King Rega IV swept through the grand archway of his palace, the familiar scent of polished marble and rich incense a stark contrast to the sterile, metallic air of the Aetherium Genesis Institute.
He offered a quick nod to a passing chambermaid, an unusual gesture that startled the poor woman, causing her to stumble and nearly drop her silver tray of refreshments.
Farther down the hall, a stable hand, meticulously polishing the lacquered door of the royal carriage, blinked in disbelief as the King offered a brief, but genuine, "Good morning."
Inside the throne room, bathed in the warm, morning light filtering through stained-glass windows depicting legendary heroes, Rega leaned against the newly claimed dais, a rare, thoughtful smile gracing his lips.
The artificial land spirit… it could truly work. The implications were staggering, promising an end to the costly, tiresome border wars that perpetually bled his coffers dry.
A flicker of his usual ruthlessness returned, sharpening his features. Kaden, however… that insolent cur. Disrespecting his rightful liege. A swift, decisive end was in order. Perhaps a public execution? Or something… more artistic. The possibilities danced in his mind, a morbid ballet of power and control.
"What is it?" Rega asked, his voice surprisingly light, as a nervous servant, his hands trembling, scurried into the throne room. "You've caught me in a remarkably good mood."
The servant's eyes darted nervously from the King to the ornate tapestries on the wall, as if seeking an escape route. "Your Majesty… I… I bring grave news." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "The… the Dryad. From the institute. She… she has been freed."
The smile vanished from Rega's face as quickly as it had appeared. In a movement so swift it was almost a blur, he crossed the distance between them, his hands gripping the servant's shoulders with unyielding force. "Can you repeat that for me?" he said, his voice dangerously low, a barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.
"We just received a message that a group... they broke in and freed the Dryad. Argh!" The servant cried out as a sharp, distinct sound of snapping bones echoed in the vast room. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his ruined shoulders and whimpering in agony.
King Rega took a deep, steadying breath, annoyed at his own brief lapse in control. He gestured dismissively to another servant hovering by the door. "See to it that he is taken to my personal healer. Immediately."
As the whimpering man was dragged away, Njiru entered the throne room, his face a grim mask. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice low. "The report from the Institute is confirmed. The culprits were seen fleeing with the dryad in the night. The Warden reported a powerful green aseweaver, and three others accompanying him."
"The green aseweaver… Leonotis, from the orphanage?" King Rega inquired, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he connected the dots from Njiru's previous reports.
"The description matches, Your Majesty," Njiru confirmed. "Young, orange hair, wields a stick and green magic."
King Rega paced before the throne, his earlier good mood now a bitter memory. "With every sighting, he is reported closer. He's heading here… to Ọ̀yọ́-Ìlú" A humorless smile touched his lips. "You think he'll be foolish enough to come for an audience with me?"
"Unlikely," Njiru replied, his expression unchanging. "It seems more probable he'd try to free his guardians. The ones you have in the dungeons. Gethii and Chinakah."
Rega laughed, a cold, dismissive sound that echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling. "The child, coming to stage a rescue from my dungeon? Absurd. He overestimates himself." He waved a hand dismissively, his mind already formulating a new, crueler strategy. "We'll let him come. We'll kill his friends and capture him. You never did find out what my father wanted with a green aseborn, but I'm sure the institute will find some use for a spare him." He paused, a new thought taking root, a dark spark igniting in his eyes. "I recall the institute mentioning another specimen… a spare Dryad… in some backwater village down south."
"Yes, Your Majesty. That was the one that escaped several months ago," Njiru confirmed. "The trail went cold."
King Rega stopped pacing and closed his eyes. In the sudden silence, the faint, high-pitched hum of his holstered twin pistols seemed to grow louder, an eager, hungry sound. He opened his eyes, a strange, predatory light in their depths. "You know what, Njiru? Forget the spare. We'll find some more of them." A wide, terrible smile spread across his face. "I've always wanted to see this Dark Forest with my own eyes."
The throne room felt too large, too empty. The echoes of his own cold laughter were unsatisfying. King Rega IV turned on his heel, his indigo robes swirling, and swept out of the chamber with Njiru trailing silently in his wake. The rage had passed, leaving behind the clean, sharp lines of purpose.
They walked through silent, sun-drenched corridors to a wing of the palace few ever saw: the King's Solarium. It was a masterpiece of controlled nature, a vast room walled entirely in reinforced glass. Inside, exotic, perfectly manicured plants from every corner of the kingdom grew in pristine, soil-filled beds. A warm, humid atmosphere was maintained by humming arcane regulators, and the scent was not of wild earth, but of clean, sterile blossoms. It was a forest without the chaos, nature without a will of its own.
In the center of the room stood a massive, circular table of polished stone. It was the Cartographer's Table, a fusion of magic and engineering that was one of Rega's proudest acquisitions.
"The Sky Citadel is to be mobilized," Rega stated, his voice calm and clear as he ran a hand over the table's cool surface. At his touch, the stone swirled with an inner light, and a shimmering, three-dimensional map of the entire kingdom bloomed into the air above it. "They are to establish a forward operating base at the edge of the northern territories near the Dark Forest. Full supply lines, established within the week."
"It will be done, Your Majesty," Njiru confirmed, his eyes fixed on the glowing map.
"Contact the Aetherium Genesis Institute," Rega continued, his fingers tracing the jagged, ill-defined border of the land marked the Dark Forest. "I require their top three field botanists and several containment units. The large-scale models. They will know what I mean."
Njiru hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Your Majesty, the Dark Forest is treacherous and uncharted. The legends speak of beasts that defy classification, of a flora that actively resists intrusion."
Rega looked up from the map, a thin, condescending smile on his lips. "Legends are merely stories we haven't yet disproven with superior firepower, Njiru. See to it."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Having set the grand machine of his will in motion, Rega turned from the table and walked toward a velvet-lined case on the far wall. He opened it, revealing his personal armaments. He ignored the ornate swords and jewel-encrusted daggers, his hands going instead to the matched set of pistols nestled in the center.
They were marvels of lethal art, their frames forged from polished gold and inlaid with silver. Glowing arcane capacitors hummed softly where the cylinders would be on a normal firearm, and the barrels were engraved with the same celestial patterns as his robes. He lifted one, its weight familiar and comforting in his hand. He checked the capacitor's charge, the indicator glowing a steady, vibrant blue.
"And the boy, Leonotis?" Njiru asked from behind him. "And his companions?"
Rega sighted down the barrel of the pistol at a perfect, blood-red orchid, imagining it was a far more significant target. "They'll be captured," he said dismissively. "A simple errand to be dealt with. Post the bounties in every major town. Double the city guard. If he is foolish enough to enter Ọ̀yọ́-Ìlú, he will be caught in the net."
He placed the first pistol back in its holster at his hip and picked up its twin, performing the same practiced check. He spun the humming capacitor, the mechanism moving with a soft, oily click that was the only sound in the humid room.
"Prepare my departure for after the Sunstone tournament," the King commanded, his voice holding the quiet, absolute certainty of a man who saw the world as a set of variables to be controlled. Then an idea dawned on him. "You know what, I have an idea that just might flush that green aseweaver out."