"What do you imply?" <1> The question hung in the air, thick with skepticism.
"I'm completely opposed to this... It's against all reason," <2> a dissenting voice interjected, dripping with resistance.
"But can we truly believe in the possibility of his survival after centuries? Even vampires don't live more than 400 years."<3> came the doubtful pondering.
"But what if some unforeseen anomaly arises?" <4> The concern was palpable, a shadow of apprehension cast over the conversation.
"That place might harbor treasures untold, perhaps an ancient relic of immense value," <5> speculated another, the allure of riches evident in his tone.
Within a lavishly adorned chamber, a group of men exchanged disbelief-laden words, their discourse underscored by the notion of an 'ancient relic.'
"However, we lack concrete evidence to validate our information." <1> The voice of caution rang out, challenging the decision.
"Are you casting doubt on your highness's judgment?" <6> The query dripped with a mix of inquiry and subtle reproach.
"No, that's not..." <1> The reply faltered, defence mingling with hesitation.
"I'm suggesting we dispatch some of our experts to investigate," <6> a counterproposal emerged, asserting a logical approach.
"Duke Valmir, do you lack compassion for our people?" <2> A challenge sparked in their eyes, a mutual glare heavy with disdain.
"Asmold, there's no need for you to trouble yourself with these matters. Given my destiny as the impending king of this realm, it falls upon me to carve the destinies of my subjects... And in regard to the source of this intelligence, I can personally vouch for its credibility."
The words flowed effortlessly from the lips of a young teenager, garbed in a robe that shimmered like white gold and crowned with a modest circlet. His posture exuded an air of authority, and his confident tone carried the assurance of someone well-versed in leadership.
"We are proceeding with this course of action, regardless of your concerns," he reiterated, his expression etched with clarity and unwavering determination to stand by his decision.
"Your Highness, I implore you to exercise caution. We mustn't dismiss the potential for a catastrophe akin to the Monster Stampede. It's beyond our capability to combat." The man's plea was accompanied by a gentle smile that thinly veiled his frustration with the reckless arrogance of the young ruler.
"Are you all in concurrence with my stance?" he rose from his chair, his gaze sweeping across the assembled individuals, each one bearing the weight of his scrutiny.
"Yes, we are in agreement," several voices echoed in affirmation, but...
"I still have reservations..."
"Asmold, are you daring to challenge my authority?" The young ruler's gaze turned frigid, a mixture of coldness and irritation etched on his features.
Without further complaints or objections, the young ruler abruptly exited the room, trailed closely by a contingent of guards dutifully attending to his excellency. His royal presence strode out of the chamber, and the guards swung open the grand golden gate of the conference hall.
Beyond that portal stood a figure enveloped in weighty armor, one clad in the resplendent sheen of silver. The breastplate, intricately designed and shimmering with an almost hypnotic allure, spoke of high command and authority.
Next to Stella, the Battle Mage High Commander, stood another figure, attired in a similar fashion. Clad in armor imbued with a masculine essence, this man's height slightly outreached that of the warrior woman beside him.
Despite her youthful appearance, which could hardly exceed twenty-four years, the man, Martin j Keith, bore the countenance of someone in his thirties, his long, silky black hair cascading and a trimmed beard framing his features. His armour held a regal, golden hue.
Both figures positioned themselves directly before the young teen ruler, whose stature now placed him as the shortest among the trio. A few moments of silent anticipation passed before they spoke. Then, finally, words broke the stillness.
"..." A pause, and then, "Your Highness, we have heard your summons." Their words were marked by a blend of respect and caution, carefully chosen so as not to irk the royal youthful brat, for the consequences of doing so were well known.
"Indeed..." responded His Highness, his gait swift, brimming with urgency and unwavering determination. Between the two figures, he walked, his every step decisive. Behind them, a retinue of guards moved in synchronized motion.
Stella and Keith followed suit, accompanied by a contingent of guards. Their procession led them into a chamber, where a luxurious bed stretched out, adorned with a white net curtain. Tiny specks of glitter adorned the fabric, mimicking a starry night sky.
"Your Highness," a figure in priestly attire greeted with a respectful bow of his head, before quietly receding from the scene. After all, who would dare to interrupt such a solemn moment? The room held a weighty atmosphere as a child, the heir to the throne, stood beside the bedside of his ailing father.
The man who lay there was none other than 'Guust van de Velden,' the very king of 'GREAT NATION KARS FORTIS.'
"Everyone, leave except Keith and Stella," a hurried order echoed through the room, and the occupants scattered, leaving only Keith and Stella standing steadfastly behind the young ruler. A moment pregnant with anticipation unfolded, as the child faced the bed, his gaze fixed upon the person hidden behind the delicate net veil.
"Father, it's me, Cortee," the child's voice carried a mixture of emotion, his words echoing softly in the chamber.
Slowly, His Majesty's eyes fluttered open, his gaze shifting to rest on his child. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of a father's gaze meeting his heir's.
"What is it, young Cort?" The man's voice, though shaky, held the gentle warmth of a parent.
"It's time," the words hung in the air, carrying a gravity that seemed to stretch beyond the room's confines.
"Time?" The king's inquiry held a thread of curiosity, a father seeking to understand his son's intent.
"I called them here." Cortee's response was unwavering, a declaration that held within it the weight of a decision made.
"....."
"Ravenwood..." Cortee's utterance held a depth of meaning.
"That's enough. There's no need for further words," the king's gaze softened, a weary smile playing on his lips. "Let me greet our warriors."
The room settled into a heavy stillness, the torchlight casting dancing shadows upon the walls as a moment of profound significance hung suspended in the air.
The two heavily armored warriors took deliberate steps, moving closer to the bed where His Majesty lay. A charged silence enveloped the room as their presence seemed to cast an air of solemnity.
"..." Their gazes locked onto the young child, an unspoken exchange laden with tension and gravity.
"Your Majesty," both warriors bowed respectfully and awaited His Majesty's words.
"You must be aware of the matters related to Master Aether?" His aged voice emerged from behind the veiled bedding, carrying an air of authority.
"We have some understanding of it," Stella replied on behalf of both of them.
"Hmm... You two must... no, as the King of this nation, I command you to charge into Ravenwoods toward Master Aether's sanctuary. Those unruly people must not be given the privilege to tarnish the Master's rest."
The command was spoken with a blend of determination and concern for the sanctity of the revered figure's resting place.
"No, let me rephrase. I beseech both of you to select the finest among our ranks and safeguard Master Aether's abode. He must not..." His voice trailed off, laced with desperation.
"Father!" Cortee interrupted, but upon feeling the weight of his Majesty's gaze from behind the veil, he quickly fell silent, lowering his head in deference.
"I shall bestow upon both of you territories as a reward. You both won't need to fend off monsters from the borders for the remainder of your lives."
"Your Majesty, it is an honour to serve you and the Nation of KARS FORTIS. Please do not concern yourself with humbling your warriors," Stella's feminine voice resonated, her words laced with respect.
"What? Really? Fuck yeah!" Keith's enthusiastic exclamation cut through, his excitement unfiltered.
A heavy silence lingered in the air, accompanied by a chilly gaze that Stella directed at Keith.
A sudden burst of laughter erupted from his majesty, his frail voice resonating unexpectedly.
Breaking the silence, Keith cleared his throat, speaking with a straightforward manner, "Well, it's not like we can die there. I guess it's a reasonable reward... Your Majesty."
The young child behind the veil couldn't hold his tongue, reprimanding Keith, "How dare you speak like that to his Highness?"
Keith's retort was swift, "Kid, you better watch your tone. Being a ruler isn't just about giving orders."
The child's scolding continued, met with Keith's unflinching response, "And it's not about taking them either."
Cortee scolded once more, "Such insolence."
"And it isn't just about wielding power recklessly; it's about navigating clever compromises," His Majesty's voice cut through the conversation with the grace befitting a king.
"For generations, we have learned and drawn lessons from Master Aether, even as the world forgot his heroic tales. The Guust family has never forgotten his favor. The very principles of magic owe their existence to his efforts," His Majesty's voice turned somber, his words laden with weight.
"Even now, I have visions of Master Aether, his teachings echoing," His Majesty continued, his voice carrying a touch of reverence.
"Our family has preserved memories of our ancestors' encounters with Master Aether for over six centuries, even beyond that incident," he concluded, the echo of the past reverberating in his words.
Keith's voice cut in with a bluntness, "Honestly, I don't give a damn about all that history."
Stella stepped in, her tone steady, "Keith..."
The king's voice resounded again, somewhat reminiscent, "Ah, the impetuousness of youth these days."
"Through the calculations and gifts passed down by our ancestors," the king continued, "you will find the maps and necessary equipment from Cortee. These will be vital for your expedition. You must..."
Unfazed, Keith took up the thread, "We'll procure the map and the necessary equipment from Cortee. This mission will be kept completely confidential."
"You must return successful," the king added.
"As you command, Your Highness," Stella acquiesced with a respectful bow.
As the two warriors exited the room, only the young teenage ruler and the aged king remained.
"Did I make the right decision?" Cortee's voice, tinged with heartbreak, pierced the silence.
"You made a splendid choice, Your Highness," a clear voice resonated from behind the veil.
"Please use my father's voice," Cortee softly requested.
"Of course, young Cortee. You did splendidly, my son," the voice behind the veiled bedding transformed once more, echoing the old and weary tone of 'Guust van de Velden'.
"Are you sure this will bring back my father, R▣▣e?" Silent tears fell on the carpeted floor as Cortee's knees buckled beneath him.
The figure hidden behind the veiled bedding hurried out, revealing a young man dressed in black suit and trousers. His eyes were deep hue of red, his finely chiseled face now visible beyond the net curtain, exuding a fraternal and comforting aura.
His demeanor radiated a blend of brotherly comfort and friendly charm.
A reassuring hand ruffled the young ruler's hair, the gesture like a calming touch of the ocean. The figure stepped closer, his presence enveloping Cortee like a protective shield.
"This will undoubtedly restore your father to life, Cortee. I, Robert Ruse, swear on my life," his voice resonated with unwavering conviction.