When the sun rose, the kingdom was not yet awake.
The golden walls of the palace greeted the morning light with pride every dawn;yet today, the color of dawn was heavy and tired.The light fell like a hesitant traveler skimming across a cliff's edge, struggling through the sky,as if even the Sun was unsure where it should rise.
As Luther walked through the silent stone corridors, his footsteps echoed.It was not the stride of a king;it was the tread of a traveler burdened by fate.Yesterday's decisions, today's march… and the people he left behind.Their weight pressed upon his shoulders.
When the doors of the throne courtyard opened, a cool wind met his face.The courtyard had not yet shaken off the morning mist.A few guards leaned on their spears; watchmen atop the towers stared at a city reluctant to wake.For the first time in the history of the Sun Empire, even the sunrise felt uncertain.
Luther lifted his gaze to the tallest tower of the palace.For centuries, it had caught the first touch of sunlight and spread hope to the land.Today, the shadows clung deeper.
Perhaps we must carry the light ourselves, he thought.Waiting for the sun to do its duty… is a luxury we no longer have.
On the steps of the courtyard, Holf appeared—the glimmer of youthful defiance in his eyes, the weight of a new-born duty on his shoulders.Behind him came Queen Mirane, her black silk cloak swaying in the cold wind, her eyes holding the shadows of a sleepless night.
Luther's gaze drifted beyond them.He expected one more face.
But the stairs were empty.Silence filled the space where presence should have been.
Nedved was not there.
For a moment—only a thin, sharp moment—a splinter of cold pierced Luther's heart.
Brief… but cutting.
He must be working, Luther thought.Chasing knowledge… as always.
Yet the absence echoed strangely in the air,as if someone meant to stand upon this stage,but no one had yet noticed their missing shadow.
Luther drew a breath and walked to his family.
Words would come soon—farewell, reassurance, and the last quiet moments of a king who had accepted his fate.
He stood before them.
The young Prince Holf and Queen Mirane greeted Luther on the marble steps of the courtyard.
The morning sun had not fully risen;its light on the golden walls was timid, almost cold.
Luther, as always, bore himself with solemn grace.Farewell, to him, was not a ceremony—it was a duty of the heart.
Mirane touched the edge of his cloak with gentle fingers.Her eyes were tired, but unbroken.
Mirane:I know… you cannot abandon your people.But this time, we do not know what you face.Be careful, my love.
Luther inhaled—as if taking one last breath.
He bowed his head and embraced her.
A moment of silence.Not a king speaking—a husband, quiet in the shadow of fate.
Then he turned to Holf.
But the calm pride he was used to seeing on the young prince's face was replaced by something else.
Resolve.Sharp, severe, born from cracks.
When Luther opened his arms, Holf did not step away—yet he did not move forward either.
Luther's brow lifted, surprised.
Holf did not avert his gaze.
Holf:A farewell embrace?I am coming with you.I know I lack experience…but this palace, this peace—we owe them to our people.I trust you more than life, but I will not let you walk into that darkness alone.
Luther stayed silent first,then a weary smile touched his lips.
Pride… and worry.
Luther:That is what I expected of you.But be warned—there will be no hot springs, no palace desserts.In fact… breakfast might not even exist.
Holf (smiling slightly, eyes serious):I know.If life is a debt, there is no rest until it is paid.
Silence fell once more.
Luther turned to Mirane.
Luther:Where is Nedved? I would not leave without seeing him.
Mirane tilted her head slightly—a face trained to hide emotion, yet a faint shadow crossed her features.
Mirane:He hasn't been seen for days.Buried in his research, perhaps.Maybe he will find a cure… who knows?
Luther nodded.
He did not speak;in his eyes lived pride, gratitude… and the thinnest thread of unease,too fine for most to notice.
Luther:Perhaps… it is time not for magic, but for the mind.
The final preparations were made.Horses brought forth, cloaks caught by the wind.
Saren Vael stood at the passage ahead—straight-backed, silent, loyal as a drawn blade.Varin beside him—quiet as a shadow.
Luther, Holf, Saren, and Varin—the last lights that would march for the Sun Empire—moved toward the palace gates.
Their destination was clear:
The Lumenor Forest.And the rot within it, unnamed but growing.
The sun finally rose.
But that morning, its light fell more dimly than ever before.
Lumenor Forest — Same Morning
Village of Wilteren
When Edrin Fal arrived with two elven medics, silence hung over Wilteren like a funeral veil.
Even the trees seemed to hold their breath.
Inside the sickhouse, decay filled the air—rotted leaves and broken lungs.Two elves—one an old woman, the other a young boy—twisted in their beds,eyes blood-red, veins black as ink crawling beneath their skin.Their coughing was violent, as if something inside them wanted to tear its way out.
Edrin's gaze was icy, precise.
He saw their pain—but pain did not tremble the hand that would command.
Outside, he gave orders, voice firm as steel.
"This village is under quarantine.No one approaches the sick except healers.Send medics to the other settlements.Seal all crossings immediately."
Not commands—judgments.
Villagers stared—some in desperate trust,others in quiet hatred, seeing in him a blade instead of a shield.
Edrin noticed.Ignored it.
Mercy given late is merely weakness.
The village elder approached, voice weary and full of faith:
"This may be the god's curse…perhaps the sun no longer loves us."
A muscle twitched in Edrin's jaw.
His stare was cold, tired—still loyal to reason.
Gods do not rule this soil, he thought.This is nature breaking.Or a hand… moving in the dark.
A trembling child caught his eye, small and terrified.
Edrin removed the braided charm from his wrist and placed it in the child's palm.
"This will protect you," he murmured.
He did not believe in the charm—only in belief itself.
Sometimes faith was medicine.
A grunt came from the bushes—a pig's cry.
He turned.
A farm.Swine lay weak, dark-eyed, struggling to breathe.Grass around them wilted—even the earth looked sick.
"Not god," he whispered."This is a broken cycle.Perhaps one broken by us."
He memorized the sight.Analyzed.Decided.
He mounted his horse without delay.
Two soldiers followed in silence,only hooves breaking the pale morning soil.
Behind them, Wilteren exhaled death.Ahead, the forest inhaled it.
No birds.A wind too afraid to brush the leaves.
Edrin carried the child's fragile hope in his mind like a burdened prayer.
On the Path Back — Lumenor Woods
The narrow trail was quiet.Too quiet.An ambush wrapped in silence.
A whisper—then a tear through leaves.
An arrow punched through the skull of the soldier beside him.
He fell without a sound.
Edrin hit the ground, rolled behind a tree.A sharp hand signal—silent command.
The second soldier lifted his head—a hooded figure burst from the brush,blade slicing his throat in one smooth line.
Blood met soil.
Edrin did not flinch.Steel sang into his hand.
A rustle behind—he spun, cleaving the brush, striking first.
A figure stumbled.Edrin rolled, drew his dagger, and threw—steel kissed flesh, the first assassin dropped.
The second reached for a blade—Edrin twisted, shattered the wrist,blade dropping uselessly to dirt.
A cruel smirk touched his lips.
"You chose the wrong day."
A clean strike—silence again.
Then a voice from the shadows:
"You may emerge, Edrin Fal.""This was only a test."
A cloaked figure stepped out—silver-threaded armor glinting beneath darkness.
Rank.Calm.Certain.
Edrin:"You will answer for this."
???:"We do not seek to win you, Edrin Fal.Only to keep you from our path.The elven order will fall.The Moon does not stay silent—nor do its followers.."
Edrin's grip tightened.
Edrin:"Who are you?"
A smile—wrong shape on a human face.
???:"Do you think it so simple?""Take the message. Oppose us, and you will join your men."
He retreated.Edrin moved to follow—two arrows pinned the earth before his feet.
A warning?No—a screen.
Edrin seized two fallen knives and hurled them.Two archers fell from the branches.
The silver figure was gone.
The woods swallowed him without a trace.
The enemy is not the sickness, Edrin realized.The sickness is only the doorway.
Wind moved—cold without chill;not a breeze, but a whisper.
Edrin looked at the fallen soldiers.A commander chooses what history remembers.
He walked to his horse.
Lumenor's silence was no longer a mystery.
The threat needed no name.
Only a path.
Sunset Meadows
The road narrowed, and the horses slowed.Soil faded from brown to ashen gray.Grass lost its color as if abandoning life itself.
Luther halted.Holf and Varin followed.
Holf plucked a leaf.It crumbled—not like something dying,but something long dead.
"Father… this land does not breathe."
Saren knelt, pressed fingers to soil.It broke like dust beneath his touch.
No birds.Not even wind.
Luther stared.
Then, quietly—certain, steady:
"Nothing beyond this point will remain as it was."
Holf swallowed.Saren stood.
Luther nudged his horse forward.
"Come. We knew this might await us."
The shadow of the forest rose before them—ancient, silent, waiting.
They stepped toward it—
And the scene closedbefore the first branch could swallow their light.