...
Zilong followed the emissary down the dimly lit underground chamber, the air growing colder and damper with each step. Shadows danced on the rough-hewn walls, and the sound of dripping water echoed through the narrow passageway. His eyes flickered with unease, the tension in his muscles betraying his outward calm. He glanced at the emissary, a man with a carefree expression that seemed incongruous in such a foreboding place.
The emissary's nonchalant demeanor did little to ease Zilong's wariness. The man's relaxed gait, the slight bounce in his step, and the casual humming of an old tune felt like an affront to the gravity of the situation. Zilong's mind raced with possibilities—was the emissary oblivious to the dangers lurking in the shadows, or was his apparent ease a calculated façade?
The chamber finally opened up into the outside world, the bright light assualted Zilong's eyes making him half closed them, the sudden expanse startling after the confined passage. The place was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of unseen machinery. Zilong's eyes were drawn to the blood dripping from the emissaries hands, where a single, stark memory replayed in his mind.
It was with those bloody hands, that the emissary had demonstrated his lethal efficiency. Stoic, the guard that accompanied Zilong in his journey to this kingdom was brutally murdered right before his eyes.
...
With a casual grace that belied his true strength, the emissary had gripped Stoic's neck and, with a swift and brutal twist, ended his life. The sound of breaking bone and the sight of Stoic's lifeless body crumpling to the floor had been almost too much for Zilong to bear. His stomach churned violently, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him.
Yet, somehow, Zilong had managed to keep a smile plastered on his face, a mask of calm that hid the turmoil within. He had stared into the emissary's eyes, forcing himself to appear unfazed, even as every instinct screamed at him to react. The memory of that moment haunted him, a constant reminder of the precarious balance he maintained between survival and succumbing to fear.
Now, Zilong felt the cold grip of dread tighten around his heart. The emissary's carefree expression hadn't changed, and that, perhaps, was the most terrifying aspect of all.
As they walked through the winding corridors towards their destination, Zilong couldn't shake the tension coiled in his gut. His eyes darted around, noting every shadow, every flicker of movement. He found a strange relief in knowing he wasn't alone in his unease. Zephyr, who walked slightly ahead, was a testament to the grim reality they all faced. His body was covered in blood, the dark stains stark against his skin and clothing.
It wasn't just Zilong who noticed. As they passed by, people threw them wary glances, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of Zephyr. The whispers followed them, low and urgent, but no one dared to meet their gaze for long. Instead, they quickly averted their eyes and resumed their daily tasks, as if pretending not to see would keep them safe from whatever horror had befallen Zephyr.
Zilong felt a grim satisfaction in the shared acknowledgment of the abnormality. It wasn't just his paranoia; the world had indeed shifted into something more dangerous, more unpredictable. The cautious glances from the passersby were small confirmations that they all sensed it, even if they chose not to speak of it openly.
The knowledge that others saw it too, that they weren't completely blind to the looming threat, gave Zilong a sliver of comfort. It was a silent affirmation that his fears were justified, that his wariness was not unfounded. As they continued to follow the emissary, Zilong felt a renewed resolve to stay vigilant, knowing that the path ahead was fraught with peril and that his instincts were his best guide.
Then they arrived at a narrow street
which was quite the opposite of the one they were in a moment ago, 'the place that stoic got his head brutally ripped off..., doesn't he have a family?", Zilong quite didn't understand, he didn't really hate stoic, but didn't really like him either. But still that's no reason why you should have his head brutally ripped off.. of his body.
Zilong couldn't get over the fact that a person was killed before his eyes. To think about it, captain Luo was also killed in front of Zilong, but that time was different, Zilong was trying to escape, his fear clouded all other things.
As they reach a certain area, crowded, people moved here and there going about their usual day, some occasionally threw them wary glances, but quickly averted their gazes.
It seemed that the people of this kingdom was long accustomed to this gruesome sight.
Zilong decided to focus on another thing apart of blood and death, he looked towards the infrastructure.
The infrastructure of the kingdom, this was truly different from the village, almost the opposite.
The streets were totally tiled with marble, the houses, were a mix of the steam punk era and medival times.
They finally reached a large building, its structure crafted from a stunning jade-like material that shimmered subtly in the dim light. The building's elegance was marred only by the dark bloodstains on Zephyr's body as he moved ahead. An emblem of the sun, intricately carved and polished to a high sheen, adorned the large double doors at the entrance, its rays spreading out like fingers reaching for something unseen.
Zephyr gestured for Zilong to follow, his expression as unreadable as ever. Taking a deep breath, Zilong stepped through the doors, feeling a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Inside, the building opened up into a vast, bustling space.
Soilders filled the room, their movements a blend of grace and intensity. Some were swinging their swords in fluid arcs, the blades cutting through the air with precision. The clang of metal rang out occasionally, punctuating the steady rhythm of their training. Others were engaged in rigorous physical workouts, their bodies glistening with sweat as they pushed themselves to their limits. The scent of exertion mingled with the earthy aroma of the jade-like walls, creating an atmosphere both invigorating and intimidating.
Zilong couldn't help but be awed by the sheer dedication and skill on display. These elves, with their lithe forms and focused expressions, were clearly warriors of a different caliber. He felt a pang of insecurity but quickly quelled it, reminding himself why he was here.
As he walked further into the room, following Zephyr's lead, he felt the curious and assessing gazes of the elves upon him. They didn't avert their eyes like the people outside; instead, they measured him with a cool detachment, as if weighing his worth in their minds. The scrutiny was intense, but Zilong met their eyes with quiet determination. He knew he had to prove himself, not just to them, but to the emissary, to Zephyr, and most importantly, to himself.
They reached the end of the room to see a huge rack filled with all sorts of weapons. Swords, daggers, spears and a whole lot of weapons that Zilong couldn't discern.
Zephyr went and took a sword out of its rack, "what are you waiting for?, pick your weapon"..
🥺