Ganoth's training fields lay far outside the castle walls, a broad expanse of hardened ground, stone platforms, and sparring rings. Grand statues of old warriors stood in the distance, stern reminders of the kingdom's bloody history. Long shadows extended from the sun in the morning as the five young warriors stood in line before General Korvan, their bodies tense with anticipation.
"Today, we surpass your limits," the general declared, his gravelly voice echoing across the grounds. "You've trained, you've fought, but war doesn't wait for you to be ready. War needs you to be tough at all times."
Azur shrugged his shoulders, his tempest power crackling softly around him. Lionel stood beside him at his right, his hand on the hilt of his greatsword tightening. Serai, Kaela, and Garran stood beside them, each one radiating a different kind of energy—velocity, ferocity, and raw strength.
Korvan paced before them, his piercing gaze lingering on each of them in turn. "We begin with endurance," he declared. "A ten-mile run through the foothills. Then combat drills. Then sparring."
Kaela grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Finally, something fun."
Serai shot her a knowing look. "You say that now, but we'll see who's laughing when you're gasping for breath."
Garran shrugged. "I'll be fine. It's you little birds that need to scramble."
Serai arched an eyebrow. "Little bird?" She flapped her arms, and her dove spirit's wings spread wide in an instant, reflecting the sun. "We'll see who's slow, Garran."
Korvan grinned. "Enough chatter. Go."
Thundering, the five of them took off.
Hours Later—Combat Drills
Dust hung in the air as steel clashed against steel. The thud of blade against blade was rhythmic throughout the training grounds. Azur and Lionel met in the center, blades crossing. Sweat dripped down their foreheads, but neither yielded.
"Faster," Korvan snarled. "Azur, don't wait for the strike. Lionel, don't slow down."
Azur gritted his teeth and stepped back, his body distorting as he came forward, electricity crackling behind him. He swung the one katana, then the other, keeping Lionel in retreat.
Lionel parried, then swung down with a powerful blow. His greatsword was bathed in golden energy, the power of it slamming into the ground where Azur had stood. A shock of energy exploded out from the impact.
Azur barely dodged, flipping backward as he called upon the winds, sending a sudden gale toward Lionel.
Lionel dug his heels in, the shadows around him thickening to anchor him in place. His golden light surged forward, colliding with Azur's wind in a burst of power.
From the sidelines, Kaela crossed her arms. "They're both ridiculous."
Serai nodded. "And yet, I'd put money on Azur."
Kaela snorted. "Oh, you don't think the prince of Ganoth can win?"
Serai smiled. "I think Lionel plays too safe. Azur doesn't."
In the ring, Azur grinned. "Come on, Lionel. Let me see what a future king can do."
Lionel's face darkened, and for a moment, his golden light blazed hotter, marred with dancing flames. He charged, quicker than before.
Azur's eyes widened. He hardly got his katanas up in time to block, and even then, the force of the blow knocked him backward.
"Good," Korvan snarled. "Push him."
Azur's storm spirit shrieked through him. The wind howled, lashing around his feet as he advanced again, faster than he'd ever moved before. His katanas spat lightning as he struck from all sides, making Lionel leap back.
Lionel's golden radiance blazed as he countered, his greatsword afire. Flame danced along the edges of his strokes, the shadows around him turbulent with turmoil.
Then, suddenly, the shadows rolled too far.
Lionel's power blazed uncontrolled, his golden radiance turning dark, the flame blazing hotter than ever. His next stroke was not controlled—it was mad.
Azur barely dodged Lionel's strike as his blow carved into the ground itself, a zigzagging fissure bleeding open beneath them.
Korvan's face burned with rage. "Enough."
Neither boy had time to react before a commanding presence dominated the air. A shadow descended over them.
King Vaedros had arrived.
His scarlet eyes burned as he stepped into the space between them, his mere presence sending the storm raging around Azur to quiet and the unfettered power raging about Lionel to dissipate.
"That," Korvan whispered, "was sloppy."
Azur and Lionel both bent their heads, panting.
Vaedros's gaze remained on Lionel. "You still can't control it, can you?"
Lionel clenched his jaw. "I can."
There was a long, tense silence. Then Vaedros shifted to Korvan. "They are improving. But they are not ready."
Korvan nodded. "Then we continue training."
Vaedros looked at the five warriors standing before him. "You are all tools of Ganoth. Do not forget that."
Then, without saying another word, he turned and left, leaving a thick silence behind.
Kaela breathed out. "Well. That was intense."
Serai nodded. "And tomorrow, we do it all again."
Azur and Lionel shared a look, weariness evident in their faces. But behind that weariness was something else.
Determination.
The training session was at last over, and the five young fighters were scattered across the chill grass beneath the dying sun. Orange and blue-tinted sky above them, the first stars beginning to twinkle. The castle loomed in the distance, but for the time being, the world was still, peaceful.
Azur lay on his back, arms spread wide, staring up at the sky. His storm spirit hummed faintly within him, subdued after the intense battle. "I don't think I've ever been this exhausted," he muttered.
Lionel, sitting with his greatsword resting across his knees, chuckled. "You say that every day."
Kaela arched, rolling her shoulders and smiling. "Because every day is harder than the last. Korvan is trying to kill us, I swear."
Garran chuckled. "Bah. That was nothing. Where I come from, the real training doesn't start until someone passes out."
Serai rolled her eyes, picking up a blade of grass and twirling it between her fingers. "And yet you nearly passed out in the middle of the run."
Garran growled but did not say anything, and the others chuckled.
For a brief moment, the conversation fell silent, the friendly quiet between them lingering. And then Serai spoke again, but in a softer voice. "What were your parents like, Azur?"
Azur blinked in surprise. He leaned forward, his arms propped on his knees. "My parents?" He hesitated. "I… don't remember them much. I was too young when Ganoth conquered Lino."
The others glanced at each other but didn't say a word, letting him continue.
Azur drew breath. "I know they were strong. My father, King Eldric, could command the storms. My mother, Queen Seraphine, was like the wind itself. People say they fought to their last gasp to protect our kingdom." His eyes darkened. "But they were defeated."
Lionel shifted an inch. "Do you… hate my father for it?"
Azur regarded him, expressionless eyes. Then paused, took a moment before shaking his head. "No. Hate would not bring them back. And besides, I wouldn't be the same person if it had turned out otherwise." A hint of a smile played at his lips. "You'd probably be attempting to usurp my throne instead."
Lionel chuckled. "Good point."
Kaela leaned back onto her elbows. "At least you've got a heritage to live up to. History. My tribe doesn't even have a name anymore. We were 'the warrior people of the East' until Ganoth seized control."
Serai frowned. "That doesn't equate your history being nullified. You just have to be the one to carry on with it."
Kaela glanced at her, then smiled weakly. "Yeah. Maybe."
Garran massaged his head. "My family is different. We don't believe in history—only power. If you're powerful, you're respected. If you're not, you're left behind. That's the way it is."
Serai exhaled slowly. "Sounds callous."
Garran shrugged. "That's why I'm here. To prove I'm powerful enough."
Serai looked thoughtful. "My family wasn't like that. My mother would tell me that power isn't strength, but recognizing when to use it."
Kaela laughed. "Just what you would say to me."
Serai smiled. "Well, she was intelligent." Her expression relaxed. "She wanted peace. I think she hoped I would never have to fight."
There was a silence that descended upon the group, one that was thoughtful but not suffocating. They had come from many different directions, but now they were all present together.
Lionel finally broke the silence once more. "We all have our reasons for being here. But at the end of the day, we have one in common—to be stronger."
Azur nodded in agreement. "Stronger than our forebears."
Kaela grinned. "Even stronger than Korvan."
Garran bellowed out with laughter. "Now that's a challenge!"
Serai smiled. "Then we'll just have to meet it together."
The five of them sat there for a while longer, watching as the last of the sunlight .
The others had left, going back toward the castle to have the dinner meal. Azur and Serai remained alone, sitting side by side on the hill of grass that lay above the training grounds. The night was peaceful, the air being cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. In the wide sky above them, the stars shone like scattered embers.
Azur breathed slowly, watching the clouds drift over the moon. His storm spirit was quiet, almost peaceful.
Serai sat cross-legged, her silver eyes reflecting back the starlight. "You're always looking up at the sky," she said softly.
Azur smiled. "It reminds me that there's always something bigger than us." He leaned his head towards her. "And you? What do you think about when you look up?"
Serai hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Possibilities." She fidgeted with a strand of grass, twirling it around her fingers. "My mother used to say that the sky was endless, just like the roads we have in life. That no matter where we are, we always have a choice."
Azur was quiet for a moment. Then, he laughed. "Sounds like the opposite of what Korvan tells us."
Serai rolled her eyes. "Korvan believes in destiny. He believes that we are bound by our duty, our blood, our strength." She was quiet. "Do you believe so?"
Azur propped himself on his elbows, looking up at the stars. "I used to. I thought that I had no choice but to tread the path set before me—to be a soldier, an instrument." His voice softened. "But now… I do not know."
Serai turned to gaze at him. "You are more than just a tool, Azur."
He shot her a glance, taken aback by the determination in her voice.
She regarded him, her expression calm but firm. "I've seen you fight. You don't seek strength for strength's sake. You wish to command it, to shape it into something more. That is not the mind of a weapon—it's the mind of a commander."
Azur's breathing stopped for a moment. No one had ever said that to him before.
He walked away, raking his hand through his hair. "A leader, sure? My father was a leader, and he still lost everything."
Serai stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm. "Not losing a battle means he wasn't worthy. And it doesn't mean you'll follow the same path."
Azur said nothing. He could feel her beside him, warm against the cold of the night.
He took a breath after a pause. "You make it sound so easy."
Serai smiled. "Maybe it is. Or maybe we just make things more complicated than they have to be."
Azur laughed. "Now you sound like my mother."
Serai tilted her head. "Given what you've told me about her, I'll take that as a compliment."
He looked at her then, really looked at her. She wasn't the strongest of them, nor the most savage, but she had something they didn't have—an unshakeable certainty in who she was. And for a reason that eluded him, that steadiness made him feel less lost.
A gust of wind blew over the hill, ruffling Serai's hair. Her spirit, the stately silver dove, fluttered after her like a dark shape, wings rippling with the breeze.
Azur reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face absent-mindedly. "You talk a lot of potential," he whispered. "What about yours?"
Serai blinked in surprise.
Azur hesitated, then continued. "What do you desire?"
She gazed at him for an extremely long time before saying anything. "I want to be free. To choose my own fate. And to set the people I care about free to do the same."
Her words clung to him like the wind itself—gentle, but impossible to ignore.
Azur scorned, his eyes rolling upward. "You make it so easy."
Serai playfully pushed him. "Maybe it is."
They remained there for a while longer, not a word spoken by either of them, but only listening to the wind.
For the first time in many years, Azur didn't feel that he had to chase the storm within him.
This evening, he could just let it carry him along.
The council chamber of Kei was unlike any of the ten continents. Unlike the battle-hardened halls of Ganoth or gold-adorned courts of Renute, the council chamber of Kei consisted of large pillars of stone wrapped in roots, a testament to their coming together with land and spirits that ruled over it. Within was filled with incense, the scent of sacred herbs so that one would think clearly and keep evil omens away.
At the front of the room, seated upon a throne fashioned from carved silverwood and obsidian, was Empress Ayaka, monarch of Kei. She had on a black and crimson long robe, dark hair styled in elaborate coils that reflected the seriousness of her office. She was no mere figurehead—her fingers had grasped swords as often as they had held court. And now, those hands clasped the arms of her throne as she listened to the words of her council.
"The armies of Ganoth are mobilizing," declared Lord Renshiro, one of her most trusted warlords, his voice like the scratch of steel on stone. "Spies report that King Vaedros is gathering his troops. If we wait, we will be the ones who are left exposed.".
Seated near him, General Kaede, the leader of Kei's elite warriors, gave a measured nod. "Ganoth does not waste time with empty threats. If they have chosen their next target, it is only a matter of months before they strike."
Against them, however, High Sage Morikata, a gray-bearded elder dressed in ceremonial robes of white and gold, shook his head. "To act out of fear is to act without wisdom. If we make war now, we may be playing into Vaedros's hand. We must know first if an alliance can prevent unnecessary bloodshed."
A murmur passed through the council. Some nodded in accord, others laughed.
"A coalition?" Lord Renshiro furrowed his brow. "With whom? Renute and Nor barricade themselves behind their walls, and Loth will only engage in war if it is brought to their doorsteps. We are alone."
Not exactly," Empress Ayaka interrupted, her voice firm but commanding. The room fell silent. "The clans have pledged their warriors to us, but we cannot simply look outward to them. There are lands to be conquered that Ganoth has not yet claimed, and kings who will not simply stand idly by while Vaedros constructs his empire."
A silence fell over the room as the force of her words took hold.
Lord Renshiro furrowed his brow. "You speak of an alliance with the west?"
"The warriors of Kei are strong, but we are not many, and even we may not be strong enough to fight the whole force of Ganoth," Ayaka said. "But there are some who have lost everything to Vaedros. If we act quickly, we can unite them behind a single purpose before it is too late.".
General Kaede folded her arms. "You propose appealing to those already victimized by his tyranny. Lino has fallen, but maybe there are still those secretly resisting. The broken warbands of Kei's peripheral provinces may also be willing to lend their swords if suitably rewarded."
High Sage Morikata sighed. "But diplomacy is slow. And time is something we may not have.".
Empress Ayaka's gaze was firm. "Then we have to be quick."
A tense silence hung in the air. Then, at last, Lord Renshiro nodded. "If it is your desire, Empress, then we shall act."
"Call those who would bear arms," Ayaka ordered. "If Ganoth desires war, then Kei will not be its next conquest. We will not fall as Lino did."
The war council had begun.
The torches which lit the grand halls of the palace flared, their fire jumping as though disturbed by some invisible hand. The night was eerily silent, save for the soft breath of the wind along the tall walls. But within the shadows, something moved—something hidden, something waiting.
They had come.
No footsteps echoed on the shining marble halls. No doors creaked on their hinges as they opened. The palace guards remained at their stations, oblivious of the figures rushing past them like wisps of smoke. Hidden faces, veiled by shadow, the assassins of The Hollow Veil had stepped into the heart of the strongest kingdom.
At the forefront of their making was one man alone—The Whisper, a name spoken only in fear by those who knew of him. He did not bear the same markings as the others, the same crests, the same symbols. They were unnecessary. His reputation was the stuff of legend.
The air was heavy, heavy with the reek of smouldering oil from the torches, mixed with the light metallic scent of steel and poison. Each assassin favored a weapon of death of their own—some the quiet kiss of a dagger, others the slow inevitability of poison, and some, the killing precision of an arrow crafted in shadow.
They glided through the halls like phantoms, slipping between layers of security with an unnatural ease. They had crossed this bridge before. They would do it again.
Deep in the palace's innermost room, beyond gilded doors and guarded corridors, King Vaedros slept. A man who had ridden the tidal waves of war and emerged unharmed, a man feared by kings and warriors alike. Tonight, however, he lay unarmed.
Or so they thought.
As The Whisper raised his hand, ordering his assassins to advance, something shifted. The air grew colder. The torches danced, as if gasping for breath. And then, in an instant—
A voice.
Low. Ambitious. Patient.
"You took longer than I expected."
The assassins paused. Their instincts screamed, but too late.
The torches flared, casting golden light throughout the chamber. And there, on his throne, awake, armed, was King Vaedros. His greatsword rested across his lap, his red eyes glinting in the golden light.
The trap had been set long before they had arrived.
The Whisper didn't hesitate. With a swift motion of his wrist, darkness poured from his cloak, daggers cutting into the air for the king. But before they could strike, a figure erupted from the throne—a dark, writhing power that enveloped the blades in midair.
A low, thunderous growl swept through the room.
And from the shadows at the back of the throne, a horror form rose.
The King's Spirit.
Approaching, its form shifting from beast to shadow, its eyes of red shining with a likeness of those of its master. A night-stalker, bound to a man who had himself long ago come to be one.
The Whisper stepped back. For the very first time—ever—he wavered.
Vaedros stood up, his armor aglow in the firelight, his sword gripped now in his hand. He was not afraid.
He appeared to smile.
Now," he spoke, his voice laced with subtle menace. "Let's see if your reputation is earned."
And the fight started.