The sound of steel echoed through the grand hallway—two sets of armored footsteps marching in perfect rhythm. The torches lining the stone walls flickered as if bowing to their presence.
At the front walked Princess Elara, her long red hair flowing behind her like a burning banner against the black iron armor that hugged her form. Her beauty did not soften her aura; it sharpened it. Every step radiated command—regal, powerful, unyielding.
Beside her strode Sir Kael, her personal soldier. His iron armor bore countless scratches from battles fought in her name. Black hair fell in sharp strands across his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings. He walked a half-step behind her—not out of fear, but out of loyalty.
As they approached the end of the hallway, the massive double doors swung open on their own accord.
The Grand Council Chamber revealed itself.
Rows of nobles and high officials sat in silence, their extravagant robes glowing under the light of the enormous chandeliers. Conversations died instantly at the sight of the princess. A ripple of tension swept the room.
At the far end of the chamber sat the King, aged but stern, his jeweled crown shining like a warning. Beside him stood a figure who seemed to devour the room's air simply by existing.
A towering soldier clad head to toe in full golden armor.
He didn't move. He didn't speak. Yet his presence dwarfed even the highest nobles. His armor was not ceremonial—it was battle-forged, dented faintly with memories of wars won. The golden helmet hid his face entirely, but his gaze—though unseen—could be felt.
Kael's hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, just enough for Elara to notice.
"Easy," she whispered without turning her head.
They took a few more steps forward. The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud that sounded like a verdict.
Elara bowed gracefully to the King, though her eyes were sharp as blades.
"Father," she said. "You summoned me."
The King leaned forward. "Indeed. And much stands to be discussed."
The golden soldier shifted at last—just enough to take one step forward. The sound of his armored foot striking the marble floor was louder than thunder.
Kael stepped in front of the princess instantly, sword halfway drawn, blue eyes blazing.
The room gasped.
The golden giant turned his head toward Kael, amused… or perhaps measuring.
The air tightened—thick with tension, duty, and the threat of violence.
The silence in the Grand Council Chamber stretched so long it felt like the stones themselves were holding their breath.
The King rose from his throne.
"Elara," he began, voice heavy as iron, "the Council has come to a decision. The ritual to summon the Deity has already begun in the Great Wizard Tower."
Whispers crackled across the chamber. Sir Kael stiffened. Princess Elara didn't blink.
"You decided this," she said coldly, "without me?"
"The matter is beyond debate," the King replied. "The thousand-year prophecy foretold this day. The Deity will deliver salvation."
Elara stepped forward—just enough to challenge the throne. "And what if the prophecy is wrong? What if the Deity you summon is not salvation—but destruction?"
Gasps erupted. The King slammed his fist on the arm of the throne.
"We stand at the edge of the end of the world! You speak of uncertainty when our armies bleed and our cities crumble? There is no choice left!"
Elara's eyes flared, but her voice stayed controlled. "We are still alive. Our banners still fly. With the strength of our kingdom—of our people—we will not lose."
The King shook his head in disbelief. "Do you think our kingdom rose by chance? Our greatness exists because of the prophecy you now defy."
Something snapped in her.
"LIES!"
Her voice exploded through the hall—echoing off stone, ripping shock across every noble's face.
"Our kingdom rose because of the first Great King. His courage. His sacrifice. His will. Not because some prophecy whispered by frightened wizards!"
The King took a step toward her, desperate now. "Regardless of what you believe—your duty is to obey your King."
There was a heartbeat of stillness.
Then Elara turned her head toward Kael. Her voice was soft, but every word hit like a commandment carved in stone:
"Kael. We are going to the Wizard Tower. We will stop the summoning. And we will kill anyone who stands in our way."
The chamber exploded with outrage.
"You dare—!"
"She threatens treason!"
"Guards—!"
"STOP!" the King roared. "ELARA, YOU WILL NOT TAKE ANOTHER STEP!"
But she was already walking—Kael following without hesitation.
Just before they reached the massive doors, the golden armored soldier moved.
He crashed to the floor between them and the exit like a falling statue of wrath—towering, lifeless-cold aura blazing with bloodlust. His presence pressed on the council like a storm.
Elara did not break stride.
She walked right past him as if he were nothing but iron.
There was a flash.
So fast the world didn't understand.
The council blinked. Kael stood behind Elara again, sword sheathed, eyes calm.
The golden soldier remained where he had landed—unmoving.
Elara placed her hand on the door.
The King took a step forward, breath caught in horror.
A single metallic clang rippled through the hall.
The golden soldier's helmeted head slid cleanly from his shoulders and hit the marble, rolling across the floor—slow, echoing—until it came to rest against the King's feet.
The golden body stayed upright, severed, frozen in death.
Elara didn't look back.
The giant doors opened. Light poured in.
She stepped into it—and Kael followed.
The doors slammed shut behind them.
The forest roared with wind as two horses tore through it in a blur of speed.
Princess Elara sat tall upon her snow-white stallion, its mane whipping behind like a banner of purity against a world unraveling. Kael followed on a sleek brown destrier, his posture focused, balanced, and ready to kill or die at a heartbeat's notice.
Branches clawed toward them, leaves spiraled wildly, the world rushing past in a green fury as they raced toward the mountains.
For a long moment neither spoke. Then, in a voice softer than the wind that brushed her hair, Elara asked:
"Kael… tell me truthfully. Am I doing what's right… or am I about to ruin everything?"
Kael didn't answer immediately. The rhythm of hooves thundered under them, a drumbeat of fate.
Finally he spoke, calm and unwavering:
"It does not matter to me whether it is right or wrong, my Princess."
Elara did not look back. She didn't need to.
"My only purpose," Kael continued, "is to serve you. With every breath I have. With every drop of strength in my body. I exist for you."
For a second, the storming wind was silent around them.
Then his voice grew even softer, almost a whisper lost between the trees:
"But… I believe in you."
The princess did not turn her head. The reader could not see her face — and yet something changed in the air around her.
A faint tension escaped her shoulders. A quiet sigh — almost invisible.
And then—
A sharp whistle sliced through the storm.
Kael's arm snapped back. He caught the arrow in mid-flight, inches from Elara's spine.
He didn't shout a warning. He didn't break the rhythm of his horse.
He only turned his head.
Behind them, a cavalry of royal soldiers burst from the trees, steel flashing through the darkness, bows and spears raised.
Elara didn't glance back. Not even once.
Kael's horse slowed.
Hoofbeats echoed differently now — one rider keeping a brutal pace ahead, one fading back into the jaws of death.
In an instant, Kael vanished from sight.
The white stallion carried Elara forward, her expression unseen — steady, unwavering, determined.
Behind her, the forest swallowed screams.
A flash of steel.
A burst of blood.
Bodies falling from saddles, horses collapsing, trees shuddering under the force of killing blows.
By the time Kael caught up again, his horse ran spotless — but he was splattered crimson. Not a single enemy remained breathing.
He never said a word.
Elara didn't ask.
The battlefield was already behind them.
The trees began to thin. The wind turned colder — almost metallic.
The forest opened to a cliffside path that spiraled upward.
And towering above everything stood the Great Wizard Tower — a colossal pillar of black stone stabbing into the sky. Lightning writhed across the clouds like trapped serpents, striking the tower again and again but never damaging it. Rain poured in sheets, the air heavy with an aura that felt ancient, angry, and hungry.
The mountain peak was swallowed in a swirling storm of darkness — and somewhere within that chaos, the final spell of the summoning was drawing to a close.
Princess Elara pulled the reins tighter.
Kael matched her pace without a word.
Their horses galloped toward the storm.