The sun had risen once more.
But this time, Luther was not there to greet it.
Instead of watching the sacred light of dawn—a ritual he had never neglected—he was already at his desk, seated in the throne room's dim silence.
The curtains remained closed.The torches were unlit.Only a single beam of pale light, falling from a high window, crowned the empty throne and the king seated upon it.
A white bandage rested beneath his armor, rising faintly with each breath.Yet his posture was unbroken.His gaze steady.A weight lived in his eyes—one that needed no sunlight to be seen.
Varin and the palace scribes whispered as they worked; parchment rustled like wings in a crypt.The palace breathed only around the king.
Then the doors thundered open.
A messenger rushed in—breath ragged, discipline shattered by urgency.
"I believed His Majesty had not yet arrived—"
His voice died.
For the king was there.Still as carved stone, standing where shadow met light.
The messenger dropped to one knee. Silence sealed the hall.
Luther spoke only when the air itself seemed to wait for him.
"Speak."
His tone made one truth undeniable:a king who greets the sun standing fears neither shadow nor fate.
The messenger swallowed.
"Your Majesty… Elrien took his own life in his cell at midnight.The trial… is concluded."
For one still heartbeat, time stopped.Varin's hand tightened around a scroll; quills froze mid-stroke.
No shock touched Luther's face.No anger.Only the cold wisdom of a man who had seen too much of destiny.
"I see," he murmured."When is the farewell?"
"Sun Temple. Lower courtyard. Sunset.Silent and unattended, by decree."
A soft murmur moved through the scribes.That was where even sinners met the light one final time.
Luther's eyes glimmered—not with grief, but understanding.
"May he find in death the peace he could not find in life."
A hush fell so deep the torches seemed afraid to burn.
Some in that hall saw the king ascend beyond mortal measure.Others felt something ancient stir behind his calm.
Luther stood.
"Prepare. We will attend the farewell."
Varin bowed stiffly."As you command, Majesty."
Light followed the king as he walked, shadows recoiling as though ashamed.
"A life, however lost in darkness," he said, "deserves one final breath beneath the light."
Not a soul dared move.For in that moment, it was clear:
A king may forgive — but he never forgets.
And mercy, in his hands, was sharper than judgment.
West Sun Temple — Sunset
The sky bled gold as day died.Marble stones drank the last warmth of the sun.Shadows stretched like mourning banners.
Only a few Sunkeepers waited.Even that number seemed too large for a traitor.
Luther stepped forward without hesitation and stood before the coffin.
The temple air shifted.A king bowing to bid farewell to one who struck at his life—such a thing had no place in songs or scripture.
The High Sunkeeper approached, voice trembling with awe.
"Majesty… even holy men falter in such mercy.To stand here… this is purity."
Luther did not lift his gaze from the coffin.
"Perhaps guilt follows me here as well.But every elf born to this land is as my child.If one falls, we are all lessened."
The Sunkeeper lowered his eyes, shaken.
"May all rulers think as you do.Your light guides us."
Luther's silence was heavier than prayer.Not sorrow—duty.Not regret—understanding.
The Sunkeeper raised his hands.
"Let the Last Light Rite begin."
Whispers drifted through the courtyard.As the sun's final thread vanished, the only remaining light was the king's presence.
The coffin was sealed.Stone scraped.Still, Luther did not move—not until the world accepted the loss.
At last, he spoke softly:
"Varin. Was it truly a suicide… or a silent punishment?"
Varin understood. A command lived beneath the question.
"Majesty… the night has fallen. Reflection suits the palace."
Luther nodded once.
A king does not grieve.He carries.
And as his steps echoed across stone, the final sunbeam died.
Palace — Midnight
Moonlight spilled cold across marble.
A lone figure knelt in the shadows—dust-covered, clothes torn, breath fractured.
No horns had announced him.No scroll declared his arrival.Such news could not be spoken aloud.
"Majesty," he whispered."By order of Commander Edrin Fal. No one else must know."
Luther approached.Not with emotion—only inevitability.
"Speak."
The messenger surrendered a blood-stained wrap.Inside it lay a blackened leaf.
It fell silently.And the silence grew sharp.
"This morning… in Lumenor… it still lived."
Varin's hand brushed his sword hilt—not in fear, but instinct, as if steel could cut the unknown.
"Were you seen?"
"No one. I came like a ghost."
Luther exhaled slowly.
"If the land aches… the people bleed.And we know nothing yet."
He studied the leaf without touching it.
"This remains here.For now… shadow must protect the sun."
Varin bowed—not as a soldier, but as a witness to a burden too heavy for mortal hands.
"I await your command."
"Tomorrow at dawn."
The messenger vanished into darkness.
Luther lay in bed, eyes open.He did not sleep.He waited—haunted by trees and silence.
Lumenor Forest — Same Night
Decay had reached the forest's edge.
Leaves rotted like wounded flesh.Roots lay blackened.The earth breathed no more.
Edrin Fal stood sentinel.He had crushed panic in days—yet peace had not returned.This was the stillness before the storm.
Without the forest, what breath remained for the elves?
By the fire, soldiers argued—dark magic, divine wrath.Blades rang. Pride sparked.A brief duel. A boast followed:
"No warrior could stand against me!"
Edrin chuckled from the shadows.
He stepped forward; even the dark shifted as if it recognized him.
"Let us see what the young can teach the old."
The young soldier accepted instantly.But when Edrin drew steel, he paused—
"My lord… no duel is fought without armor."
Edrin laughed—a rare, human sound.
"In my day, armor in a duel meant cowardice."
He took fallen armor and donned it.Unneeded. Yet necessary—to teach rightly.
Steel flashed.Dust.A sweep of the leg.Humiliation.
"The first strike is not always strength.Sometimes it is surrender."
Edrin raised his blade with quiet reverence.
Moonlight kissed silver.Crescent motifs shimmered—moon where sun should be.
A blade not forged for war,but for judgment.
One flick.A soft click.Pride broken. Honor cracked.
"Those who fall to the same mistake twice rarely remain soldiers."
Advice followed—firm, fatherly, final.
Mind your footing.Let light guide your back.Move with intent, never doubt.Time trains the blade—courage trains the soul.
They bowed deeply.Edrin walked on, forest watching like an ancient witness.
Lumenor — Dawn
Soft gold lit the tents.Cold air embraced weary earth.
Edrin sat in quiet order, notes and maps clean and precise.
A soldier entered.
"The king rides here."
Edrin's eyes warmed.
"So the light chooses to move."
Then chaos tore through cloth—a villager stumbled in, pale as grave frost.
"My lord—help us—something is happening!"
"What did you see?"
"They could not breathe—veins black as ash—eyes red, burning from within—and the sun… the sun gave them nothing!"
Steel trembled.Fear spread like rot.
Edrin did not hesitate.
Armor buckled.Sword belted.Purpose ignited.
"We ride.No one faces this alone."
Hooves struck earth.Dust swallowed tents.
Whispers chased him:
"It begins…"
Wind brushed leaves that did not move.Even nature held breath.
Edrin disappeared into the dark,and the world watched its fate approach.
The beginning of the end had only just begun.