The carriage wheels creaked as they rolled past the gates of Drakovia's capital city, Valderra. Rihan leaned slightly out of the window, eyes widening at the sight before him. Unlike the wild forests of Sylvaris or the dark dungeons they had fought through, this was civilization at its peak—tall stone walls laced with golden emblems, marble statues of past kings standing proud, and endless rows of bustling markets that spilled into the streets.
Merchants shouted their wares, children darted between the legs of armored guards, and banners of crimson and silver fluttered in the late afternoon wind.
It should have felt alive.
But to Rihan, something about it felt… hollow.
"Too polished," he muttered, mostly to himself.
Elira's sharp ears twitched as she glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
Rihan leaned back, his gaze lingering on a group of beggars shoved aside by soldiers clad in gleaming armor. The nobles on horseback didn't even spare them a look. "It's like… the kingdom wants to look strong. But strength that needs a mask usually hides rot underneath."
Kael chuckled darkly from his seat. "For once, I agree with you. Drakovia reeks of false glory."
Lyra sat silently across from them, her hands folded tightly on her lap. Her normally bright eyes held a shadow. She could sense it too—the faint, oppressive weight that hung in the air, like a curse embedded into the city itself.
The carriage finally halted in front of a sprawling palace, its golden spires stabbing into the sky. Guards in ceremonial armor stood lined on either side, their expressions blank, drilled into silence.
A steward in silk robes approached, bowing low. "Heroes of the realm, the King awaits you in the Hall of Crowns."
---
The Hall of Crowns
The group was escorted into a grand hall where jeweled chandeliers cast dazzling light across polished marble floors. At the far end, on a throne of gold and obsidian, sat King Aldren Drakov II.
His robe was embroidered with threads of silver and crimson. His crown glittered with embedded sapphires. But his eyes… his eyes were tired, heavy, and calculating.
"Ah, the wanderers who cleared the Blackroot Dungeon," the King said, his voice deep yet hollow, as though weighed down by unseen chains. "You have my gratitude. Few adventurers dare step where the Abyss taints the soil."
Rihan stepped forward, bowing slightly, though his Earth-born instincts made it feel unnatural. "Your Majesty. We only did what was necessary. The dungeon's corruption was spreading."
"Indeed," the King said, though his gaze lingered on Rihan longer than on the others. Almost as if trying to pierce through him. "Your names have already begun to spread across the continent. But fame, young ones, is a double-edged sword. It draws not only allies… but predators."
Before Rihan could respond, the heavy doors opened again.
In swept a man dressed in dark blue robes, his chest adorned with medals and a serpent-shaped brooch. His sharp jawline, hawk-like eyes, and thin smile carried both charisma and menace. He bowed slightly, though it was more a performance than respect.
"Your Majesty," the man said smoothly, "I beg pardon for the interruption. I only wished to greet our esteemed guests."
King Aldren's lips tightened. "Duke Varengar. Always so… attentive."
The man turned his gaze upon Rihan and the others, his smile deepening. "So these are the so-called heroes. Remarkable. And yet… so young."
Kael's hand twitched near his sword, but Rihan subtly raised a hand to stop him. There was something dangerous in the Duke's presence—not raw power, but influence. The kind of man who could ruin lives without ever lifting a blade.
"Heroes must be young," Elira replied coldly. "They must live long enough to prove themselves."
The Duke chuckled softly, as though amused by her defiance. "Spirited. I like that." His eyes flicked briefly to Lyra, then back to Rihan. "Tell me… do you intend to involve yourselves in Drakovia's politics? Or will you simply remain mercenaries, taking coin for your blades?"
The question was a trap. Rihan felt it immediately. He forced his tone to remain neutral. "We fight where the corruption spreads. Nothing more."
The Duke's smile widened. "Ah. A wise answer." He bowed to the King once more. "Then I shall take no more of your time." With that, he turned and strode from the hall, the faint scent of incense lingering behind him.
When the doors closed, the King exhaled heavily, as if relieved the man was gone. "You must tread carefully," he said quietly. "The Duke is… useful, but he is also a serpent. His roots run deep in this kingdom."
Kael smirked bitterly. "A kingdom rotting from the inside. Just as I thought."
The King ignored the jab. His gaze settled once more on Rihan. "You are not of this land. I do not know how I know this, but I can feel it. Be wary, outsider. Drakovia is not as welcoming as it pretends."
Rihan stiffened, but said nothing.
---
The Whispering Market
Later that night, after being assigned quarters in the palace, Rihan slipped away with Elira and Mira to explore the city's lower districts.
The capital was different in the dark. The grand facades of the upper city gave way to narrow alleys, crooked wooden homes, and shadows that seemed to whisper. Here, the banners of Drakovia were torn, and graffiti of strange symbols painted the walls.
As they moved deeper, Mira's ears twitched again. She whispered, "Someone is following us."
Rihan slowed his steps, pretending to admire a street vendor's wares. In the reflection of a bronze mirror, he caught sight of hooded figures slipping between shadows.
"Elira," he said softly.
"I see them," she replied, her hand brushing her bowstring.
Before they could act, one of the figures approached boldly. His hood fell back, revealing a gaunt face with sunken eyes.
"You should not have come here, outsiders," the man rasped. "The Duke already watches you. And the Cult waits in the cracks of this kingdom. Turn back… or you'll be swallowed whole."
Rihan's pulse quickened. "Who are you?"
The man only smiled faintly, then pressed something into Rihan's hand—a fragment of parchment with a symbol drawn in dark ink.
The Eclipse.
When Rihan looked up again, the man was gone. Vanished into the alleys like smoke.
Elira's voice was tense. "The Cult is here too?"
Rihan clenched the parchment tightly, his thoughts racing. "No… not just here. They're everywhere. And this kingdom is their playground."
Above them, unseen from the alleys below, Duke Varengar watched from a balcony, his serpent brooch glinting in the moonlight.
His smile was cold. "So the game begins."