Long before the weight of crowns bent their backs, before armies shouted their names with reverence and fear, four young men once stood side by side beneath the banners of the Transcendent Academy—a place where the most gifted of the entire world came to shape their destiny.
There, amid the roar of training fields and the whisper of ancient spirits, they had crossed blades, shared laughter, and tested their wills against one another.
Alaric Voltaire, whose golden lightning wove through the air faster than thought.
Rayling Infris, whose azure flames burned with a hunger fierce enough to devour even fire itself.
Ether Gaia, solid and unyielding, a mountain in human form.
Ivan Frost, the white devil whose blade carried winter's touch and whose smile hid a storm.
They were rivals, brothers, dreamers chasing glory beneath the same sky.
But time is cruel.
Dreams fade, hearts harden, and friendship yields to duty.
What once was camaraderie had turned to conflict; the boys who sparred under the same sun now ruled kingdoms divided by ambition and blood.
The same bond that once held them together now bound them to the coming war.
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Far from those distant memories, in the fortress city of Saelthorne, tension coiled in the air like a drawn bowstring.
Inside the war chamber, Earl Saer stood before a vast map spread across an oak table, its surface littered with carved markers representing armies on the march. The soft flicker of candlelight caught the lines of exhaustion on his face.
"They're moving faster than we anticipated," said Henry, his advisor—a man of silver hair and calm eyes, who had seen too many wars to fear the next. "Scouts confirm the Infris vanguard has already crossed the marshlands. If they maintain this pace, they'll reach Saelthorne before dusk."
Saer's fingers tightened around the table's edge, his jaw set.
"If the Azure Fiend claims the Terra King's Egg," he said, his voice low, steady, "then even His Majesty's golden lightning may not be enough to stop him. We cannot let that happen, Henry. Not while I still breathe."
Henry inclined his head, his tone measured but heavy.
"Then our path is clear. We must protect the people first. Have them evacuated to the mountain shelters before the flames arrive."
For a moment, Saer was silent. Then he gave a firm nod. "Sound the horns. No hesitation. Every man, woman, and child must be moved immediately."
He stepped toward the open balcony, where the crimson banners of House Saer fluttered weakly against a darkening sky. Below, soldiers gathered in tight ranks, their armor glinting like molten gold beneath the sinking sun.
Saer's voice carried across the courtyard, strong and resolute.
"Send word to every soldier in Saelthorne—sharpen your blades, brace the walls, and steel your hearts. We are the shield that holds the line until His Majesty arrives. The Empire of Voltaire will not fall—not here, not now!"
His words rolled through the air like thunder. Moments later, the deep blare of horns echoed across the city, signaling the evacuation. From every street, families moved in hurried lines toward the mountain passes, their faces lit by the dying light of the sun and the growing glow of distant fire.
The soldiers took their posts, their armor clattering like the heartbeat of the city itself. Saelthorne was preparing—not merely for a battle, but for survival.
And far above, carried on the cold winds of fate, the heavens seemed to whisper.
Once, four brothers had stood beneath the same sky.
Now, that same sky would witness their war.
The storm was coming.
And it carried both memory and fire.
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