behind stone walls and gilded thrones. In the great kingdom of Kathelyn, known for its towering cathedrals and silver-lined streets, the royal palace stood proudly beneath the golden sun. Marble columns shimmered with light as birds circled the stained-glass windows of its high towers. Yet peace within those walls was as brittle as glass.
Inside the high chamber, Queen Elenora stood near the open balcony, eyes scanning the horizon as though searching for something that would not come.
"It's getting out of hand," she muttered, her tone cold but laced with worry.
King Hadrian, seated at a table beside a pile of parchment, sighed and responded without looking up, "There's nothing much we can do. It's not our country."
Before the tension could stretch further, a palace guard stepped into the chamber, his armor clinking with each step. He bowed deeply. "Your Majesties. The envoys from the Kingdom of Revincal have arrived. The orcs request the meeting you delayed... regarding the elves."
Hadrian exchanged a glance with Elenora. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Thank you. Have them wait in the southern room. We will join them shortly."
---
Hours passed. The palace corridors shifted from sunlit gold to dusky amber as the day aged. The southern chamber, an opulent hall of dark oak and velvet drapery, now held four powerful figures seated around a circular table. Goblets of deep crimson wine sat before them, catching the candlelight like blood.
King Hadrian and Queen Elenora of Kathelyn sat across from King Dravok and Queen Vorga of Revincal—the rulers of the Orcish Kingdom. Dravok was massive, even seated, his greenish-gray skin lined with the scars of battle, tusks curved but polished. Vorga, regal and sharp-eyed, wore bone-crafted jewelry and furs from beasts not seen in the south.
Dravok leaned back, his voice deep and nostalgic. "Do you remember the old days?"
Hadrian lifted his goblet, smirking. "Obviously. We grew like brothers, didn't we? War was harsh... but we were harsher."
A rumbling laugh erupted from the orc king. "That we were. Blood, steel, and fire. And now we sit in velvet and wine. Strange world."
Elenora rested her elbow on the table, swirling her drink lazily. "So what did the elves do this time?"
Queen Vorga scoffed. "Where to begin? They've started raiding small villages—some in our borderlands, some that may be yours. Not just raids. Precision strikes. No survivors."
Dravok growled. "And worse—spies. All over the damn world. They're watching every kingdom. Every border. They don't act like they're at war... but they don't act like they're at peace either."
Elenora narrowed her eyes. "We can't trust them. They're clever, strong, and secretive."
Hadrian sighed, setting his goblet down. "But we can't do anything. You know that. If we attack or accuse, we'll provoke war. And we're not ready for that."
Queen Vorga leaned forward, her tone sharp. "Then we ally. Us, you, and maybe the Dragonkin of Tal'Mare. The Ice Imps of Skorr. Together we'd be enough to scare the elves—even defeat them."
Hadrian frowned. "No. It's too dangerous. Spies don't mean war. They've always watched us. I won't risk my people."
As the orc king began to respond, Elenora suddenly gave a subtle glance toward the high window. Her gaze sharpened, pupils narrowing.
Without a word, she raised a hand. A burst of brilliant white light exploded across the chamber, stunning everyone for a heartbeat. A yelp,
In a flash, King Hadrian vanished from his seat. The spy—a cloaked figure—tried to flee down the corridor, but Hadrian intercepted him with blinding speed, pinning him to the wall. Guards poured in.
Hadrian returned moments later, dragging the unconscious spy by the collar. "Elven. Without a doubt. Trained too well. He nearly slipped past even me."
Dravok growled low in his throat. "They dare send one here. During a peace talk."
Elenora stood, eyes cold. "Now we have proof. But we still need to move smart. We'll interrogate him. Quietly."
Vorga nodded. "If we're to deal with them, it must be as a united front. Not with chaos."
Hadrian raised his glass again. "Then we begin preparations. For peace… or war."
Far to the north, Liora walked quietly through the serene marble halls of the palace in Herene, Morning light shone through colored glass, scattering rainbows across the polished floors. Servants bowed as she passed, though she barely noticed them.
She had always admired the quiet elegance of Herene—but today, something felt off.
As she turned a corner, a faint sound echoed from below.
A scream.
Her heart stopped for a beat. Screams weren't uncommon. Herene's dungeons were used often—for rebels, spies, and traitors. She had heard cries before, but this one...
It sounded like a child.
Like... Lif.
She froze in place. No, it couldn't be. Could it? Her mind played tricks sometimes.
She turned her head slightly toward the stairway leading down. Another scream. High-pitched. Desperate. Her grip tightened on her sleeve.
Was it him?
"It's just someone else. It has to be."
But even as she tried to walk away, the sound haunted her. Something in her gut told her that the world was shifting. That alliances, battles, and old hatreds were converging into something greater—and darker—than anyone had expected.
And somewhere, somehow, Lif might be caught right in the middle of it all.