Inside the grand hall, tension filled the air. The long wooden table, adorned with maps and scrolls, had just been the site of intense discussions among King Magnus, his dukes, and their trusted advisers. However, the urgent shout of a young soldier shattered the calm.
"We are being attacked!" the boy cried as he burst through the heavy doors, his face pale, chest heaving from the frantic run. Everyone shot to their feet, weapons drawn and magic crackling to life. The king stood slowly, his eyes sharp as they fixed on the soldier.
"Are they inside the walls?" King Magnus asked, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command.
The boy nodded, still gasping for breath. "Yes, Your Majesty. They somehow breached the gates. They're attacking the guards, but... there's no sign of the villagers. They must have fled deeper into the city."
Magnus's gaze flickered to Cedric, his trusted protector. "This is it," the king murmured with a small, almost sinister smile.
Some of the dukes exchanged wary glances, uncertain of the king's meaning. Cedric, however, understood at once. He gave a quick signal to a man standing by the window. The man, his face hidden under a hood, swung the window open. A fiery glow lit up his hands, and with a swift motion, he hurled a ball of fire into the sky. Moments later, similar fireballs streaked into the night from various points across the city—signals of war.
The king's eyes darkened as he turned to Cedric once more. "Get Lord Simtrek and tell him the time has come. He'll know what I mean."
Cedric dashed from the room, brushing past the breathless boy, disappearing into the corridors.
Now only the king, the dukes, and their personal guards remained in the hall. The tension was palpable. King Magnus turned slowly to face his assembled lords, his expression unreadable. "So," he said, his voice measured. "We have a traitor among us."
The room exploded into murmurs. The dukes, already mistrustful of one another, tensed as suspicion rippled through the air. Eyes darted between them, hands hovering over weapons, and magic auras flared as each man or woman considered the possibility of betrayal from their peers.
"Someone here is not who they claim to be," King Magnus continued, his voice cutting through the rising clamor. "One of you is an imposter, playing a dangerous game. Before we moved to Sirco, one of our own sent word that a betrayal was imminent—exactly as it is unfolding now."
The room fell deathly silent.
King Magnus allowed the tension to build before speaking again. "The city is already surrounded by our loyal forces. The traitors are dead men walking—they just don't know it yet. So there is no need for panic."
But there was panic. The dukes glared at one another, unease creeping into their faces. Duke Alaric Goldwind narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, Magnus?" His voice was taut.
The king didn't answer him directly but instead turned to one of his personal guards, who brought forth a small, ornate mirror. Its surface gleamed unnaturally, almost pulsing with a soft glow.
"This mirror," the king began, holding it aloft for all to see, "reveals your true face. It cannot be fooled by any magic or illusion. To uncover the traitor, each of you will be tested. My guard will approach you one by one, and we will see who is hiding behind false skin."
There was no immediate objection. The dukes, although reluctant, recognized that this was their best chance to expose the imposter. Some grumbled quietly, but none dared outright defiance. They had all seen the king's mirror before; they knew it worked.
The guard began his methodical approach. First, he stood before Duke Kael Thunderclaw of Stormhollow, who remained stoic, arms crossed over his chest. The guard held the mirror up to Kael's face. The reflection showed Kael as he was—no tricks, no illusions.
Satisfied, the guard moved on to Duke Thorne Emberwyld of Ashenmoor. The fiery duke shifted impatiently, but when the mirror reflected his face, it was undeniably his own.
The process continued, each duke growing more tense as the mirror drew nearer. When the guard approached Duke Vidar Icefang of Frostspire, a palpable stillness fell over the room. The duke stood stiffly, his cold eyes narrowed as the mirror was raised.
But something happened. Instead of revealing Duke Vidar's familiar, icy visage, the mirror flickered, and his face warped. The air around him shimmered as if the magic was being forced to unravel. In an instant, the real face beneath the illusion appeared: a cruel, sharp-eyed man with a wicked smile.
Gasps echoed around the room as the false Duke Vidar sneered at them all. The imposter drew a dagger from his side with blinding speed, his eyes locked on King Magnus.
King Magnus's eyes narrowed, his voice calm but filled with fury. "Duke Dorian, the mastermind behind this rebellion. I suspected you from the start, but your deception ends now."
Dorian laughed darkly, his hands sparking with dark energy. "You think you've won, Magnus? This is only the beginning. My forces are already within the city, and your downfall is inevitable."
The room fell into chaos. Guards and magicians alike immediately surged forward, leaving the king's side and rushing toward the traitor. But Duke Umbravane simply smiled, his eyes flashing with malicious intent as this is what he was waiting for.
In that brief moment, he saw it — a vision of a blade plunging into King Magnus's chest. The boy soldier who had previously came to bear the news to the king was holding a sword and then, the vision became reality faster than anyone could react. The sword struck true, piercing the king's heart. King Magnus collapsed, lifeless, as everything seemed to freeze.
The guards, reeling from the sudden attack, turned on a young soldier standing near the king. Without hesitation, they executed him on the spot, another traitor among their ranks. Amidst the chaos and confusion, Duke Umbravane moved swiftly, escaping through a nearby window.
He landed on the back of a waiting horse. Beside him, another horse held a rider gripping a female hostage. It was no ordinary captive—it was Princess Rune, her face pale with terror. This had all been part of Umbravane's plan.
Back inside the room, Cedric and the royal magician knelt beside the fallen king, desperately trying to revive him. But it was too late. King Magnus was gone, and with his death, the kingdom of Arenthia was left without its ruler, the end of his reign marked by betrayal and blood.