The hours slipped by swiftly, their passage unnoticed amid the quietude of the cemetery. But the stillness was abruptly shattered by a resounding voice that pierced the air, capturing the attention of all who stood among the tombstones.
"Behold, the arrival of the fourth prince!"
The proclamation reverberated, compelling every gaze to turn towards the source of the disturbance.
A figure emerged, advancing steadily on a horse that seemed to defy gravity, its hooves barely touching the ground.
The horse moved with an elegance that bordered on ethereal, and as it gracefully descended, a youth, no older than eighteen, dismounted. He emanated an undeniable air of nobility, his presence commanding respect and authority, effortlessly instilling a sense of inferiority in those around him.
All eyes were fixed upon the prince, clad in a resplendent robe of white adorned with golden stripes.
The majority of the onlookers bowed their heads in deference, acknowledging his regal stature.
"Prince Elyon, we have eagerly awaited your arrival," a group of adventurers hurriedly approached him as he stepped away from his mount.
Their faces were alight with broad smiles as they approached him, the women amongst them adjusting their clothing to reveal more than customary, their expressions quickly morphing into a seductive allure.
"We have arranged exclusive accommodations for you while we await the emergence of the dungeon," the middle-aged man, presumably the group's leader spoke.
But before the prince could respond, a towering figure stepped forward. The man was intimidating, his face a mishmash of scars that spoke of numerous battles and hardships. His thick beard did little to hide the stern look on his face.
"Watch your manners and step back," he commanded, his voice as gruff as the man himself.
His rebuke was a stern reminder of the respect due to the prince, reinforcing the hierarchy that their presence in the cemetery had momentarily blurred.
The stern voice was laced with a chilling promise of violence, an unspoken threat that left no room for misunderstanding.
If the middle-aged man dared to overstep his boundaries, he would face dire consequences.
Choking back fear, the man and his group of adventurers hastily retracted their steps.
Their heads bowed low, they opted to ignore the mocking and disdainful expressions of the onlookers, retreating under the weight of their humiliation.
"Prince, if you would follow," the burly, scarred man gestured, his tone respectful.
Acknowledging with a nod, Prince Elyon straightened his posture, placing his hands behind his back before moving forward. His stride was measured, exuding an air of grace that contrasted sharply with his stern visage.
Every eye now followed his movements, the entire cemetery focused on him. Even the most hardened warriors watched with rapt attention as he made his way deeper into the hallowed grounds.
"A dark stage disciple mage at eight, a solid stage disciple at twelve, a master mage at fifteen," one voice whispered in awed tones, its owner's gaze fixed on Elyon. "Even amongst his royalty, the fourth prince is a prodigy."
"And not just any prodigy."
"Not only was he blessed with rapid advancement, but he also possesses an affinity for two elements: lightning and fire," another voice chimed in, adding to the growing chorus of murmurs.
As Elyon continued his silent procession, murmurs of speculation and admiration rippled through the crowd. "But that's just the tip of the iceberg from what I've heard from those in the palace," a voice added to the growing chorus of whispers.
"They say an elder passed through the kingdom on the day of his birth and took Elyon as his disciple."
Each whisper added to the growing legend of Prince Elyon, painting a picture of a youth of extraordinary talent and potential. And as he moved through the cemetery, his every action watched and analyzed, he bore the weight of their expectations with the grace and composure of a king.
In an instant, a mixture of reverence and fear washed over the faces of the cemetery's crowd.
Their eyes were riveted on Elyon and the speaker who had just divulged his storied past. One of them finally broke the silence with a quiet murmur.
"He is indeed an anomaly."
Meanwhile, tucked away in a secluded corner of the cemetery, Klaus was observing the spectacle, his gaze focused on Elyon.
"So, that's Keira's brother," he murmured quietly, his eyes unblinking as he studied the prince.
"Twin brother," Valeria corrected, clarifying the exact nature of their relationship.
Klaus merely nodded in acknowledgment.
Valeria stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the awestruck faces that were fixated on Elyon. "If you think their reactions are exaggerated, they're not," she said.
"Elyon is one of the most exceptional talents out there. And he has barely begun to tap into his potential." Valeria's gaze returned to the figure of the young prince, standing tall with his hands clasped behind his back, flanked by a phalanx of guards.
Klaus glanced between Valeria and Elyon, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "So, you're a fan then?" he ventured, a gentle shake of his head accompanying his words.
At his question, Valeria's expression instantly frosted over. She shot a glacial glare at Klaus, her voice laced with irritation. "No, I'm not," she snapped, her tone at odds with her usual composure.
"I just appreciate exceptional talent when I see it," she continued, her voice restoring its usual calm. "And he is exceptionally talented."
Klaus merely responded with an agreeable, "Alright," effectively putting an end to their exchange
Upon hearing Klaus's nonchalant agreement, a frown quickly marred Valeria's previously composed features. She seemed poised to object when the ground beneath them started to tremble.
Instinctively, Valeria grabbed Klaus's hand, her other hand clenched into a tight fist. Her eyes darted across their surroundings, a fierce battle readiness flashing across her face.
But as her gaze landed on the source of the disturbance, her face registered sheer shock.
"This... this can't be happening!" she blurted, her voice edged with disbelief.
Klaus followed the direction of Valeria's gaze, his eyebrows furrowing not in surprise but anticipation. His lips curled into a smile, a stark contrast to Valeria's alarm.
"Why are you smiling? This isn't a good sign," Valeria admonished, noting the inappropriate cheer on Klaus's face. "Usually, dungeons open a day after they've been detected, but there are exceptions."
"When a dungeon opens ahead of its presumed schedule, it signifies one thing. The dungeon is either of B-Rank or A-Rank," Valeria explained, her voice heavy with concern.
Fear gripped Valeria, distorting her features and mirroring itself on every face in the cemetery. Their gazes were locked onto the dungeon, bodies trembling, hearts hammering in their chests.
As if the terror wasn't enough, the dungeon gate swung shut with an ominous thud.
A whisper threaded through the crowd, a solitary word, "Oh no."
The dungeon had shown them a glimpse of hell, its gate opening to belch out an inferno before it slammed shut again. The crowd instinctively recoiled, taking several hurried steps back.
"What in God's name is this place!" A voice burst out from the crowd. "That flame could vaporize a solid core disciple level mage. I'd rather die than go in there."
He didn't waste a moment and made for the cemetery gate. But as soon as he stepped out, his legs gave out. He clutched at his chest, veins bulging in his forehead, his face turning a sickly shade of red. His heart stuttered a final beat, and he crumpled to the ground.
"Welcome to the Dragon Fortress," a voice echoed, cold as a winter's night, laden with the promise of death. "You have two options: ascend into the fortress or feed the earth."
The crowd turned, their eyes darting across the cemetery. Understanding dawned on their faces, sweat breaking out on their foreheads.
"We're done for!" Someone cried out.
Valeria, standing off to the side, took a shaky breath. "Stay calm, Klaus. Margaret must be trying to rescue us," she murmured.
Silence. No response. She turned, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest.
"Klaus?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
As she scanned the graveyard, her gaze landed on a lone figure making its way toward the dungeon. Her blood ran cold, and a wave of terror threatened to consume her.
"Klaus!" She screamed.