"My lord, an army of orcs is advancing toward our kingdom, approximately forty thousand strong, accompanied by four wyverns," reported a soldier clad in full steel armor, kneeling before the throne. The figure seated on the throne remained still, framed by two statues of knights wielding longswords, their presence imposing. Behind the throne hung a banner of white and gold, emblazoned with the symbol of a lion's head, silently witnessing the moment. "What are your orders, my lord?"
the hall that once silent fell into chaos as the news reached their ear. these people are the nobles of the Amira Kingdom.
The hall erupted in frantic whispers and panicked shouts as the nobles of the Amira Kingdom absorbed the shocking news. What had been a serene gathering of lords and ladies swiftly descended into a chaotic scene of uncertainty and fear. Their elegant garments swished as they moved about, some with grim faces, others with wide eyes, trying to process the enormity of the threat.
The soldier, clad in full steel armor from shoulder to toe, remained kneeling before the throne. His gaze was fixed downward, even as the tumult around him grew louder. The throne itself stood tall at the far end of the great hall, its back lined with intricate carvings, while two knight statues flanked either side, their stone visages solemn and unyielding as if guarding the kingdom's legacy.
Seated upon the throne was the figure of the monarch, a person whose presence commanded respect even amid such disarray. The ruler's features were partly obscured by the shadow cast from the tall windows, but their posture remained calm, a stark contrast to the commotion spreading through the nobles.
With a deep breath, the monarch slowly rose from the throne, the faint clink of metal breaking the growing silence as the lords and ladies halted their discussions. Their eyes turned to the one person in the room who could decide the fate of the kingdom.
"Forty thousand orcs," the monarch said, voice low but steady, each word carrying the weight of authority. "And four wyverns among them." They took a step forward, the flicker of determination in their eyes visible to all. "It seems our enemies have gathered every resource they could muster to bring ruin upon our lands."
The monarch's gaze swept across the assembled nobles, who were still uneasy. "But they underestimate us. They think our kingdom will bow and crumble at the sight of their numbers, that we will falter in the face of their beasts." The ruler's tone grew sharper, resolute. "Send word to our allies and muster the army at once. We will not wait for them to strike first. We will meet them at the borders and show them the strength of Amira!"
Turning back to the soldier kneeling before the throne, the monarch continued, "Prepare the royal guard and mobilize our mages to counter the wyverns. We must also prepare the balistas to intercept them"
The soldier raised his head, meeting the monarch's gaze. "At once, my lord!" He rose to his feet, saluting with a fist to his chest before hurrying out of the hall.
The monarch returned to the throne, looking out at the nobles with a determined expression. "We have faced threats before, and we have endured. This kingdom will not fall today. We will fight. We will resist. And we will prevail."
The moment the monarch's voice faded, the great hall erupted once more, this time with a different kind of chaos. The nobles, dressed in their fine silks and ornate robes, began shouting over one another. Some voiced their approval with bold declarations, while others expressed concern, their faces pale with fear. The air buzzed with a mix of excitement and dread.
"My lord, we must not underestimate the sheer numbers of the enemy!" shouted an elderly noble with a silver beard, his voice trembling. "Even with our allies, they outnumber us two to one!"
"Nonsense!" barked a younger noble from across the room, his eyes gleaming with fervor. "This is our chance to crush the orcs and show the world the true might of the Amira Kingdom! We should strike swiftly, before they reach our borders!"
"Send for reinforcements from the eastern territories!" called out another, his voice rising above the noise. "We will need every able-bodied man to hold the line if the battle turns dire."
"Have the mages focus on protecting the capital instead!" countered a woman dressed in a deep blue gown, her voice sharp and filled with worry. "The enemy may have other tricks; we cannot leave the city vulnerable while our forces are drawn out!"
The nobles continued to argue, each one trying to assert their view, as if their voices alone could sway the course of war. Some sought glory, others were desperate to preserve their own holdings, while a few seemed paralyzed by the sheer scope of the threat. The grand hall, which had once been a place of courtly elegance and order, now felt like the eye of a brewing storm.
The monarch raised a hand, and the gesture was enough to silence the room almost instantly. The authority in that simple motion spoke louder than any of the shouted words. "Enough!" the monarch commanded, their voice ringing out with a finality that cut through the din. "I understand your concerns, and I value your counsel, but we cannot afford to bicker like frightened children. We face a grave threat, and our response must be unified and decisive."
The monarch's gaze swept over the assembled nobles, their eyes fierce. "Our mages will prepare both offensive spells and protective barriers for the troops. As for reinforcements from the eastern territories, they will be summoned immediately, but we cannot wait for them to engage the enemy. We will meet the orc army head-on at the Crossroads of Solrath. There, the land narrows, and their numbers will be less of an advantage."
The room fell into an uneasy silence as the nobles digested the strategy. Some still wore expressions of doubt, while others nodded with renewed resolve.
The monarch continued, their voice steady. "Prepare your men and gather your arms. The enemy will soon learn that Amira does not fall without a fight, and that our kingdom is not merely a prize to be taken, but a fortress that will stand defiant against all who threaten it."
With that, the nobles began to disperse, their faces a mix of apprehension and determination as they hurried to make preparations. The great hall slowly emptied, leaving the monarch alone once more upon the throne.
The monarch's eyes drifted toward the massive map hanging on the wall, marked with the known positions of the orc army. There was no telling how many lives would be lost in the coming days, or if even victory could truly be assured. But one thing was certain: the fate of the Amira Kingdom would soon be decided on the battlefield.
***
Within the Abyssal Forest
Aldir's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself lying on the damp, blood-soaked earth. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, and the chilling cold of the ground seeped into his bones. As his vision cleared, the grim scene around him became painfully apparent. scattered remains of wolves, the ground torn apart, and the surrounding trees shattered by the violent forces unleashed during the battle.
He pushed himself up slowly, his limbs trembling as he struggled to regain his balance. His muscles ached with a deep, unfamiliar exhaustion, and his hands were stained with dried blood. The memory of the fight flickered in his mind, vivid and disjointed, replaying the moments of chaos and slaughter. He could recall the sensation of power surging through him, the explosive force behind every strike, the wolves being torn apart by blows that never fully reached them.
But something felt wrong. As he thought back to each movement, each surge of power, a sense of detachment settled over him. It was as if he had been watching the events unfold from a distance, not as the one delivering the blows but as an observer. The emotions, the thrill, the rage, the dark joy. It felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else.
Aldir's breath quickened, his pulse pounding in his ears. It was not his anger, not his thirst for violence that fueled the fight. The way his body had moved, the laughter that escaped his lips, it did not feel like his own. The memory of that laughter echoed in his mind, low and menacing, entirely unlike his usual self. He shuddered as the realization set in, an unsettling thought that sent chills down his spine 'It was as if I were possessed'
He stared at his hands, trembling and covered in grime and blood. The power he had wielded felt foreign, unnatural, like a beast lurking inside him that had been momentarily unleashed. Aldir clenched his fists, trying to make sense of the experience, but the more he thought about it, the less it seemed to belong to him.
What... happened to me? He struggled to grasp the answer, but it slipped through his mind like water through his fingers. The strange power, the unfamiliar feelings, it was as though something else had taken control, guiding his body, reveling in the destruction. Yet now, as he stood alone amidst the aftermath, whatever it was had withdrawn back into the shadows, leaving him with only fragments of a memory that did not feel entirely his.
Taking a deep breath, Aldir looked around, the remnants of the battle a stark reminder of his terrifying strength. He needed answers, and he needed them soon. But first, he had to understand this darkness inside him. And whether it was something he could control, or if it would consume him entirely the next time it emerged.