( 09/09/736 )
The king approached the towering walls of Kelvin, his beloved city, nestled against the rugged eastern borders. He passed through the gates and advanced toward the other grander outer walls of Lumin, a wave of anticipation rippled through the city. His return was like a spark in a dry field, igniting celebration and joy among the townsfolk who flocked to the streets. Laughter filled the air, and applause rang out as people gathered to witness their king's arrival, his mere presence infusing the kingdom with renewed hope and a sense of unity.
From his carriage, the king waved, his face adorned with a practiced smile. But beneath this facade, his mind was heavy with concern. He knew all too well that his kingdom was about to face a monumental battle—and that they would face it largely alone. The only allied forces at their disposal were 800 soldiers from the neighboring Pascal Kingdom, a modest reinforcement that, while appreciated, underscored how isolated Leotus had become.
Pascal's allegiance was a rare gem. Its king, a distant cousin to the king of Leotus, had a natural bond that transcended politics. Once united under a single banner, the Pascal and Leotus kingdoms had splintered during decades of upheaval. Yet, despite the separation, Pascal's loyalty had remained steadfast, a testament to blood ties and shared history. In his heart, the king felt gratitude for their aid, even if it was small—it was all they could rally on such short notice.
The Pascal Kingdom lay to the west of Leotus, a modest ally at roughly one-sixth of Leotus's size. Despite its smaller territory, Pascal was strategically situated, sharing borders with the Rubies Kingdom to the east, Cilialia to the south, and the enigmatic Miramonetes Kingdom tucked between Cilialia and Rubies. Yet, among these connections, none held greater importance than Pascal's boundary with Minrow—a shared border that came with both potential and peril.
Like the rugged divide between Rovkre and Minrow, Pascal and Grokenn's shared boundary with Minrow was marked by a formidable mountain range. However, unlike the sheer, impassable cliffs that isolated Rovkre, this range was more forgiving, dotted with mountain passes that allowed transit between the lands. These pathways, hidden and winding, held the possibility of swift passage—a blessing for trade, yet a vulnerability in times of conflict.
The king finally arrived at the castle, his steps weary but resolute as he moved along the stone corridors, resisting the pull of exhaustion. He had looked forward to rest, yet the weight of duty pulled him instead to the throne room, where a gathering of his nobles awaited, all eager for his first directive.
As he approached the massive, intricately carved wooden doors, a guard stepped forward, pressing them open with solemnity. Behind him, two more guards stationed themselves, holding the doors wide to welcome their king. The king paused just long enough to take in the scene before stepping inside.
The throne room, rarely used, bore a grandeur reserved for occasions of profound significance. Today, it stood as a symbol of unity and tradition, a hallowed space where the kingdom's ruler would receive his people after an extended journey beyond their borders. Every corner gleamed with torches and tapestries, rich with the kingdom's heritage, casting a warm, golden glow over the assembled nobles. Rows of pews were filled with familiar faces, each noble standing as he passed, nodding with a mixture of reverence and anticipation.
He strode toward his throne, his gaze steady, though his heart weighed with concerns. Settling into his seat, he drew in a deep breath, masking the fatigue with a dignified calm. He scanned the room, acknowledging each loyal subject before he spoke.
"Any updates?" he asked, his voice clear and measured, a commanding tone that filled the space as he rested his hand on the armrest, leaning slightly forward with purpose.
From the pews, Victorian rose, his dark purple robes rustling as he addressed the room. "Your Majesty, we bring both splendid and… troubling news," he declared, his voice rising to carry across the assembly, ensuring every ear could hear. His words rippled through the crowd, stirring a murmur among those who had not yet been privy to the developments.
The king's gaze sharpened, locking onto Victorian with an intensity that silenced the room. Behind Victorian, rows of nobles, numbering in the eighties, waited in reverent stillness. Only a few heads were absent, their void barely noticed amidst the full council. The tension, palpable and thick, bound them together in this moment of anticipation as they awaited the words that could shape the kingdom's future.
"Please, deliver the good news first," the king requested, though his tone held enough authority that Victorian took it as an order.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Victorian bowed, respectfully stepping from the pew. He turned to face the nobles, then the king, his movements precise, each step adding to the anticipation of the room.
"Many of you who attended the demonstration on Nymera, three days ago," he began, his voice steady and clear, "should already know what I am about to reveal." He turned to face the king, allowing a brief pause, letting the room's silence amplify the gravity of his words. "Your Majesty," he said, his gaze unwavering, "we have successfully developed a weapon capable of tipping the scales of this war."
The king's eyes sharpened, his exhaustion momentarily swept away by a spark of intrigue. Victorian's words had pulled him fully into the moment.
"I, Victorian Gustav Limerick of West Ridge," Victorian continued, "with every fiber of my being, believe that we now possess a weapon unlike any the world has ever known—one that will not only shift the balance of this war but redefine human history itself." His voice held a quiet intensity, and his statement hung in the air, as if weighing down the very walls of the throne room.
A ripple of murmurs swept through the nobles, yet none dared to speak above a whisper, sensing the magnitude of what Victorian was hinting at. The king felt a tension building within him, a blend of curiosity and disbelief.
The weight of Victorian's statement was profound, pressing upon the king's mind.
The king grinned, leaning forward slightly. "I'd love to hear more about this weapon in due time," he mused, clearly intrigued but mindful of his priorities. He knew well that the intricate workings of the device were best explained by the members of the Council of Bright Ones, none of whom were present in this meeting of nobles. "But for now… please continue with the troubling news."
Victorian's face fell, his earlier pride replaced by a heaviness that weighed down his words. "Your Majesty, I received word mere days ago. The Lyon Passage—the vital route connecting Highwood and Bliss Creek—is no longer the only place where disappearances are happening." He drew in a slow breath, each word measured. "Those two towns are now reporting disappearances in the double digits. People are vanishing at a pace that can't be ignored."
Murmurs rippled through the assembled nobles, a mixture of shock and fear crossing their faces. Victorian raised his voice slightly to command their attention once more. "So far, four adventuring parties have braved the region. One, in particular, managed to recover fifteen captives—frightened, malnourished souls from both Highwood and Bliss Creek."
The king's brow furrowed as he processed the information. His gaze grew sharper, the weariness momentarily giving way to a calculating alertness. "Has this escalated to a full invasion?" he asked aloud, his tone low but intense, searching Victorian's face for any confirmation of his worst fears.
Victorian shook his head but did not look relieved. "It's difficult to say, Your Majesty. Reports are fragmented, inconsistent—some of the rescued speak of shadowy figures lurking at the forest's edge, but few can recall their captors with any clarity." He paused, letting the grim reality settle over the assembly. "If it is not an invasion, it may be something equally sinister."
A chill settled over the room. Even the nobles, often hardened by their roles, appeared unsettled, glancing toward one another as if seeking solace in shared glances. The king's jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the arm of his throne. There was much to be done, but the next move would have to be chosen carefully.
"The town guards have urged a strict curfew and heightened security," Victorian replied grimly. "There have even been reports of homes broken into, with entire families missing by morning."
The king's eyes darkened, fury brewing beneath his calm facade. "They've grown as brazen as to raid our people's homes!" he exclaimed, his voice resonating through the hall, igniting murmurs of shared outrage among the nobles.
"What are your orders, Your Majesty?" Victorian asked, standing firm yet clearly unsettled by the escalating tension.
The king clenched his teeth, his hand tightening on the armrest until his knuckles whitened. Sitting up straighter, he took a deep breath. "While you all have been facing the perils within Leotus, I've been... useless," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "I managed to secure support from Igmas, Pascal, and Cicialia. Yet only Pascal could send aid—a mere 800 of its finest troops. This is a failure, and for that, I owe you all an apology."
The nobles shifted uneasily, their loyalty visibly shaken but also tempered by admiration for his humility. The king rose from his throne, his gaze sweeping the room, a fierce resolve sharpening his features. "But I am here now," he declared, his voice rising in power, "and I will not fail you again."
Drawing himself up, eyes as fierce as daggers. "We shall go to war."
Many nobles inhaled sharply, exhaling the weight of the king's declaration. It wasn't new knowledge that war loomed on the horizon, but his words ignited a stark realization: mobilization began now.
Among the grim faces, only one man grinned, a glint of fire in his eyes as he rose to speak. "Your Majesty, you have nothing to apologize for," he said, his voice ringing with authority and pride. "It is our duty to be the backbone of your kingdom. If Leotus cannot stand tall without its king, then we have failed you. My king, I took it upon myself to prepare for this very moment."
He paused, letting his words settle over the room as the nobles turned their attention to him. "Long ago, I recognized our predicament. I swore then that if the day came for war, we would be ready." His words were strong, unshakable. "I am pleased to inform you, Your Majesty, that our army stands prepared, our weapons honed to a deadly edge, and our strategies refined. If it pleases you, I can lay out our battle plans at this very moment."
The man who spoke was bald, his mustache thick and his eyes fierce, carrying the spirit of a lion. He was one of the few who held the titles of Noble, General, and a Council member of the Bright Ones—a genius known for his unparalleled prowess in war strategy.