilation. Within that frozen moment, a tremor erupted deep inside them, and something in their minds began to fracture. Reality warped, turning into a twisted nightmare, as madness dissolved the boundaries between the real and the unreal…
While Aqua advanced, step by step, as though death itself were walking directly before them.