The dawn that followed was not peaceful.
When the sun rose, it did not break across the sea with its usual gold. Instead, the light hit the waves and scattered in shades of iron-gray, as though the water still remembered its brief transformation into ink.
Sailors along the coasts gathered in uneasy silence, pointing at the sky.
None of them knew what they had witnessed the night before.
All they knew was that the world felt different.
Sharper.
Heavier.
As if someone unseen had arrived and left a weight upon the air that no breeze could lift.
Rumors spread like sparks on dry wheat.
"The ocean opened."
"A shape rose from it."
"The sea screamed."
"An eye… a giant eye."
And then, the strangest rumor of all:
"A man and a woman walked across the water."
Most dismissed it as madness.
Most.
But not the hidden clans.
Not the magic factions.
Not the rune families who held ancient power behind closed doors.
They listened.
They felt the disturbance.
And they feared it.
---
THE COASTAL CLIFFS
Rhaziel stood at the edge of the cliff, coat whipping behind him as sea wind coiled around his boots. The Dreadwing Leviathan perched on a jagged outcropping nearby, wings tucked, skull-like head turning with predatory grace as it surveyed the land below.
The world stretched out before them: endless forest, distant peaks, a scattered network of villages, and further inland — faint glimmers of fortified cities.
"We need a place," Rhaziel said quietly.
Nyxara lounged across a boulder, legs crossed, watching him with amused eyes. "A home? Or a throne?"
Rhaziel didn't turn. "Both."
Her grin sharpened.
She rose and approached him, leaning her chin on his shoulder. "A hidden base in a world that can't see us… delicious."
She traced a claw along his coat. "What kind of unseen did you have in mind?"
"The kind that doesn't exist unless we decide it does."
Nyxara shivered at the cold certainty in his voice. "Say the line. You know the one."
Rhaziel glanced down the cliff, eyes glinting.
"If they can find us," he murmured, "they're already dead."
Nyxara laughed softly, a wicked, delighted sound.
---
THE MAP OF POTENTIAL
The cliffside cracked.
A thin circle of glowing runes spiraled upward around Rhaziel's boots, tracing the air like ink flowing across unseen parchment. The lines did not match any known rune language of this world — they were older, sharper, drawn from a dimension this world had never even imagined.
A map formed in the air — a floating, translucent sphere that depicted the entire continent.
Bright points flared across its surface.
Nyxara walked around it, humming as her eyes roamed the glowing marks. "Ahhh… now we're getting somewhere."
Each point represented something Rhaziel sensed:
— Individuals with rare power
— Rogue mages with dormant potential
— Rune-bearers unaware of the strength in their bones
— Individuals close to a breakthrough, yet ignored by their own factions
"There are more strong people than this world realizes," Nyxara murmured, touching a glowing point. "But their leaders? Blind."
"Good," Rhaziel said simply. "We take the ones they overlook first."
Nyxara circled the map again, tapping one of the brightest points near the eastern mountains.
"This one," she purred. "Her aura is unstable. That means she could break… or ascend."
Rhaziel nodded. "We'll start with her."
"And the base?" Nyxara asked.
He closed his hand.
The map vanished.
The cliffside behind them split open like paper torn by a razor.
A black void yawned inside — not a cave, not a tunnel… something else entirely. Space folded inward, creating a chamber that shouldn't fit inside the mountain. The darkness swirled with faint red lines, forming unfamiliar sigils that whispered as they shifted.
Nyxara stepped inside, eyes glowing with delight.
"Oh, Rhaziel… this isn't a base."
She ran her fingers along the interior as the void expanded.
"This is a kingdom waiting to be carved."
Rhaziel followed her in. The walls twisted outward, forming:
— A central hall
— A ritual chamber
— A war room
— A roost for the Dreadwing
— A deep, sealed chamber, quiet and pulsing
And at the center: a throne made of compressed shadow and fused runes.
Rhaziel placed a hand on the armrest, and the entire structure solidified — as if his touch acknowledged the throne's rightful owner.
Nyxara curled around him like a serpent, whispering into his ear:
"The unseen citadel."
Rhaziel responded with a single, cold truth.
"Now we begin."
---
THE WHISPER THAT SPREAD
Jorin Mavick did not sleep that night.
He couldn't.
The violet shimmer Nyxara left on his forehead had sunk into his mind like ink bleeding through parchment. His thoughts had reorganized themselves. His fears had changed shape.
He staggered back into his coastal village at dawn.
People rushed toward him.
"What happened out there?"
"Where did you go?"
"The sea—did you see the sea?"
Jorin couldn't hold the truth in.
He didn't even try.
"They walked across the water," he whispered.
The crowd stilled.
"Who?" someone asked.
Jorin swallowed.
"A man and a woman. Not from here. Strong enough that the sea bowed to them."
A murmur swept through the villagers.
"Foreigners with magic?"
"Are they a threat?"
"Are they gods?"
Jorin shook his head violently. "No… no gods. Worse."
The villagers paled.
Jorin leaned closer, voice trembling with certainty:
"They're the kind of people the world forgot to warn us about."
The whisper spread by noon.
The rumor became a story by evening.
The story became a warning by the next sunrise.
And by the second day…
It reached the factions.
---
IN THE HIDDEN CITY OF VALESH
Deep beneath the capital of Valesh, an elite order gathered in a candlelit chamber. Magic runes flickered across the walls, shimmering with tension.
At the head of the long table sat High Magister Kael Varrin, leader of the Arcanum Sable — one of the world's strongest magic factions.
He looked tired.
And worried.
A spy stood before him, sweating.
"Say it again," Kael ordered.
The spy swallowed. "A man and a woman rose from the sea, sir. Witnesses say they walked across the water. And an… an eye was seen beneath the surface."
The chamber went silent.
Kael's fingers trembled around his staff.
"That symbol…" he muttered. "Describe it."
"Red and black. Circles… rings… shifting patterns. Like it was alive."
Kael's breath hitched.
He recognized it.
Not from this world's history — but from forbidden texts predating the oldest kingdoms.
A sigil that meant only one thing:
"Dimensional intruders."
Another mage whispered, horrified, "Do you think they're hostile?"
Kael stared into the candlelight, voice barely a whisper.
"No one who enters our world through a tear in the sea is here to make friends."
He rose, robes swirling with arcane tension.
"Prepare for the worst," he ordered. "Send word to the other factions. If they are as powerful as the rumors say…"
He closed his eyes.
"…we may already be too late."
---
BACK IN THE UNSEEN CITADEL
Nyxara lounged in the ritual chamber, tracing idle lines into the air — leaving trails of violet energy that crackled like playful lightning.
Rhaziel entered.
She smirked. "The world is talking."
"I heard."
"Our first follower is spreading the whisper beautifully," she said. "It's almost poetic."
Rhaziel approached the center of the chamber — a circular platform etched with a swirling, tri-fold rune. The sigil pulsed once, then twice, syncing with his heartbeat.
Nyxara tilted her head. "Planning the ritual evolution already?"
"Yes."
She dragged her nails across his chest lightly. "Let me guess… you want something more intense. More binding. More… permanent."
Rhaziel met her eyes. "Our followers must become more than soldiers."
Nyxara grinned. "They must become an extension of us."
He nodded. "Connected. Empowered. Able to grow because we grow."
"And when we take chosen individuals…" she whispered, "we reshape them."
Rhaziel placed both hands on the sigil.
The platform ignited in black flame.
The walls thrummed. The shadows deepened. The air itself thickened with a power this world had never tasted.
Nyxara shivered with anticipation.
"What will it do?" she asked.
Rhaziel's answer was simple.
"Everything."
---
PREPARATIONS FOR THEIR FIRST RECRUIT
Rhaziel extended his senses again, tracing the location of the girl Nyxara had pointed out earlier — the one with unstable potential.
She was alone.
She was angry.
She was overlooked by her own faction.
Perfect.
Nyxara stepped beside him. "Shall we fetch her?"
"Not yet."
She raised a brow. "Why not?"
Rhaziel glanced toward the ritual chamber, where the central sigil pulsed with growing life.
"We prepare first. When she arrives… the ritual must not just accept her."
Nyxara licked her lips in anticipation. "It must transform her."
Rhaziel nodded.
"Let's give our first recruit a gift this world never offered."
---
THE DREADWING'S CALL
The mount screeched — a deep, echoing roar that shook dust from the ceiling.
Rhaziel turned.
The Dreadwing's eyes burned red, signaling a distant disturbance.
Nyxara leaned against its skull. "What do you sense, beast?"
It rumbled.
Rhaziel translated. "A scouting party. Close."
Nyxara's grin widened.
"Curious mortals," she whispered. "Should we greet them?"
Rhaziel looked out the entrance of the citadel — a slit in the cliff that opened only when he willed it.
His eyes hardened.
"Anyone who reaches this place," he murmured, "doesn't leave."
Nyxara practically gleamed.
"Oh, love… say that again."
Rhaziel's voice came out cold as winter steel.
"This citadel is unseen.
Those who stumble onto it…
die."
Nyxara giggled softly.
"Then let's welcome our first uninvited guests."
---
And as the scouting party unknowingly approached the invisible cliffs…
Two monarchs prepared to make their first move
in a war no one yet realized had already begun.