The chamber fell into a heavy silence, shadows dancing across the walls as the voice echoed from the darkness. King Dezaral Raizen, standing alone in the vast, echoing chamber beneath the Divine Tree, could feel a sense of ancient power pulsing through the stones. His heart was still racing from the shock he'd received when he attempted to touch the sword. Now, he stood motionless, gazing into the shadowy corners of the room as the mysterious voice chuckled, recognizing him without a hint of doubt.
"King Dezaral," the voice murmured with a low, dark amusement. "You come here, seeking answers about your family's history and legacy, is that it?"
Dezaral steadied his voice, attempting to mask his surprise. "Yes," he replied. "I have come to understand the secrets my family has kept. I seek the truth about our legacy… and the power hidden here."
The shadow laughed, the sound cold and heavy. "Legacy, you say? Very well. I shall reveal the truths your family has hidden—truths buried for over two millennia."
From the darkness, the voice wove a tale of ancient times. It began with the legendary Sol Raizen, the first king, who had led humanity to victory in the darkest age against the mightiest demon to have ever walked the world—Demon King Derous. Sol's victory wasn't merely one of skill or magic. He had wielded a weapon of extraordinary, ominous power, a sword known as *Dark Angel*. This blade, the shadow explained, was no ordinary weapon; it was a gift from a cosmic entity, one that descended from the heavens to aid Sol in his quest to defeat Derous and save the realm.
"*Dark Angel*," the voice continued, "holds enough power to destroy worlds. Its dark energy is so vast that it needed to be contained, lest it wreak havoc upon creation itself. Sol Raizen sealed it away, hidden from the unworthy. For two thousand years, that power has lain dormant, waiting for a time of great need. Only one from the Raizen bloodline can wield it—if the sword deems them worthy."
Dezaral's eyes widened as he listened. The weapon his ancestor had wielded to conquer the unconquerable, to forge peace between humans and demons, had been hidden all this time, within reach, yet beyond his grasp. He looked at the sword resting upon the pedestal, the purple glow faintly illuminating the chamber.
"Why can't I touch it?" Dezaral asked, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and awe.
The shadow replied, its voice edged with amusement. "The sword is sealed by a spell of incredible power. To awaken *Dark Angel*, you must fulfill certain conditions. You see, King Dezaral, this weapon is bound by ancient magic, locked away by Sol Raizen himself. For the seal to be broken, you need the presence of eight royal commanders—the strongest warriors of Sol's time. They are immortal and hidden in disguise across the land, concealed even from me."
Dezaral's heart sank. Finding these eight ancient warriors sounded like a task fit for a lifetime. Yet he knew that without them, *Dark Angel* would remain beyond his reach.
"But why would they hide themselves?" he asked, attempting to grasp the enormity of the situation.
"They are guardians of peace, bound to await a time when the empire would need them most," the voice replied. "They do not seek attention, nor do they wish to be found. It is up to you to find them, to prove your worth and your commitment to the legacy of the Raizen family. Only then can the weapon be yours."
Dezaral bowed his head, absorbing the weight of the shadow's words. His voice low, he said, "Thank you for this knowledge. It gives me a glimmer of hope—a path forward."
But as he turned to leave, the shadow's voice called out again. "Not so fast, King Dezaral. I have answered your questions. Now, you will answer one of mine."
Dezaral froze. He hadn't expected this, but he turned to face the darkness, his pulse quickening.
"Why do you seek this weapon, and how do you plan to obtain it?" the voice asked, a subtle hint of warning in its tone.
Dezaral hesitated for a moment before answering. "*Dark Angel* is a weapon of justice and defense. I need it to fulfill its duty once more. Dark powers are stirring in the shadows, and I fear for my people. I will find these eight ancient guardians, no matter the cost. I've made terrible mistakes in the past, errors that may threaten the kingdom's future. I am the king. I will take responsibility for our fate."
The voice fell silent for a moment, as if contemplating his words. Finally, it spoke, a hint of satisfaction in its tone. "Very well, King Dezaral. Your resolve is clear, even if your path is uncertain. Go forth and remember… this journey will test you in ways beyond your imagination."
With a quiet hum, the chamber seemed to relax, as though the shadow itself had withdrawn. The ancient door to the dungeon began to close behind him as Dezaral stepped out. He could still feel the weight of the sword's power, lingering like a promise—and a threat.
As he began his descent from The Lonely Hills, the wind howled around him, and he had the eerie sensation of being watched.