The royal council chamber was quiet, save for the soft rustle of parchment and the faint scratch of quills. King Aric sat at the head of the table, his face a mask of calm authority. Around him, his closest advisors and a handful of high-ranking nobles murmured in low voices. The air was tense with unspoken words and subtle glances, the weight of the kingdom's affairs bearing down on every person in the room.
Alessia stood just outside the chamber doors, her posture straight, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She wasn't assigned to this specific meeting—only the captain of the guard and a few handpicked soldiers were stationed inside. Yet, she had lingered nearby, unable to ignore the sense of foreboding that had settled over the castle since the previous night.
The hallways were unusually quiet for this time of day. Servants had been redirected to other parts of the palace, and guards patrolled in pairs, their eyes sharper than usual. Alessia had spent the morning piecing together fragments of conversations she had overheard. Something about a decree, whispers of trade routes, and a tension that suggested more than just political disputes.
"Prepare for the meeting at dawn."
The note from the steward's office echoed in her mind. She hadn't been able to decipher its full meaning, but her instincts told her it was connected to this gathering. She couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was about to happen would change everything.
The sound of hurried footsteps snapped her out of her thoughts. A messenger approached from the far end of the corridor, his face pale and drawn. He carried a sealed document in his hands, his pace quick but controlled. Alessia moved to intercept him.
"Who are you delivering this to?" she asked, her tone firm.
The messenger hesitated, his eyes darting toward the council chamber doors. "It's for the king," he said, his voice trembling slightly.
Before Alessia could question him further, a sudden and overwhelming sensation washed over her. It wasn't physical, but it struck her with the force of a storm. Her knees buckled, and she clutched the hilt of her sword for balance, it wasn't anything that she had ever felt.
Everyone within the kingdom had been hit with immense pressure, friend and foe could feel the pressure of this being.
It wasn't just inside the castle. Beyond its walls, in the bustling streets of the capital, people paused mid-step, looking to the sky with wide, terrified eyes. Vendors dropped their wares, and horses reared back, sensing a predator far beyond their comprehension. Even the air seemed to bow in submission as the presence grew closer.
Far outside the castle gates, in the shadow of the forested hills, the attackers felt it too.
"Do you feel that?" one of them hissed, his voice cracking. He clutched his weapon tighter, though his hands trembled uncontrollably.
"It's just the wind," another snapped, though his eyes darted nervously to the horizon.
"No," the leader said, his voice low and filled with something close to dread. His armor, adorned with faintly glowing runes, seemed dimmer now, as if its power was shrinking in the face of what approached. "That is not the wind. It's him."
The forest fell deathly silent. Even the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves vanished, swallowed by the oppressive energy spreading across the land.
On the far west, there was a figure flying with disturbing speed, filled with animosity.
A streak of light carved through the morning sky, moving faster than any bird or storm. The figure was a blur of dark fabric and raw power, a force of nature bound in human form. With each passing second, the streak grew larger, brighter, and heavier—its presence cascading over the land like waves of a coming tide.
One of the attackers dropped his weapon, his courage shattered. "This… this is impossible," he whispered, his knees buckling.
In the council chamber, King Aric's advisors clutched the table for support, their breathing labored as though the very air had been stolen from their lungs. Papers scattered to the floor as one of them collapsed to his knees, unable to withstand the weight of the presence barreling toward them.
Queen Seraphina, seated in her private quarters, closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Here he comes," she murmured, her voice soft yet unshaken.
The pressure reached its peak, a crescendo that threatened to break the very foundations of the castle. And then, with a sound like thunder tearing the heavens apart, the streak descended.
The castle walls shuddered violently as the figure slammed into the courtyard, the sheer force of his arrival creating a crater in the stone. Dust and debris billowed into the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, the figure rose.
A man emerged from the smoke, his cloak billowing behind him like a shroud of darkness. His gaze swept the courtyard, cold and unrelenting, and his very presence seemed to draw the light from the air.
Inside the council chamber, the double doors flew open with an explosive crack, the sound echoing through the silent hall.
Every eye turned toward him.
The guards closest to the doors collapsed, unable to withstand the crushing weight of his aura. Even Alessia, who had fought her entire life to stand tall against fear, found herself gripping the wall as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
He stepped forward, his boots striking the marble floor with deliberate precision. His eyes, sharp as blades, swept over the room, lingering for only a moment on each person. It was as though he measured their worth with a single glance—and found them all wanting.
"I am Dante Ashford," he announced, his voice reverberating through the walls. "The vessel of the king and knight of the queen."
Every word struck with the weight of a sledgehammer, reverberating through their very bones. His spiritual presence was unlike anything they had ever encountered—pure, unyielding power, suffused with an animosity that made their souls shudder.
Far outside, the attackers clung to the shadows, their courage utterly shattered.
"He's here," one of them gasped, dropping to his knees. "It's over. We're already dead."
The leader grit his teeth, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. "We move now," he growled, though his own voice wavered. "If we hesitate, he'll crush us like insects."
Back in the chamber, King Aric rose from his seat, his expression unreadable. "Dante," he said, his voice steady. "Why have you come?"
Dante's gaze shifted to the king, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something less severe in his expression—respect. "Your Majesty," he said, inclining his head. "I sensed a disturbance. Mana is surging within these walls. An attack is imminent."
Queen Seraphina's voice carried softly from her seat. "Do what you must, Dante. Protect our kingdom."
Dante turned, his cloak sweeping behind him. He strode toward the chamber doors, his presence clearing the way as even the bravest guards scrambled to avoid him.
"As you wish, My Queen."
The attack had not yet begun, but Dante Ashford had already decided its outcome.