[Unknown POV]
[An hour ago...]
"Both of you can leave and get some rest," the Queen's voice was firm yet gentle, addressing the two who had just returned from their treacherous journey through the jungle. Though she knew she would soon need to question them thoroughly, her offer of rest before doing so was a clear sign of her consideration.
The two men could only nod in response, grateful for the Queen's grace, knowing better than to question her benevolence.
Once they had exited the throne room, her uncle spoke, his tone filled with an urgency that was hard to ignore. "Azluth," he began, his gaze sharp as it locked onto her. "This is no game."
His words felt like needles piercing her skin, but she did not flinch. "You cannot keep such a thing from him. He must be informed—"
"No!" Her voice rang out, echoing through the vast halls of the palace. The sudden outburst surprised even her, but she stood her ground. "You shall not tell him about this, of all people!"
Her uncle's gaze remained unwavering, his eyes searching hers with a mix of frustration and concern. "I am your Queen!" she declared, trying to assert her authority over him.
But he was unmoved. "You're my niece, Azluth, nothing more at this moment. Do you think I, of all people, wouldn't know which of the two of you I'm speaking to?"
His voice was laced with resentment, not towards her, but towards the situation itself, the burden of knowledge that weighed heavily on him. The air between them grew tense as they locked eyes, neither willing to back down, no matter how long it took.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice grave. "He's not a toy you can just play with, Azluth."
Though his words were harsh, there was a softening in his stance as he saw the heartbreak in his niece's eyes. He sighed, relenting slightly. "Fine, do what you must. But know this—when he returns, I will inform him of this monster's existence, regardless of what you say."
Azluth, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, leaped from the throne into her uncle's arms, thanking him for his concession. In that moment, all the concerns of the kingdom seemed to pale in comparison to her happiness.
Her uncle's voice, filled with a mixture of love and fear, whispered, "Please be safe, Azluth. For once, I can't promise that I can protect you."
His words, heavy with genuine concern, only made her hug him tighter, as if trying to shield him from the very dangers he feared. "For the peace of the Kingdom," he muttered under his breath, reminding himself of his creed.
[Unknown POV]
In a land beside the vast kingdom of Alkavia, separated by only a narrow strip of land yet so different in every way, stood a nation as if reaching toward another world—a land of mystery and wonder. And at the heart of this nation lay a monumental structure that defied the imagination: a tower so grand and imposing that it seemed to pierce the very heavens. The Tower of the Mage King—a title bestowed upon one of the few men in history who had earned the right to be called a Magi.
The tower was a marvel of architectural brilliance, its spires twisting upward in a spiral of stone and metal, shimmering in the daylight as if forged from the essence of the sun itself. Intricate carvings adorned every inch of its surface, depicting ancient runes and symbols of arcane power, their meanings lost to all but the most learned. The tower's walls were made of an obsidian-like material, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the world around it, distorting reality as if the tower existed in a realm of its own. It stood as a testament to the power and knowledge of the Magi King, a beacon of his might and a reminder of the untold secrets that lay within.
Inside, the tower contained more than a hundred floors, each serving a different purpose from the last. The lower levels were bustling with activity, filled with scholars and apprentices conducting experiments, engaging in research, and practicing their craft. Potions bubbled in cauldrons, spells crackled with energy, and the air hummed with the sound of incantations and the whispers of ancient knowledge. The middle floors housed the living quarters of the tower's inhabitants, from the lowest servants to the highest-ranking mages, all serving under the Magi King's rule. The tower was a microcosm of the kingdom itself, a self-contained world of magic and mystery.
But at the top of the tower, far above the noise and commotion of the lower levels, lay a single room. It was a place of solitude, a sanctum reserved for the Magi King alone. This room was his personal study, a space coveted by all, for within its walls was knowledge that could turn even the most peaceful of kings into a warmonger, driven by the desire to possess its secrets.
The room was a contrast to the chaotic brilliance of the rest of the tower. It was serene, almost spartan in its simplicity. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with tomes and scrolls that contained the sum of the Magi King's knowledge. Tables were scattered throughout the room, covered with armors, weapons, potions, and half-completed experiments, all of them projects in various stages of completion. Everything in the room had a purpose, and nothing was out of place.
At the center of this sanctum sat the Magi King himself. He was an imposing figure, tall and regal, with a presence that commanded respect. A monocle was perched over his right eye, enhancing his already piercing gaze as he bent over a scroll, transcribing its contents with a quill. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as if guided by an unseen rhythm that only he could hear. Every stroke of his quill, every shift of his hand, was a testament to his mastery of the magical arts. Even in this mundane task, there was an elegance, a grace that could only come from years of dedication and study.
The quill glided across the parchment, each stroke imbued with a subtle power that only those attuned to the arcane could perceive. The atmosphere was serene, almost sacred, as if the tower itself held its breath, reverent of the work being done.
The tranquility of the scene was almost palpable, a rare moment of peace in the life of a man who had dedicated his existence to the pursuit of knowledge and power. But as with all things in the realm of the Magi, such peace was fleeting.
"Knock, knock, knock."
The sound echoed through the room, shattering the silence. The Magi King looked up slowly, paying little attention to the disturbance, but acknowledging it nonetheless with a calmness that was almost unsettling.
"Come in, Serena," he commanded, his voice steady and respectful. He had already sensed her presence at the door.
The door opened to reveal a maiden of extraordinary beauty, her appearance striking enough to render even the most hardened warriors speechless. She was the pure picture of perfection by any standard, with eyes as blue as sapphires and hair that matched the Magi King's in its depth and luster. Her very presence seemed to command the elements, the air around her swirling subtly as if responding to her every thought.
Even the Magi King, who had seen countless wonders in his long life, could not help but let out a sigh as he regarded his student. Her talent was undeniable, a natural gift that made her a prodigy among prodigies. Where he had spent years honing his craft, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion in pursuit of mastery, she seemed to command the same power with effortless grace. It was a bittersweet realization for him, to see in her the potential to surpass him one day. Yet, it also filled him with a sense of pride, for he had chosen well in taking her under his wing.
"Has she already surpassed me when I was her age?" he mused silently, his eyes narrowing as he assessed her strength. Despite his own greatness, he could not deny that she was a once-in-a-century genius, perhaps even more. But for all her power, she was still his student, and he her teacher. The depth of his knowledge and experience was a well she had barely begun to draw from.
"You look well, Serena," he said, standing up from his desk. There was a note of wry amusement in his voice as he complimented her. Despite his resolve to be strict, to push her to her limits, it would be unreasonable not to acknowledge her achievements.
But instead of replying, she bowed deeply to her teacher, an action that immediately put him on edge. His brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, his tone serious.
Without a word, Serena produced a scroll, seemingly conjured from thin air, and handed it to him. The Magi King took it, his attention now fully focused on the missive. He didn't mind her use of magic; what mattered was the message she brought.
'A Royal Decree from Azluth?' he thought, recognizing the seal on the scroll before he even began reading it. His eyes scanned the document, and as he read, a slow, sardonic smile began to spread across his face.
"Ha," the ever-serious and composed Magi King let out a soft chuckle, which quickly escalated into a full-throated laugh. "Ha… HAHAHA!" He couldn't hold it in, clutching his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably, the absurdity of the situation too much for him to bear.
He didn't need to finish reading to understand the nonsensical reasoning behind Azluth's request. The very idea of it was preposterous, yet it was clear that the Queen absolutely needed her sister back, out right threatening the Mage King with the prospect of war should he not comply.
'Just what are you thinking, Azluth?' he wondered, wiping away the tears that had formed in his eyes. 'What trouble are your brewing?'
His gaze shifted back to Serena, whose face was pale, her expression a mix of shame and worry. She had known this day would come—the day when her sister, Azluth, would demand her return. But never had she imagined it would be under such circumstances. The guilt of abandoning her family, of pursuing her own desires at the expense of her sister's, had haunted her for years. And now, faced with the prospect of returning, the weight of that decision bore down on her with crushing force.
"I'm sorry, Serena," the Mage King said softly, shaking his head. "But you must return."
The tranquility of the room shattered as the elements responded to Serena's turmoil. Winds howled, and the air crackled with energy, mirroring the tempest of emotions within her. The Mage King, ever calm, simply raised his hand, and with a single step, restored order to the chaos. The elements obeyed him without question, for this was his domain, his kingdom.
"Read it for yourself," he said, tossing the scroll back to her. Though it was addressed to him, he allowed her to read it, knowing full well that this was her battle to face. She unrolled the parchment once more, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting of her sister. The words were carefully chosen, laden with hidden meanings that only Serena could decipher.
Her hands trembled as she read, her mind racing. 'What has happened, Azluth?' she wondered, her heart pounding in her chest. The letter wasn't filled with accusations or demands for retribution. Instead, it carried an excitement that chilled Serena to the bone. She could almost see her sister's face, twisted in a triumphant smile, as she penned the words.
Memories of the past flooded Serena's mind—of her sister drenched in blood, smiling amidst the carnage of war. Azluth was not one to show joy easily, but when she did, it was a terrifying sight. And now, that same excitement was conveyed in her words, leaving Serena to wonder just what had transpired in Alkavia.
The Mage King and his disciple exchanged a glance, the unspoken understanding passing between them. They both knew what had to be done. Serena's return was inevitable, and whatever awaited her there, she could not face it alone.
"Sigh," the Mage King exhaled, standing up from his chair. "Come, Serena. We have a journey to make."
She opened her mouth to protest, but one look from her master silenced her objections. There would be no arguing with him on this matter.
"I will go alone," she attempted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No," he replied firmly, his eyes meeting hers with a resolve that left no room for debate. A brief exchange of glances was all it took for them to reach an agreement.
Thus, under the deep night sky, with the stars dazzling overhead, the Mage King and his most prestigious disciple quietly exited their home. Their departure so discreet, that not a soul in the kingdom knew of its existance.
The gravity of his sudden absence was profound—if word of his departure spread too soon, the entire nation would be thrown into chaos. The thought of their protector, the very cornerstone of their defense, vanishing into the night without warning, would rob his subjects of their peace of mind.
For he was not just their king; he was their shield, their guardian. What would it mean for the kingdom if its ruler—whose presence alone was enough to deter enemies—suddenly vanished, taking with him the formidable power that secured the realm? Half of the nation's strength seemed to dissolve into the night alongside him. His subordinates, though capable, would surely spend sleepless nights, haunted by the fear of what might befall them in his absence.
Yet, the Mage King had meticulously crafted his kingdom with such moments in mind. His governance was so flawless, so precise, that it allowed him the luxury of disappearing when he deemed it necessary. He had created a system that could operate smoothly even in his absence, a testament to his brilliance and foresight. The day-to-day matters of the kingdom, those mundane and trivial compared to the grand designs of a mage, were left to capable hands he had personally selected and trained.
In short...
He had people for that.
His time, after all, was far too valuable to be squandered on the minutiae of ruling a mere kingdom. The affairs of the arcane, the matters of power and destiny—these were his true concerns. As he and Serena set out under the starry canopy, the Mage King felt a deep certainty that he had made the right decision in how he had chosen to rule his kingdom. A kingdom where the mundane was left to capable hands, allowing him to focus on the forces that truly mattered—the forces that shaped worlds.
As they moved further away from the towering spire that served as both his home and fortress, the winds began to howl, swirling around them as if the very elements were trying to hold them back. The sky above, once clear and dotted with stars, grew restless. Clouds gathered, thick and ominous, threatening to unleash a tempest upon the land. It was as if nature itself had become aware of his departure and was stirring in protest.
The wind's voice, normally a mere background hum, now seemed to whisper directly into his ear, urging him to turn back. It carried a tone of desperation, a plea from the very world he had protected and ruled over for so long. The earth beneath his feet, the air that surrounded him, even the distant rumble of thunder—all seemed to conspire against his leaving.
For the world itself, which had always been indifferent to his presence, suddenly demanded his return. A demand that was both startling and profound, for nature rarely showed preference to any being, not even one as powerful as the Mage King. The very balance of reality seemed to shift, as if the natural order depended on his continued presence within his realm.
But the Mage King was not one to be swayed by such forces, even those of nature itself. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a mixture of defiance and understanding.
"How can I hold back?" he murmured, his voice barely audible above the growing storm.
He was a man who understood the weight of his choices. To turn back now would be to deny the very essence of who he was—a seeker of knowledge, a weaver of destiny. A man who would rather die than abandon his quest for the truth.
Such was the drive that had led him to the title of Magi, and such was the belief he held firmly, that every true Magi must possess the same relentless pursuit of the unknown. To waver in this pursuit, to forsake it for safety or comfort, was a blasphemy in his eyes. A betrayal not only of oneself but of the very essence of magic and its boundless potential.
This conviction had not only defined him but had also shaped the world around him. For in the Kingdom of Aetherfall, his name was more than just a title—it was a legend, a symbol of power and wisdom that few could ever hope to emulate.
Wester Everson.
The King of Aetherfall.
The Last of the Magi.