Calius found himself immersed in blood, his trembling fingers coated with the thick liquid that soaked his skin and garments. The once-vibrant hall was now a carnage field. Bodies lay piled in crimson pools, their faces frozen in terror or agony. The air was heavy with the metallic stench of blood and distant muffled screams.
Above, the sky—once hosting a pale moon—split like worn fabric. Ghostly fissures appeared among the stars, fragments of a cracked black mirror. From each opening emerged grotesque creatures, their deformed bodies defying logic, like nightmares given form.
He looked at his hand and realized he was holding something—a necklace, delicate yet dreadful. The jewel, a deep red threaded with black strands, gleamed unnaturally. Its shape reminded him of a Red Spider Lily, deadly and beautiful, its core resonating with the threat of a forbidden key. He squeezed it so hard that pain shot through his hand, as if releasing it was impossible.
At his feet, the vision hit him like an icy blade. There, lying in a pool of blood, was the decapitated head of Asher Greyfull. Even in death, her face sought answers. One eye was missing, and the other—still open—seemed to accuse Calius of something he couldn't grasp. His heart pounded, but his feet remained frozen.
In the distance, he saw Richard, his brother, leading a chaotic band of pilgrims against the creatures. But Richard didn't command an army—he led a sacrifice. Men and women advanced in desperation, wielding rusty weapons and makeshift shields. The beasts—or were they demons?—dismembered them with ease, their bodies discarded like rag dolls.
Calius wanted to scream, but his voice failed him. He spun around, and what he saw behind him stole his breath.
Atop the steps, a river of blood flowed silently, as if gravity had no hold. At its summit sat a black throne casting an immense shadow. On it slumped a corpse clutching a shattered scepter, a grotesque chunk of sword protruding from its chest. The cracked, displaced crown lay precariously on its head.
It was Johann—his father, the glorious Emperor of Eldor.
…
The vision struck him like a punch. He staggered backward, mind swirling with horror and confusion. When he blinked, reality returned.
Voices came back, the music and laughter filled the air, but everything felt distant, as if that nightmare moment hadn't fully released him. Calius realized Elizabeth was watching him from the corner, but she said nothing. The dukes and the king exchanged furtive glances at his slight wavering, yet continued speaking as if nothing occurred.
Finally, he descended the final steps and stepped onto the main hall's floor. The music swelled around him; servants offered delicacies and wine. King Johann awaited him at the center, his paternal smile flawlessly rehearsed.
"Do not hesitate, Calius. From this day forth, you are a prince, worthy of Eldor's future." Johann's voice boomed, though something in it felt false to Calius.
"I accept, my king." He responded with a slight bow—a gesture he loathed.
His uncle Alexander Rucandel quickly intervened with a casual smile.
"Funny to think I saw you as that brat, and seeing you now… curious. Maybe I should take you to Athelney. We could polish your potential, make you more useful."
Calius forced out a strained smile.
"I appreciate the offer, uncle, but my responsibilities lie here—for now." He hesitated, pressing his fingers to his temples.
Whispers around him grew louder. He sensed probing glances—curiosity, judgement. But Calius was no longer in the hall. In his mind, blood still gushed, scream still echoed, vision still haunted him.
And Asher's face—with that single accusing eye—was seared into his soul.
…
Alexander's hands gripped his shoulders with urgent insistence. His face—half disfigured, half shrouded in devouring darkness—was marked by violence and time. The emptiness where one eye should be bored deep into Calius.
"Listen, Calius…" Alexander's voice trembled between urgency and weakness, like a flickering candle in wind. "When everything falls… when there is no ground… you will be the only one to raise humanity again. Only you."
His grip tightened one last time, then Alexander collapsed lifelessly, like a marionette without strings, nearly pulling Calius with him.
The impact jolted Calius back into the present, and he blinked, dazed.
…
Nearly falling backward, he felt a hand grasp his arm. Alexander was there again, alive, concern genuine, as if nothing had happened.
"You alright, boy?" his uncle asked, concern warm in his voice, while the emperor and queen had disappeared into another hall.
Calius hesitated, touching his shoulders, still feeling those hands.
"I… I'm fine. Just a dizziness. Nothing more. Maybe… I'm hungry."
He averted his gaze, refusing the persistence in Alexander's eyes.
"What was that? I shouldn't be hallucinating… not now, not here."
Alexander gave a short smile—half teasing, half comforting.
"Go eat something. Feed the body before your mind betrays you completely."
"Yes, of course."
He slipped past groups of aristocrats who openly ignored him. Each face a perfectly sculpted mask—cold, devoid of warmth. Among stifled laughter and clinking glasses, the "mad prince" moved like a ghost, more exposed than ever.
In the center of a larger circle, he spotted Richard, his elder brother. Hard to miss—tall, light brown hair, vivid red eyes he shared but never flaunted. Richard's presence dominated the room; every gesture drew attention, every word sounded like a decree.
Calius turned away, unwilling to cross paths. Memories of the visions weighed heavily, and he knew what Richard thought of him—the same as everyone.
"Mad."
As he drifted to the edge, visions returned. Brutal images stormed his mind—blood coating walls, claws and blades tearing flesh. He saw Richard fallen, red eyes dull, the crown of Eldor shattered beside him. On the throne, a figure shaded in terror watched—someone he could not yet recognize but whose very presence chilled him to the bone.
…
A woman bumped into him. The impact was minor physically, colossal emotionally. They fell together onto the cold marble floor. Fate seemed to have conspired in that collision—entwining them in an invisible, merciless web.
Calius blinked, speechless. His heart thundered.
"No, I'm not."
…
The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the soft tinkle of firelight dancing among scattered candles. The woman, black hair echoing moonless night, looked at him with compassion and worry. She wore a white robe, her delicate shoulders exposed, her gaze as deep as an endless well.
"You okay, Calli?" she asked, concern gentle yet unfamiliar, as though from another realm.
He looked at her—pain and a strange calm mingling, as if sinking into a memory abyss.
"I am…" His voice trembled. "Just… another vision… a painful one…"
She approached, each step a whisper of old times. Her fingers—cold as Russian winter—touched his shoulder with tenderness that nearly made him shatter.
"Relax…" She smiled, sorrow streaking its beauty—like all promises broken. "Know that I'll always be with you, even if the world ends. We'll stand together, always."
Calius closed his eyes, feeling her embrace wrap around his shattered soul.
"I know…" he replied, uncertainty heavy in his tone. "I just… feel so lost with all this…" He pressed his hand to his chest, as if trying to tear out his torment.
She tilted her head, familiarity in her sorrow-filled eyes.
"Just… sleep tonight with me." Her words were soft yet carried weight. Calius felt something shift—something mirrored in the chime of the necklace she wore.
The same necklace from his worst nightmares.
Pain returned in waves, but she held him tight, as if his last hope before being consumed by horror. There was something in her touch—a home he didn't want to leave, a bond he needed.
…
"You alright?" Calius extended his hand, helping her up with a mechanical gesture—responsibility like an inevitable promise.
She stood—the light revealed her identity. Maginot Vitra, daughter of the Duke of Oniowell—one of the most desired nobles. Her beauty was unforgettable. Though mute, a silent bond glowed between them, as if their souls were doomed to see the world's end together.
"I am…" Maginot offered a soft, forced smile as she composed herself. But Calius felt things had shifted—this meeting, unplanned, could be the turning point of his life.
The music swelled, overlapping murmurs and laughter around them. The dance, fleeting joy amongst nobility, meant nothing to him now. He had once sought Asher, but that now felt distant. He sensed—painfully clear—that his fate was tied to this woman, sealed away from noble promises and obligations.
"May I have this dance?" He extended his hand, shy, desperate. He didn't know what else to do. She was now his only anchor in chaos.
"Yes…" she accepted, shy yet something stirred in her eyes. They began to dance—uncertain steps at first, then fluid, as if drawing their fate together beyond human understanding.
They moved; the world blurred. Eyes followed, tables hushed. Their connection—a silent flame between them—spoke louder than the dance itself. But in the periphery, a blonde figure watched tears form in her eyes. The woman once promised to Calius, now witnessing her future unravel.
Memories—vivid, crushing—began to fade like dawn's mist. A blade sliced through his vision—Leonard's blade—cold, final, piercing the mind. And with that, darkness consumed him…and all promises vanished.