Prologue: The King's Vow
Part 2: The Arrival of Titans
The tension within the Grand Council Hall was suffocating. The assembled nobles, each carrying the weight of centuries-old legacies, remained seated in measured silence. Yet, despite their influence, there existed two men whose presence could shake even the most steadfast of them.
Then, the great doors of the chamber groaned open.
The air itself seemed to thrum with power as a lone figure stepped forward. His stride was steady, his posture commanding, and though he wore no crown, his mere presence silenced the entire room.
The Knight King had arrived.
The Knight King's Presence
Dressed in an obsidian-black mantle embroidered with silver, Sir Alistair Godfrey, the Knight King of Enigma, exuded an aura of absolute authority. His sharp, chiseled features were framed by long, raven-dark hair streaked with silver, a testament to his years on the battlefield. His eyes—cold, calculating steel—swept across the chamber, assessing each noble like a predator scanning its prey.
He was not a man who required words to command respect. His reputation had been forged in blood, his name whispered in awe even in distant lands. In all the Kingdom of Enigma, only one man stood above him.
The nobles subtly straightened in their seats as the strongest knight in the kingdom approached the crescent table. A warrior unmatched, a leader unwavering, and a man feared even by the most ambitious of lords.
Duke Gareth Vaelmont, whose family had produced generations of swordmasters, inclined his head in acknowledgment. Duchess Selene Ravencroft, ever poised, studied him with an unreadable expression. Even the coldly calculative Count Varian Xethis did not meet his gaze for long.
Alistair's presence alone shifted the balance of the room.
With slow, deliberate movements, he lowered himself into the empty chair reserved for him—a place separate from the nobles, yet equal in authority.
Only then did the murmurs resume, hushed and cautious.
But before they could gather their composure, the doors opened again.
And this time, the storm itself entered the room.
The Arrival of the King
A presence descended upon the chamber, heavy and absolute. It was not merely power—it was divinity manifest. The torches flickered, shadows recoiled, and the very air grew dense, as though the room itself was holding its breath.
Then, he stepped inside.
King Alden Valtair Enigma.
The only prime demigod of Enigma. The ruler whose very bloodline was descended from a goddess.
He did not need elaborate robes, nor a grand retinue of guards to announce his supremacy. Clad in a deep royal-blue cloak adorned with the silver dragon emblem of Enigma, he walked with the quiet authority of a man who had never known defeat. His golden hair, streaked with hints of platinum, framed a face that was as sharp as it was regal. Yet, it was his eyes—piercing gold, like a dragon's—that commanded all.
The weight of his presence was unbearable. Some of the nobles subtly clenched their fists, their breathing uneven. Even the most seasoned warriors among them could feel it—a force that pressed upon their very souls.
Alden's mere existence was a reminder: this was the man they served, the man who ruled not just through lineage, but through sheer, undeniable strength.
The Unspoken Hierarchy
Alistair, the Knight King, was the only one who did not flinch. Instead, he stood, meeting Alden's gaze directly.
Two men. One a warrior without equal. The other a demigod who reigned above all.
A silent understanding passed between them, an acknowledgment that required no words.
The rest of the council, however, immediately rose to their feet in deep bows.
Alden did not speak at first. He merely observed.
And they waited.
Only after a long pause did his voice break the silence.
"Be seated."
It was a simple command. But the authority in his voice left no room for defiance.
The nobles obeyed without hesitation, retaking their seats as Alden strode toward the head of the table. He moved like an emperor who had no need to prove himself—because his very existence was proof enough.
Then, for the first time since entering, he spoke again.
"The Trial of Kingship is upon us."
And with those words, the fate of the kingdom began to turn.
The Coming War
Alistair Godfrey, the Knight King, leaned forward, his expression unreadable.
"There will be war."
It was not a question. It was a statement of fact.
Alden's gaze did not waver.
"There has always been war."
The council chamber grew heavy with unspoken truths.
Duke Gareth, ever loyal to tradition, nodded. "This trial will be unlike the last. The princes are strong, and the noble houses backing them stronger. Blood will stain the land before a new king rises."
Count Varian smirked slightly. "And some of us may not live to see that king crowned."
Duchess Selene tapped her fingers against the table. "But there is one matter still left unspoken."
Alden's eyes flickered to her, waiting.
"The youngest prince," she continued, "has refused the support of his mother's family."
A quiet murmur rippled through the room once more. The absence of the Queen's family had not gone unnoticed.
Alden exhaled slowly, as if contemplating something distant.
But before he could answer, Alistair Godfrey—the Knight King—spoke in his stead.
"Lucien has chosen his own path."
Alden's gaze remained unreadable, but something deep within those golden eyes sharpened.
Silence settled in the room.
The trial had not yet begun, and yet, battle lines were already forming.
And at the center of it all—stood the youngest prince.
The Unseen Threads of Fate
As the discussion continued, the council debated strategies, alliances, and the looming threats beyond the borders. Yet, beneath the surface, a far more profound story was unfolding.
Alden, for all his strength and wisdom, was watching something no one else could see.
Alistair, for all his loyalty and resolve, was protecting something no one else understood.
And far away from this hall, unaware of the power shifts that would soon decide the kingdom's fate, a young man—the youngest of five brothers—was preparing for the trial that would define his destiny.
But what none of them realized was that his fate was already intertwined with another's.
A lone girl, training in the halls of the knights.
A girl who would one day stand beside him, changing the course of history.
A girl named Seraphina.
To Be Continued…