"Sound the alarms!"
Sirens wailed across the Kingdom of Atlas, their cries cutting through the air as soldiers rushed to their posts. Steel clashed and boots thundered against stone as ranks formed along the walls and streets. Ground units spread out across the city, taking defensive positions where they could.
Civilians were pushed toward the outskirts. Men, women, and children fled in organized lines, fear etched into their faces as guards ushered them away from the heart of the kingdom.
Arthur stood among the soldiers, tightening his grip around the hilt of his blade. He took a slow breath, steadying himself.
At the edge of the evacuation line, Madeline and Clide were moving with the crowd. Clide glanced over his shoulder, eyes searching the distance until he spotted his father among the ranks.
"Stay safe, Dad," Clide called out.
Arthur met his gaze and gave a single nod.
Far from the chaos, King Mondis lounged comfortably inside his carriage as it was carried through the sky by a massive black pegasus. Cushions surrounded him, his wife seated beside him, feeding him from a silver platter.
"The Sovereign, my ass," Mondis scoffed between bites. "Even if that pathetic kingdom falls, I'll still be so filthy rich I can just build another one."
He laughed loudly. "Isn't that right, my sweet Apate?"
"Of course, my love," Apate replied softly. "Now eat."
Mondis barely noticed as she slid a slender scalpel from her sleeve.
The blade flashed once.
Mondis froze, eyes wide, before slumping forward as blood soaked into his collar. He was dead before his body hit the seat.
Apate laughed quietly as she wiped the blade clean.
"Tiring," she muttered. "This mission took far too long."
She raised her hand and formed a glowing blue orb, its surface rippling as a connection opened.
"Well done, Aphillia," a voice echoed from within.
"Proceed with the capture."
Aphillia smiled.
She stepped out of the flying carriage and mounted the black pegasus with practiced ease. With one clean motion, she severed the ropes anchoring it to the carriage.
The pegasus surged forward, wings beating powerfully as it flew toward Atlas.
Behind her, the carriage tumbled from the sky, vanishing into the clouds below.
The hours that followed passed strangely heavy.
Atlas moved like a wounded animal preparing for impact.
Soldiers reinforced barricades and sharpened weapons until their hands bled. Archers tested bowstrings in silence their faces drawn and pale. Orders were given, repeated, and checked again, not because anyone doubted them, but because repetition kept panic at bay.
Above the city, the sky remained clear. Too clear.
That alone unsettled everyone.
Far beyond the walls, the refugee camp had been established in a wide clearing near the forest's edge. Hundreds of tents were erected in tight rows, cloth snapping in the cold wind. Fires burned constantly, smoke curling upward as families huddled together for warmth.
Clide sat beside one of those fires, knees pulled to his chest, staring into the flames.
Madeline sat close by, a thick cloak wrapped around both of them. She kept one arm around Clide's shoulders, rubbing slow circles into his back without thinking. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, toward the distant silhouette of Atlas.
Neither of them spoke much.
Around them, the camp buzzed with nervous energy. Parents whispered to one another, trying to reassure children who asked the same questions over and over.
"When can we go home?"
"Is Dad coming back?"
"Why is everyone scared?"
No one had good answers.
Clide listened to the crackle of firewood and the low murmur of voices. Every now and then, he caught fragments of conversation.
"They say it's a dragon."
"Diamond rank…"
"No one survives those."
Each word felt heavier than the last.
Clide clenched his fists.
He thought of Arthur.
He pictured his father standing among the soldiers, blade in hand, calm as ever. That image helped. A little. But it didn't stop the tight knot forming in his chest.
Madeline noticed.
"You're cold," she said softly.
"I'm fine," Clide replied, though his teeth were clenched.
She sighed and pulled him closer anyway. "You always say that."
The wind picked up, sweeping through the camp and carrying with it an unnatural chill. The fires flickered, flames bending as if something vast had shifted far away.
People noticed.
Heads turned. Conversations died.
Somewhere in the distance, a horn sounded from the direction of Atlas. Long. Low. Somber.
Clide swallowed hard.
Time dragged on after that.
Scouts rode past the camp at intervals, cloaks snapping behind them, faces grim. Each time one passed, people watched them go, searching for signs. Any sign.
The sky slowly began to change.
Clouds gathered where there had been none before, thick and layered, rolling in from the horizon like a wall. The light dimmed, turning the world gray and muted. Snow that had once fallen gently now came down in sharper flurries.
The air itself felt wrong.
Clide stood up without realizing it.
Madeline followed his gaze.
High above the distant mountains, something moved.
At first it was just a shadow. Vast. Slow. Almost blending into the clouds. But as it shifted, the clouds parted unnaturally around it, pulled aside as if by sheer presence alone.
A pressure settled over the camp.
Not physical, but deep. Ancient.
Children began to cry. Adults reached for weapons they knew would never be used.
Clide's heart pounded.
"That's it, isn't it?" he whispered.
Madeline didn't answer. She simply held his hand tighter.
Far away, in the direction of Atlas, the storm finally began to break.
And somewhere beneath those gathering clouds, the dragon was coming.
The sound of massive wind breaking through the clouds could be heard, each flap of its wings rolling across the sky like thunder. Its silhouette swallowed the light as it descended, vast and unreal, blotting out the pale winter sun. Snow and dirt were torn from the ground beneath its wingspan, hurled outward in violent spirals as the air itself seemed to scream in protest.
The dragon soared over the refugee camp, leaving a crushing rush of wind in its wake. Tents collapsed in on themselves. Fires were snuffed out in an instant. People were thrown to the ground as if struck by an invisible wave. Clide staggered, boots sliding across the frozen earth, and looked up just in time to see it pass overhead.
It was enormous. Its scales reflected the light like shattered steel, dark and jagged, each one layered over the next like armor. Heat poured off its body despite the winter air, warping the space around it.
A deafening roar followed, shaking Clide to his bones.
The dragon banked sharply, its wings cutting through the sky with terrifying precision. Its descent was steady. It angled toward the city's edge where the towering Atlas buildings rose above the lower structures.
The dragon slammed down onto one of the Atlas buildings with unstoppable force. Stone, metal, and glass exploded outward as the structure crumpled beneath its weight. Entire floors collapsed in seconds, folding in on themselves as if made of paper. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground , rocks erupted all around it.
The building fell with a loud crash, before the upper half tore free and crashed into the streets below. Dust and debris filled the air, blotting out everything in a choking gray cloud. The dragon stood amidst the ruin, wings half-spread, claws embedded deep into the shattered remains as if claiming the city as its own.
Its head rose slowly.
Eyes like molten gold scanned the land below, cold and calculating. Smoke curled from its jaws with every breath, the heat so intense that snow evaporated before it could touch the ground near it.
Civilians scrambled in every direction, some frozen in terror, others desperately trying to flee despite knowing there was nowhere left to run.
The dragon let out another roar, louder than before, and flames sparked between its teeth.
The soldiers readied their weapons. By the time this battle ended, the number of dead would be impossible to count, but they stood anyway. They fought for their families, for the lives waiting outside of Atlas.
A handful of Silver Rank paladins took their places among the lines, weaker than most here, but unwilling to turn away.
The leader of the battalion stepped forward.
Long hair swayed against his armor, and his sharp, refined eyes shone with quiet confidence as he raised his weapon. He was one of the few in the kingdom capable of wielding soul energy to perform soul arts, a discipline most humans never mastered. That skill had earned him the title of Captain, and later, his place among the Soul Warriors as a Gold Rank Paladin.
Many knew him by his title, the Golden Grace who stood in the face of injustice.
Very few knew his real name.
Eainhard Van Regulus.
"At ease, men," Regulus called.
His voice carried across the battlefield.
"Today, we face an injustice unlike any other. This beast was sent to erase what we spent our lives building. Our home. Our families. Our very existence."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the ranks.
"I know you are afraid. I know many of us will not return. But fear does not mean we surrender. We are the twelfth generation of the Regulus Battalion, the first line of defense for Atlas. We do not bow to the claws of tyranny. We do not tremble when monsters roar. We do not falter when death reaches out it's cold hands for us."
His grip tightened on his weapon.
"We are pillars of gold, holding the future upright. We fight for those we love. Our wives and children. Our brothers and sisters. Our mothers and fathers. We fight to the end so the next generation may live."
Regulus raised his weapon high.
"We are the Golden Grace in the face of injustice!"
The soldiers roared in response.
"Charge!"
The dragon's eyes burned with fury. It unleashed a roar that tore through the sky like shattering thunder as the soldiers rushed forward, shouting and screaming as they closed the distance.
Regulus sat tall on his horse, steadying his breath. He tightened his grip on his trident-headed spear, preparing to join the charge, when another rider pulled alongside him.
Regulus turned and froze.
"Arthur?" he said, stunned. "Old friend. It's been a long time."
Arthur smirked faintly. "Eainhard Van Regulus. Didn't think we'd meet again like this."
Regulus exhaled. "Arthur of the Silver Blade. I'm glad you're still standing."
Arthur glanced toward the battlefield. "I'd love to catch up, but now's not the time."
Regulus nodded. "Agreed."
Arthur hesitated. "So tell me honestly. What are our chances?"
Regulus did not look away from the dragon.
"Without catastrophic casualties," he said quietly, "0.12%."
Arthur went still. "…Oh shit."
"Not all hope is lost," Regulus continued. "I have a plan. If it succeeds, our odds improve by thirty five percent."
Arthur let out a slow breath. "Reggie, I'm trusting those eyes of yours. That's enough talking. Let's fight."
Regulus smiled once. "You're right. Let's go."
As the battle for Atlas erupted in fire and steel, something else stirred far from the walls.
The refugee camp lay in an uneasy calm.
Clide slept beside his mother inside their shelter, unaware of the bloodshed unfolding miles away. The silence was strange considering what was happening back at Atlas.
Above the tents, a woman stood atop a nearby structure, her face hidden beneath a veil. Her gaze never left the sleeping boy.
Aphillia.
The woman whose lies had no end.
She produced a glowing orb and spoke into it softly.
"I have eyes on the boy."
A voice answered from the other side.
[???]: "Good. Capture him and bring him to me. Alive."
Aphillia's eyes flicked toward Madeline.
"And the mother?"
There was a brief pause.
[???]: "…Her existence destabilizes the balance. You have my permission..."
[???]: "Kill her."