The grand Celestial Citadel towered over the capital of Celestria, its high walls gleaming under the afternoon sun. The throne room was a sight to behold—a sprawling chamber with vaulted ceilings, decorated with tapestries depicting the history of the Tharavara Empire. Courtiers, nobles, and advisors gathered around, all awaiting the emperor's daily counsel. However, the tension in the air was palpable as a visitor, unexpected and unannounced, approached the gates of the citadel.

The guards outside shifted uneasily as a cloaked figure, face hidden beneath a deep hood, approached the palace. The seer's robes were tattered, yet something about the way they moved—calm, deliberate—made even the most seasoned soldiers pause.

"Halt!" one of the guards barked, stepping forward. "State your name and purpose. The emperor's court is no place for vagrants."

The seer stopped but did not raise their head. "I am a messenger from beyond the empire's borders. I seek an audience with Emperor Eldryn. The winds carry grave tidings, and they must be spoken."

The guard exchanged uneasy glances with his companion. "You cannot simply walk into the emperor's presence without invitation. Who sent you?"

The seer's voice remained calm, almost eerie. "The winds sent me, and the emperor must hear what they whisper."

By now, a small group of courtiers had gathered at the gate, curious about the commotion. Among them, one older man—an advisor—stepped forward. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice haughty. "Who dares disturb the peace of the citadel with such vague proclamations?"

The seer finally lifted their head, though their face remained shadowed. "The emperor's peace will soon be disturbed by far greater things if these words are not heard."

The advisor frowned, clearly unsettled but unwilling to show weakness. "And who, exactly, are you?"

"I am a seer. I have traveled far, drawn by the winds of fate to deliver a message."

Another guard, standing to the side, scoffed. "A seer? Likely a fraud, looking for coin or favor."

But the older advisor held up a hand, silencing the guard. There was something about the seer's demeanor—something unsettling that stirred an instinctual caution in him. "Very well," the advisor said at last. "You will be granted an audience with the emperor. But know this: if you waste his time with riddles, you will not leave the citadel in one piece."

The seer simply nodded. "The emperor will decide for himself what is worth hearing."

The advisor motioned to the guards, who stepped aside, though their hands remained firmly on their weapons. The seer was led through the grand halls of the citadel, past tapestries of battles won and empires conquered. Courtiers and nobles looked on, whispering to each other as the cloaked figure moved silently among them.

When they finally reached the throne room, the double doors were pushed open, revealing Emperor Eldryn seated upon his grand throne, his dark robes cascading around him. He was surrounded by his closest advisors and noblemen, who had already been discussing matters of state before the interruption. The sudden arrival of the seer brought a hush over the chamber.

The advisor stepped forward, bowing before the emperor. "My lord, this seer claims to have a message from distant lands. They insist it is of the utmost importance."

Eldryn's eyes flicked to the cloaked figure. He did not immediately respond, studying the seer with a quiet intensity. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low but commanding. "Step forward, seer. Let us hear this message you carry."

The seer walked calmly toward the throne, their footsteps echoing in the vast room. The gathered nobles exchanged wary glances, clearly skeptical of the visitor. The emperor leaned slightly forward, his expression unreadable.

Clad in a deep green cloak that seemed to shimmer in the dim light, the seer bowed low before the emperor. "My lord," the seer began, their voice soft yet carrying the weight of something far darker, "I come with a message from the winds of fate."

Eldryn's brow furrowed. "Speak clearly, seer. What is this message you bring?"

The seer raised their head, revealing pale, sightless eyes that seemed to pierce through the room. "There are winds that whisper of storms yet to come. A sickness… unseen, creeping like shadows at dusk. It will reach the heart of this empire, and once it begins, it cannot be undone."

A nobleman near the emperor snorted, unable to contain his skepticism. "A sickness, you say? What kind of vague nonsense is this? The emperor is in fine health!"

Another nobleman, standing near the back, leaned forward. "I agree. What exactly do you mean by this 'sickness'? Speak plainly, seer."

The seer's lips curled slightly into a faint smile. "The sickness comes softly, a murmur in the night, unnoticed until it has spread. And when it does, the emperor's strength will wane, and with it, the empire's stability."

Eldryn frowned, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his throne. "What do you suggest, then? Am I to fear some unseen plague?"

The seer's head tilted slightly. "Plagues come in many forms, my lord. Some linger in the air, others in the hearts of men. The sickness that approaches will touch both flesh and throne. And when it does, the wolves will circle."

The courtiers exchanged confused glances. "Wolves? What is this riddle?" one of the nobles muttered under his breath.

Another nobleman spoke up, impatience coloring his tone. "If you know of some danger, say it plainly. What are these wolves you speak of?"

The seer's smile remained. "The wolves wait for their moment. They have watched for a long time, biding their strength. But they move silently, and soon, they will move in ways unseen."

One of the younger nobles shook his head in frustration. "This is nothing but vague warnings and cryptic nonsense. Wolves, sickness, shadows… What are we supposed to do with this?"

Eldryn's patience was wearing thin. "Enough. If there is something we need to prepare for, seer, say it. I have no time for riddles."

The seer's expression did not change, but their tone softened. "The sickness is not one that can be fought with swords, my emperor. And the wolves will not be stopped by walls or gates. The shadows gather where you least expect, and the winds carry whispers of ambition. He who waits… waits no longer."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. One nobleman, brow furrowed, turned to another and muttered, "What in the seven kingdoms is this seer talking about? Shadows, wolves? None of this makes any sense."

Another noble, visibly irritated, said more loudly, "This is a waste of time. If there is a threat, we should know it by now. We don't need cryptic visions of wolves and whispers."

The seer's gaze swept over the room, unblinking. "It is not my place to name the wolves, nor to stop them. The path ahead is not mine to walk, but yours. He who reaches for the throne has already stretched his hand, and soon, the hand will find what it seeks."

Eldryn stiffened at that. "Who dares to reach for my throne?" he demanded, his voice sharp, though the uncertainty in his eyes was unmistakable.

The seer only chuckled softly, as though amused by the emperor's question. "The winds speak not of names, but of deeds. The wolves come from where the sun sets. There is time, yet not much."

The emperor's frustration boiled over. "Enough of this! If you have something to say, speak it clearly, seer. Who is this enemy?"

One of the nobles, visibly anxious now, whispered to his neighbor, "Does anyone understand a word of this? 'Wolves where the sun sets'—what does that even mean?"

Another noble shrugged helplessly. "I've no idea. Could be anyone. Could be nothing."

The seer inclined their head once more. "The message has been delivered. The storm is upon you, though its winds have not yet reached the Citadel."

With that, the seer turned and began to walk away, their robes trailing behind them like a shadow. The nobles stared after the figure, baffled, uncertain whether to take the warning seriously or dismiss it as a mad riddle.

One of the older courtiers leaned toward another and whispered, "What are we supposed to do with this? Wolves and storms… it's gibberish!"

"I don't know," the other nobleman replied, shaking his head in confusion. "But the emperor looks unsettled."

Eldryn, for his part, sat in silence, deep in thought. The seer's words echoed in his mind, though they made little sense to him. "A sickness… shadows… wolves." His gaze drifted toward the windows where the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the floor. The wolves come from where the sun sets.

He couldn't shake the feeling that the seer had spoken of something real, something dangerous. But what?

And from where?

********

The once-vibrant palace of the Celestial Citadel had begun to change in subtle but unmistakable ways. The hallways, once filled with the sounds of lively discussion and swift-footed attendants, had grown quieter, as if the walls themselves sensed the shifting mood within. The sunlight that streamed through the tall windows seemed dimmer, the warmth of the empire's heart slowly fading away.

At first, it had been nothing more than a cough. Emperor Eldryn, still his commanding self, had dismissed it as a fleeting irritation. A chill from the early winter winds, perhaps. But the cough lingered, and soon other signs began to show—a heaviness in his steps, a stiffness in his joints that had never bothered him before. His advisors, ever vigilant, noticed the changes, though none dared to speak openly of them.

Weeks passed, and the emperor's strength visibly waned. His once-straight posture became slightly hunched, his powerful voice, which could command a room in an instant, had softened, becoming hoarse. Eldryn, ever the stubborn ruler, continued his duties with the same fervor, but it was clear to all who saw him that something was amiss.

Inside the emperor's private chambers, the atmosphere had grown tense. The physicians, gathered around in quiet consultation, were becoming more frequent visitors. The once-infrequent meetings had turned into daily checks, each one met with more concern than the last.

One evening, as Eldryn sat on the edge of his bed, his breathing labored and his forehead glistening with sweat, the lead physician approached with an array of herbs and tonics.

"We must speak plainly, Majesty," the physician began, his voice carefully measured. "Your condition has not improved, despite our efforts."

Eldryn's lips tightened, the lines of his face deepening. "I know," he said, his voice quiet, but still commanding. "It's no mere cold, is it?"

The physician hesitated before shaking his head. "No, Majesty. It has progressed beyond that. We've tried everything we can—herbs from the southern coasts, tonics from the finest healers in the empire… but nothing seems to slow it."

One of the younger physicians, standing by the window, spoke softly. "Your Majesty, we've noticed that the illness is… not following any usual pattern. There are no rashes, no visible signs, yet your strength continues to fade."

The emperor gave a short, dry laugh. "So, I am dying of an illness that even my finest minds cannot name."

Silence followed, as the physicians exchanged uncertain glances. They had all felt the weight of their failure, but none could bear to say it aloud.

The lead physician cleared his throat, stepping forward. "We believe it may be something internal, Majesty. Something that has taken hold in your lungs, in your very blood. It is slow but relentless."

Eldryn nodded, his face unreadable. He stood, though the effort seemed to cost him greatly. "I will not let this sickness rule me," he said, as much to himself as to the others. "I have led this empire for decades. I have faced enemies far greater than this."

The physicians exchanged uneasy looks. "Your Majesty, we recommend more rest. You must conserve your strength. Pushing yourself—"

"I will do what is necessary," Eldryn interrupted, though his voice had lost some of its edge. "But I will not waste away in bed like a helpless child."

As the weeks turned into months, Eldryn's health continued to decline. His steps grew slower, his visits to the council chamber shorter. The weight of his crown, which had once been a symbol of his unwavering authority, now seemed to press heavily upon him. The emperor who had once ridden into battle at the head of his armies now needed assistance to rise from his chair.

In his private moments, Eldryn felt the gravity of the situation bearing down on him. There were times, late at night, when the palace was quiet, that he could feel the sickness gnawing at him from within. His hands would tremble, his breathing would grow labored, and a cold sweat would break across his skin. The once indomitable ruler now lay awake in the dark, haunted by his own frailty.

The court was abuzz with quiet murmurs, though no one dared to speak openly of the emperor's illness. The servants, the advisors, the nobles—they all saw the changes, but in the palace, where fear of losing their emperor mingled with the uncertainty of the future, silence became the norm.

One evening, the lead physician was summoned again, though now there was no sense of urgency—just a resigned acceptance of what was happening. Eldryn sat in a high-backed chair near the fire, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. His hand rested limply on the armrest, and his eyes were distant, staring into the flames as if searching for something that was no longer there.

The physician approached cautiously, bowing slightly. "Your Majesty, I have prepared another tonic. It may ease the pain."

Eldryn waved a hand dismissively, his voice weak. "I do not need more tonics. I need answers."

The physician hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "Majesty, we are doing everything in our power, but… this illness is beyond what we have seen before."

Eldryn turned his gaze to the physician, and for a moment, there was a flicker of the man he had once been—sharp, commanding. "You speak of things you cannot understand. Tell me this—how long?"

The physician swallowed hard, lowering his eyes. "It is difficult to say, Majesty. A few weeks, perhaps. Maybe less."

Eldryn's jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he said nothing. The weight of it all, the realization that he was truly at the mercy of something beyond his control, settled over him like a shroud.

And then, from somewhere deep within him, a memory surfaced. A memory of that day in the court when the seer had visited. "The empire is already sick," the seer had said.

Eldryn had thought the words foolish then, dismissing them as little more than the ramblings of a stranger. But now, as he sat there, weakened and fading, he began to understand. The seer had not spoken of the empire alone. They had spoken of him—of his body, of the illness that had taken root within him.

The sickness had been foretold. And now, as his life slowly ebbed away, Eldryn realized that the seer's words had always been meant for him.

To Be Continued...