The heavy silence in the council chamber lingered long after Dante Ashford left, his presence an echo that clung to the walls and the hearts of those within. King Aric sat back in his chair, his composed facade betraying only the faintest tension in the line of his jaw. Around the table, his advisors whispered among themselves, their fear palpable.
"We've heard tales of him before," one noble muttered, his hand trembling as he reached for his goblet. "But to feel it—" He broke off, shaking his head, unable to find the words.
"It's not just him," another murmured. "Did you hear what he said? Disturbing amounts of mana surging within the castle. The attackers aren't far. They could already be among us."
King Aric raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. "Enough." His voice, though calm, carried a sharp edge that cut through their panic. "Dante is here. Let us focus on securing the council chamber and ensuring that none of you become easy targets."
The advisors nodded hesitantly, though their unease lingered like a storm cloud.
Alessia, standing just beyond the chamber doors, had managed to steady herself after Dante's departure. Yet, even now, her fingers still gripped the hilt of her sword too tightly, her knuckles white. She could still feel the faint vibrations in the floor from where he had walked, as though his power left a trail of unrelenting force.
She turned her attention to the hallway. The thought nagged her. How had the attackers managed to infiltrate the castle so deeply without detection?
In the shadow of the forest, the group of attackers crouched low, their breath shallow as the weight of Dante Ashford's arrival reached them. The air seemed heavier, colder, and more oppressive than they had anticipated.
The leader, a man clad in blackened armor adorned with faintly glowing runes, clenched his fists, trying to ignore the chill spreading through his veins. "He's trying to break us before we even begin," he spat, his voice low but steady. "Don't let him."
One of his subordinates, younger and less seasoned, stammered, "H-How can we fight something like that? He felt… like death itself."
The leader's gaze darkened, and he drew his weapon, the blade humming faintly with energy. "We are not here to fight Dante Ashford," he said coldly. "We are here for the king. Focus on the mission. If you falter now, you'll die before you see the gates."
"Now spread out and take out the guards."
The others nodded reluctantly, their fear barely masked by their determination. But deep down, every one of them felt the same gnawing dread. Dante Ashford wasn't just a man. He was a storm, and they were walking straight into its eye.
Few Hours Earlier
The western woods Dante was near a stream a place where time slowed, and the noise of the world faded into the whisper of wind and water. Seated on a mossy stone by a crystal-clear stream, Dante was still, his presence blending seamlessly with the natural world around him.
He wasn't here for peace; he was here to refine his energy. With his legs crossed and his eyes closed, he delved deep into the currents of mana that threaded through the world, letting it flow through him. The stream mirrored his meditative state, its gentle rhythm a constant, soothing hum.
But even in this moment of quiet, Dante remained vigilant, attuned to the faintest disturbances in the mana around him.
It came suddenly—a ripple in the mana currents that jolted Dante from his meditation. His eyes snapped open, sharp and focused, as he rose to his feet. The disturbance wasn't near, but it was significant—chaotic and concentrated, centered within the heart of the kingdom.
Dante opened his eyes, his expression cold and resolute. The faint trickle of the stream seemed louder now, rushing around the stone where he stood. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his boots crunching against the forest floor.
The air around him shifted, growing heavier as he drew mana into himself. The stream rippled violently, reacting to the sudden surge in energy.
Then, with a single powerful step, Dante launched himself into the sky, breaking through the forest canopy. The sound was deafening, the sheer force of his movement leaving a shockwave that scattered leaves and branches in all directions.
High above the western woods, Dante streaked through the sky, a blur of dark power and animosity. He could feel the source of the disturbance more clearly now, its chaotic energy pulsing like a beacon.
Dante tilted his head slightly, closing his eyes once more to focus on the sensation. He extended his awareness, following the threads of mana that connected him to the distant source. It wasn't the usual fluctuations of the castle's defenses or a royal mage's experimentation. No, this was different—an intruder, someone deliberately releasing mana to disrupt and obscure.
Present Moment
Back Inside the Castle
Alessia moved swiftly through the hallways, her senses on high alert. The quiet of the castle was now an ominous stillness, broken only by the occasional distant sound of boots on stone. She passed a pair of guards, their faces pale but resolute as they tightened their grips on their weapons.
In the central courtyard, Dante stood motionless, his back to the castle gates. His head was tilted slightly, as if listening to something far away. The wind stirred his cloak, but otherwise, he remained as still as a statue.
Alessia approached cautiously, stopping a respectful distance away. She didn't need to announce herself; he knew she was there.
"What did you sense?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
Dante's reply was low, almost a growl. "They are near. Faint traces of mana in the air—disjointed, chaotic. They've cloaked themselves, but their presence is slipping."
Alessia frowned. "How many?"
"Enough to believe they can take the castle," he replied. He glanced at her, his piercing eyes momentarily softening. "Stay by the council chamber. Your duty is to protect the king, not to throw yourself into battle."
Before she could argue, the faint sound of shouts and clanging steel echoed through the castle halls. The attack had begun.