The storm stretched its tendrils across the skies, casting a gray pall over the land. Thunder rolled in the distance, a harbinger of what was to come. The kingdoms, though fractured, were bound by an invisible thread, their fates inexorably tied to the prophecy.
He watched it all unfold from his place beyond the veil of stars, where time moved differently, if it moved at all. His gaze drifted across the expanse of this broken world, noting every flicker of firelight, every glint of steel, every decision that would shape what was to come.
The princess rode to the front lines, her small army flanked by banners bearing the crest of her house—a crescent moon encircled by thorns. The soldiers looked to her for strength, though they were weary and uncertain. Her father's health had declined rapidly in recent weeks, leaving her the de facto leader of the kingdom.
"Hold the line," she commanded, her voice firm despite the ache in her chest. "We fight not for glory, but for survival."
She had little faith in the prophecy, yet its shadow loomed over her every action. The enemy armies closed in from the west, their banners tattered but their ranks unyielding. Among them was the crest of the Black Sun—a kingdom known for its merciless tactics.
The princess tightened her grip on the reins of her steed, her mind racing with possibilities. Could the prophecy be true? And if so, what role was she meant to play in it?
Far to the north, Queen Selene's forces began their march. Her knights, clad in armor dark as midnight, moved like a tide across the frostbitten plains. Selene rode at their head, her cloak billowing behind her, her face an unyielding mask. She had always been a pragmatic ruler, but now, desperation colored her decisions.
The scouts had brought troubling news: rumors of a strange child sighted in a village at the heart of the contested lands. Selene knew the danger of chasing shadows, but she also knew that the mere possibility of the child's existence was enough to set kingdoms ablaze.
"Send riders ahead," she ordered. "I want every corner of that village searched before nightfall."
Her general, Sir Darian, hesitated. "Your Majesty, if the other kingdoms learn of this—"
"Then let them," she interrupted, her voice as sharp as a blade. "This world is dying, Darian. If we do not act now, there will be nothing left to fight for."
---
In a village hidden within the dense forest that separated the warring kingdoms, a child sat quietly in the shadows of an old temple. The eclipse had passed months ago, but its mark lingered—a faint crescent burned into the child's palm.
The villagers, fearful of what the mark might mean, had shunned the child, leaving food at the temple's steps but never venturing inside. The child was small, with eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light, as if they held the reflection of the very heavens.
He observed this child, his gaze unwavering. Unlike the others, He did not fear the prophecy. To Him, it was merely another thread in the vast tapestry of existence—a story waiting to unfold.
But even He could sense it now. The child was different. Fate itself seemed to bend and twist around this small figure, drawing all who came near into its web. The kingdoms marched, the armies clashed, and yet it was this child, alone in a forgotten temple, who held the key to everything.
---
Back on the battlefield, the princess and her army held their ground against the advancing forces. The clash of swords and the cries of the wounded filled the air, but she refused to yield. Her eyes scanned the chaos, searching for something—anything—that could turn the tide.
In the distance, a horn sounded. Another army was approaching.
"Reinforcements?" one of her captains asked, his face pale with fear.
The princess shook her head. "No," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's not ours."
As the new army crested the hill, their banners unfurled, revealing the symbol of the Black Sun.
The storm had arrived.