The Royal General Ernest Maxmillian, the young-looking leader of the international military, made his way to where the five kings were seated. His uniform was bright with decorations, showing off his many achievements. The kings were all waiting for the hosting king of Solara to show up, but instead, Maxmillian came alone. He walked up with a slight smile that seemed to hide the disrespect...
As he reached the empty grand chair meant for the king, he didn't hesitate. He sat down slowly, making it clear that he was taking charge. The kings looked at each other, not happy with what Maxmillian was doing. They were expecting to see their fellow king, not the military leader taking his place. But there he was, sitting confidently as if he was meant to be there all along, leaving the kings wondering what this meant for their meeting.
"Maxmillian, that's your name, isn't it?" the king with the long black hair and beard spoke up, his blue silk robe flowing as he stood. His voice was harsh, and his eyes were fixed on Maxmillian with clear disapproval. "This seat is reserved for the Solarian king, not for a general like you. How dare you take such liberties in the presence of other kings? Our generals and soldiers who hold the same position as you are welcomed in another room. This is a meeting exclusively for the kings of the allied nations. Call out your king, Mr. Maxmillian," the king continued, his dissatisfaction evident in his tone.
Maxmillian's eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded the king who had challenged him. "Your concern is misplaced, Your Majesty," he replied, his voice low and tinged with a threat that was as subtle as it was clear. "The king has given me his seat, and his authority, for this summit. It would be wise to remember that in these turbulent times, power is not always where one expects to find it. Now, let us not waste time on formalities. We have much to discuss, and I assure you, I am more than capable of representing our nation's interests." His words, delivered with a cold confidence, left no room for argument, asserting his unexpected but undeniable place at the summit.
The other kings, momentarily taken aback by Maxmillian's menacing retort, exchanged uneasy glances. The tension in the room thickened like fog.
King Darius from vaporia, his crown a heavy symbol of his lineage, cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "If our esteemed host has indeed bestowed this honor upon you, General Maxmillian, we shall proceed," he said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a hint of skepticism.
King Aldric of Eldoria, King Bertrand of Navarre, King Caius of Dravos, and King Emeric of Zephyria were not pleased. But they knew they had to work with Maxmillian for the sake of their Summit . The summit began.
As the hall quieted, General Maxmillian's fingers snapped, a sharp sound that commanded attention. In response, a procession of beautiful lady servants emerged, their presence like a breath of fresh air as they efficiently cleared away the remnants of the feast. The clatter of dishes and cutlery was soon replaced by the rustle of parchment as a Vaporia soldier distributed confidential documents to each of the kings.
Maxmillian, with a practiced ease, removed his hat, unveiling a mane of long, silk-smooth white hair that he straightened with a touch of vanity. He then picked up his spoon and began to stir his tea, the sound intentionally loud, almost provocative, in the otherwise silent room. The kings, their brows furrowed, turned their attention to the papers, their eyes scanning the lines of text while Maxmillian, seemingly oblivious to their irritation, took a calm sip of his tea, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly in satisfaction.
The kings started to analyse the documents and while they were busy doing that, King Bertrand of Navarre, after perusing the document, let out a loud laugher. "This plan," he said, waving the parchment, "is as fanciful as believing a steam engine could fly us to the moon hahhaha... "
The other kings joined with him in laugher, as a disapproval against Maxmillian. " Don't get disheartened, it's just a silly humour ". The king added.
The kings' laughter was cut short as Maxmillian's teacup shattered against the table. He leaned in, his voice cold and controlled.
" Huh... Have you already forgot who actually won the wars against your pathetic countries... You old geezers?!.. " Maxmillian said, his eyes locking with each king's in turn. " You're sitting here and laughing, only because we let you..., not because you have any power over this alliance, it's because we have bigger threats to face across the ocean than your squabbles."
He straightened, his presence commanding silence. "I called you here to follow orders, not to share your quaint opinions. If I wished, I could end your reigns this instant by beheading each one of you and your commanders waiting outside all by myself and leave your nations leaderless."
Maxmillian's voice was firm, his message clear. "We're in an era where might dictates right. So, keep your focus on your own lands and the rebellions within, lest you find yourselves overthrown. So don't get too cocky here..."
The hall fell into a pin-drop silence, the tension thick as the kings absorbed Maxmillian's words. Then, unexpectedly, Maxmillian's laughter rang out, shattering the stillness.
"Hahahahahahahaha… Now that was a better joke, isn't it?" he said mockingly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
The kings stared him in silence, The king Darus, as usual the wisest among them, joined in with a genuine chuckle. "Ahahaa… indeed..." he agreed, his laughter warm and rich.
The other kings, caught off guard, let out forceful laughter, echoing through the hall as they sought to dispel the tension in air.
Maxmillian's commanding voice cut through the laughter, "Now, let's get down to business... Shall we? "
With his directive, the kings turned their attention back to the documents before them. The room buzzed with renewed focus as they delved into the details of the proposed plans, discussing strategies and alliances that would shape the future of their nations and kingdoms.
Somewhere far away...Thompson, the short, elderly man with wrinkled skin, Whose face filled in all the ascension event posters and notices.stood patiently in the shadows. His attire was a stark black suit, complemented by a round hat, and his face was adorned with a prominent white mustache. As he waited, the wooden gate before him creaked open, unleashing a blinding light and a forceful gust of steam that seemed to transport him to another realm.
Though this was not Thompson's first visit, each time felt like an entirely new experience and This place always have a beautiful night sky whenever he visits.
He tread along a path where the grass glowed a vibrant green, each blade glistening with droplets of water. Around him, people were scattered across the grass, sitting or lying down, their whispers merging into a continuous chant.
Thompson continued forward, his attention undivided by the murmurs. The sound of waterfalls reached his ears, intertwined with a sorrowful melody sung by women's voices that added an air of melancholic beauty to the surroundings.
Approaching a quaint bridge illuminated by ethereal lights that seemed to hover in mid-air, Thompson paused at its center. He peered down at the steam rising from the waterfall below, which cast an enchanting glow over the waters. Tiny sparkles flickered within, akin to distant stars in a twilight sky.
Thompson's gaze drifted to the source of the glowing stream. Farther away, he saw a magnificent waterfall, its waters shining as they cascaded over rocks, sparkling blue like beautiful fireworks. In the midst of the falls stood a giant stone sculpture of a goddess, her features elegant and serene. The ethereal light from the waterfall bathed the sculpture, giving it an illusion of life.
At the base of the falls, ten women in pure white dresses stood on small rocks, their voices joining in chorus. Near them, about a hundred boys and girls, also dressed in white, danced in the knee-deep water. Their movements were synchronized with the chorus, graceful and precise. Each slow motion created ripples and splashes that made them glow even more in the water's light, As if they were doing a ritual for that shinning goddess.
The sight was breathtaking yet somehow unsettling. It was then that Thompson remembered his purpose for being there and continued on his path.
Thompson's path led him through a small town nestled among large, ancient ruins. The buildings, though worn by time, were alive with activity. People bustled about, absorbed in various tasks, such as various paperworks but Thompson paid them no mind. His focus was drawn to the grand cathedral at the end of the road.
The ancient cathedral stood majestic, its facade adorned with intricate sculptures and bathed in cold lights. As Thompson ascended the steps, he noticed others around him—people his age sitting and chanting, some lying down, embracing the stone with reverence.
With each step, Thompson's heart raced faster. He pushed open the golden gates that shone brightly against the darkness within. As he stepped inside, a profound emptiness enveloped him. His soul seemed to detach from his body, floating in a void beyond the physical realm.
Then, a gust of wind swept through the cathedral, snapping Thompson back to reality. The golden lights flickered on, illuminating the opulent interior. A magnificent golden sculpture of the goddess stood at the center, flanked by various creatures carved into the walls.
The pews lay empty and forgotten. Thompson's breaths came in heavy pants as he took in the sight. He could only hear the hypnotic echoes of small bells ringing....It was then that he heard footsteps approaching.
Thompson stood still,the echo of footsteps growing nearer. A gentle voice carried through the air
" A silent ode to dreams we hold so fast, in every longing, where future casts a freedom that's never outdone... "
As the last note lingered, a figure stepped into the golden light that bathed the cathedral's interior. A young man, clad in the black - grey garb of a priest, adorned with a golden chain and ring that caught the light with every subtle movement. His face was clean-shaven with a flowing sharp jaw, exuding an innocent charm that belied his sacred role. His eyes, as beautiful as any woman's, the green rings in his eyes, similar to the cats. His black hair fell smoothly over his shoulders, tinged with a glow of light bluish green.
This was the priest of the cathedral—the man who stood behind the ascension event and the favourite disciple of AD, as steele defined.
Thompson bowed his head in reverence as he addressed the priest. "My Lord Phainon," he said, his voice filled with respect.
Theo Phainon, the priest with a graceful motion drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Thompson. "Wipe your tears," he said softly.
Touching his face, Thompson was surprised to find tears streaming down his cheeks—tears he hadn't even realized he was shedding. Phainon chuckled gently, a sigh escaping him as he placed a comforting hand on Thompson's shoulder, guiding him forward.
"Ahhh… Mr. Thompson, did I not tell you before? If the cathedral is closed, you should not enter. If it was urgent, you should have found my assistant and waited. It's too dangerous for an ordinary old man like you to enter here without consent...you could have hurt your soul! " Phainon gently warned.
Thompson nodded respectfully. "I apologize for the inconvenience, my lord."
" No worries..… What brings you here, old man?" Phainon asked with a warm smile.
"I've come to inform you, sire, that everything has been prepared successfully for the ascension event. And oh… the chief commander and her squad have arrived in Brasswick city at last " Thompson reported.
"That's a wonderful news! Thompson " Phainon exclaimed, his face brightening.
However, Thompson's expression turned somber as he continued. "But my sire, there's some concerning news—we have got uninvited members…"
" Yes it's just as we expected, we'll welcome them too... " Phainon interjected.
"Yes sire," Thompson continued. "But there's someone who you should know, is participating in the event— i want to let you know that, he's a man named Victor Thorne…"
Atop the Royal Palace, Maxmillian stood on the grand balcony, his gaze following the kings as they departed with their escort, the meeting now concluded. Behind him, a soldier approached and knelt.
"Sire, the chief commander—her Highness and her squad—have reached Brasswick city," he reported with due respect.
"Mmmph…" Maxmillian sighed, a hint of no surprise.
"And there's some potential concerning news too" the soldier added cautiously.
"Ohhh… concerning news?! Spill it out already," Maxmillian commanded curiously.
"Sire… they spotted Victor… Victor Thorne in the same city…" the soldier replied, his tone reflecting the gravity of this information.
A moment passed, filled with an uncertain silence that seemed to hang in the air like a hem steam. Then, as if on cue, both The King and The Priest —miles apart yet united in thought—exclaimed with a big grin on their faces, "MAGNIFICUS!"
To be Continued.....