---
The elder's screams ricocheted through the marble-clad halls of Andonia's palace as the guards dragged him away, his voice a venomous mix of defiance and desperation.
"My king, I was doing you a favor!" he bellowed, his eyes wide with fervor. "The kingdom is better without that boy! He's useless! He can't succeed you—he doesn't have what it takes! He even lacks talent! My king, please, you must listen to me! My king! My king!"
The prince, Jack, clung to his mother's gown, his small hands trembling as tears streaked his face. His wide, sorrowful eyes darted to the elder, each hateful word stabbing into his heart. Beside the queen, the king's expression hardened, his regal composure shadowed by anger and disappointment.
"Take him away," the king commanded coldly, his voice cutting through the elder's rant like a blade.
The guards hauled the elder out of sight, his protests fading into the distance. By the side of the hall stood Astrid, captain of the elite Unit Six, his armor glinting in the fading sunlight. Though his face was stoic, his alert posture hinted at readiness—his team had been the first to neutralize the assassination attempt on the young prince.
The king turned his gaze to his son, who was still clinging to his mother. Softening his expression, he beckoned with a warm smile. "Jack, come here, my boy."
The prince hesitated, looking to his mother for reassurance. She nodded gently, and Jack stepped forward, his small frame dwarfed by his father's presence. "Yes, Father?"
Taking the boy's hand in his, the king led him to the balcony overlooking the vast kingdom. The golden light of the setting sun bathed the land, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold fear lingering in Jack's heart.
"What that man said," the king began, kneeling to meet his son's gaze, "did it hurt you?"
Jack blinked, startled by the question. His lip trembled as he nodded, unable to hide the tears that welled up again.
The king sighed, his expression a mixture of sorrow and resolve. He rested a steadying hand on Jack's shoulder. "Listen to me, my son. The words of a bitter man have no power over who you are. People like him, they are driven by darkness—fear, envy, and pain they cannot contain. They see goodness and seek to destroy it because it reminds them of what they lack."
Jack sniffled, wiping his tears with a small fist as he looked up at his father.
The king gestured to the kingdom below, bustling with life. "Look at this land, Jack. It is filled with both light and shadow, just as the hearts of men are. You will face people who doubt you, who ridicule you, and even try to harm you. But their words do not define you. Only you can do that—through the choices you make and the strength you show."
He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, yet firm. "You are my son. Your worth is not in your strength or in some talent you lack. It lies in your heart. Be kind, be brave, and hold true to yourself. The world needs men of honor, not men who chase after the approval of others."
Jack stared at his father, his tears slowing as his breathing steadied. "But… will I ever be as strong as you?" he asked hesitantly.
The king smiled, ruffling Jack's hair. "If your heart is in the right place, strength is merely a byproduct, my son."
A small, hopeful smile crept across Jack's face.
From behind them, the queen's soft voice broke the moment. "Are you boys done? It's time for supper."
The king turned with a chuckle. "Ah, my beautiful Mitchell. Yes, yes, we're coming. Right, Jack?"
"Right, Mum," Jack said with a grin, his earlier sorrow replaced with newfound determination.
"Go ahead, my boy. I'll join you shortly," the king said, watching as Jack followed his mother inside.
As they disappeared, Astrid approached and bowed. "My king."
"Ah, Astrid. I must have kept you waiting," the king said, his tone light.
"Not at all, Your Majesty. I've come to inform you that Unit Six has been assigned a long-term mission. We leave at dawn and expect to return in two years."
The king's jovial demeanor faded as he turned to the balcony railing, his gaze distant. "Astrid," he began, his voice low, "you've always shown kindness to my son. As you know, he cannot contract a beast or awaken beast energy. It has made him a target for scorn and worse."
Astrid's expression remained calm, but his eyes narrowed slightly in understanding.
The king continued, his voice heavy with emotion. "Jack is my only child and my heir. Many call for his removal—some with words, others with blades. I won't always be here to protect him, Astrid. That is why I need someone I trust. Someone who believes in him."
"I swear on my life," Astrid said solemnly, "I will protect and guide the prince, my king."
The king's lips quirked into a subtle smile. "Thank you, old friend. But enough solemnity—it's Jack's birthday. Come, let's celebrate."
---
Two Years Later...
The grand hall of Andonia's palace was alive with anticipation. The royal messenger knelt before the king and queen, his voice steady yet tinged with excitement.
"My king, we've received word that Captain Astrid's Unit Six has returned to the kingdom and is on their way to the palace as we speak."
The king smiled warmly, leaning back against his ornate throne. "Ah, it has been two years already. We shall give them the welcome they deserve."
Moments later, the throne room doors swung open with a stately creak. A ripple of awe swept through the room as the six warriors entered, their presence commanding and unified despite their diverse appearances.
At the helm was Astrid, his silver armor polished to a mirror shine, the emblem of Andonia etched proudly upon his chestplate. His sharp eyes swept across the room, missing nothing. To his right was a tall, serene woman clad in flowing robes of emerald and gold, her delicate hands resting lightly at her sides, radiating a quiet power that hinted at mastery of healing arts.
On Astrid's left walked a darkly clad woman, her movements fluid and silent, her keen gaze scanning every shadow. Behind them, a rugged warrior with battle-worn armor bore a massive claymore across his back, his sheer presence exuding years of hard-fought experience and cunning. Beside him, a woman in leather armor carried a quiver of arrows and a short bow, her stance confident yet relaxed.
Finally, a towering man brought up the rear, his muscled frame a testament to his strength, though his eyes gleamed with a surprising gentleness as he observed his surroundings.
The six warriors advanced in perfect synchronization, their boots clicking against the marble floor. As they reached the throne, they dropped to one knee in unison, heads bowed in respect.
The king rose, his regal bearing softened by genuine warmth. "Welcome back, Unit Six. Your kingdom is grateful for your service and sacrifice."
The queen, seated beside him, inclined her head with a smile. "You've all been missed."
Before Astrid could reply, the doors to the throne room burst open with a loud crash. A lone messenger stumbled in, his tunic torn and his face pale with terror. Blood streaked his forehead, and his voice trembled as he cried out, "My king! The kingdom—it's under attack!"
The room froze, the air thick with shock. The king's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting through the tension. "Under attack? By whom?"
The messenger collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. "I… I don't know, my king. They're not human. They… they came from the skies…"
The ground shuddered violently, a deep rumble that seemed to emanate from the earth itself. The polished marble of the throne room trembled, and the golden chandeliers overhead swayed dangerously.
Astrid was on his feet in an instant, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Unit Six, prepare for battle!"
The warriors moved as one, forming a protective formation around the king and queen.
From the royal balcony, a strange, unnatural darkness spread across the sky, swallowing the horizon. The king stepped forward, his face pale with disbelief as he watched the heavens churn. "This… this is not of this world," he murmured.
The air crackled with energy, and then—like a falling star—a blinding streak of astral light tore through the clouds. The projectile hurtled toward the palace, glowing with an intense, otherworldly radiance.
Astrid's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Scatter! Protect the royal family!"
The warriors sprang into action, moving to shield the royal family, but the projectile's speed was unmatched. It struck the palace with a cataclysmic force, the explosion ripping through stone and metal alike.
The world became a cacophony of shattering glass, collapsing walls, and the deafening roar of destruction. Dust and debris filled the air, choking and blinding everyone within.
Then, silence.
For a moment, there was nothing but the oppressive stillness of the aftermath. The air was thick with dust, making it impossible to see beyond a few feet. The once-grand throne room was in ruins, its splendor buried beneath rubble.
A faint groan broke the quiet. Someone stirred within the wreckage—a lone figure moving amidst the devastation. Astrid's voice rang out, hoarse but steady. "Sound off! Is anyone alive?"
No answer came.
His heart pounded as he scanned the swirling dust, searching for his team, the royal family, anyone. But the silence that greeted him was unnerving, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.
In the distance, a low, guttural sound rose from the haze—a sound that sent chills down his spine. It was faint, almost indistinguishable, yet undeniably unnatural.
Astrid gripped the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing as he strained to see through the veil of dust. But the sound faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only the oppressive quiet.
The captain's breath quickened. "Unit Six, report!" he barked again, louder this time, but his voice echoed unanswered through the ruins.
He froze, the realization washing over him like a cold wave. Had the strike claimed them all? Was he the only one left standing?
As the dust began to settle, the remnants of the throne room came into view. The once-vibrant banners now hung in tatters, the royal crest barely visible beneath layers of soot and ash. Beyond the shattered windows, the kingdom itself lay hidden beneath a shroud of darkness.
Astrid took a cautious step forward, his boots crunching against broken stone. The silence pressed down on him, suffocating and absolute.
"Your Majesty?" he called hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.
No response.
The realization settled heavily in his chest: he didn't know if the king, the queen, or anyone else had survived. For all he knew, the entire kingdom could be gone.
But there was no time for despair. He tightened his grip on his sword, his jaw set with grim determination. Whatever had caused this devastation, it wasn't over.
And he would face it—alone, if he had to.
—