The dragon flew above the dunes, its enormous shadow gliding across the white sands like a dark stain.
Wren sat in silence atop the saddle frame, one hand gripping the leather bindings while the other steadied the cargo strapped behind him — crates of soul shards and equipment forged by blacksmiths meant for the Divine Legion.
The weight barely bothered the dragon. The noble creature cut through the burning air with steady, powerful wingbeats, scales glimmering faintly beneath the merciless sun.
Below them stretched the Hell of Ariel.
Or the Battlefield of Gods and Daemons.
It was a fitting name.
The desert looked endless. Towering dunes of flawless white sand rolled toward every horizon like frozen waves beneath the incandescent blaze of the sun.
This was the past conjured by the Spell; he wondered what it looked like now in the Dream Realm.
The dragon suddenly growled beneath him.
Wren frowned and lifted his gaze.
Ahead, the empty sky shimmered strangely.
At first, he thought it was another mirage born from the unbearable heat. Then the air itself distorted, rippling outward in slow waves. The azure sky fractured like disturbed water.
And the Raven Fortress appeared.
Wren's breath caught in his throat.
One moment, there had been nothing.
Next, an entire continent floated above the desert.
The fortress emerged from invisibility with terrifying suddenness, blotting out a vast portion of the sky. Its colossal shadow swept across the dunes below, plunging miles of white sand into darkness. Wren instinctively tightened his grip on the saddle as the dragon dipped lower, disturbed by the overwhelming presence of the structure looming before them.
It was too large.
His mind struggled to comprehend it properly.
The Raven Fortress did not resemble a castle or even a city. If anything, it looked like a fragment of a realm, suspended in the air by ancient sorcery.
Mountains of black stone rose from its surface. Entire districts sprawled across its expanse, connected by immense bridges and layered walls. From this distance alone, Wren could already tell that kingdoms in the waking world would have fit comfortably within its boundaries.
The closer they flew, the smaller he felt.
At the outermost edges of the fortress grew forests of crimson trees.
Their leaves were the colour of fresh blood beneath the blazing sunlight, forming vast rings around the floating landmass. Against the pale desert and azure sky, the sight was jarring enough to make Wren uneasy. The trees swayed gently despite the fierce winds surrounding the fortress, their scarlet canopies rippling like flowing blood.
The Raven Fortress was divided into countless enormous sections separated by towering layers of black fortifications. Some districts were crowded with dark stone buildings and military barracks.
Others contained sprawling foundries where smoke rose endlessly into the sky. Wren spotted training grounds large enough to host entire armies, along with enormous storage platforms where chained beasts rested beneath heavy guard.
At the centre of it all stood the tower.
"Where the hell is the top of this tower?" He muttered. The vast black tower rose from the heart of the fortress and pierced the heavens themselves, its upper half disappearing into the blazing light high above. It dominated everything around it utterly. Countless lesser towers surrounded its foundation like servants kneeling before a king.
Wren patted the dragon's spine.
"Go lower, you have been flying for some time, although I hate you very much, you deserve rest." He said to the dragon, who growled at his words, as if mocking him, not to tell it what to do.
Wren chuckled at its actions.
The dragon descended lower, angling toward one of the outer gate districts.
Wren finally saw the gates clearly.
They were gargantuan slabs of dark metal embedded within polished walls of black onyx, large enough for several dragons to pass through side by side. Ancient runes shimmered faintly across their surface beneath the sunlight. Massive chains thicker than ship masts disappeared into hidden mechanisms buried deep within the walls.
Guards stood everywhere.
The Awakened warriors stood with cold discipline, clad in dark armour; the grandeur of the legion was nothing less.
Landing softly, he jumped off the dragon. The soles of his boots set softly on the onyx marble beneath.
Wren began walking towards the gates, but stopped in his tracks as the guards stationed raised their weapons at him.
"HALT! State your identification and purpose." One of them, who had a spear in her hand, said.
Wren went dead silent. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice which came from far above.
"There is no need to ask for his identity. The General is expecting the King from the Broken World; he will be going with me. Show the noble creature a place to stay, and send someone to carry the supplies to the barracks."
It was a cold voice, like steel that could cut through anything. Wren looked above. He concentrated his vision, and then he saw him.
A man sitting on the edge of the wall, his hand resting on his knee as he sat idly, looking down on everyone like they were all insects.
He also had quite a sense of fashion, unlike awakeneds, who were clad in armour every day, as if it were the only set of clothes they had.
In contrast, he donned a dark grey coat over a white shirt, complemented by pitch-black pants and boots. His hair was a striking milky white, and his eyes were distinctive, resembling gemstones—like a ruby flecked with molten gold and violet.
He was anything but a person of the past.
The guards nodded silently and opened the gates for Wren.
The man disappeared from the wall and appeared in front of him in an instant, as if he had moved between spaces.
"Let's go. M-She doesn't like to wait too long," he said while walking ahead of Wren, prompting him to follow.
'This guy seems... cool,' Wren thought as he trailed behind the mysterious man.
As they walked side by side, another thought crossed Wren's mind.
'He looks somewhat familiar, but who does he remind me of? And now that I think about it, I didn't even ask for his name because I was too caught up in his coolness.' Just as he was about to ask, the mysterious man beat him to it.
"My name is Lucas. It's a pleasure to meet you, Wren." He said. Wren stared at him in slight disbelief before chuckling.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, too, Lucas," Wren replied. By then, they had reached the tower at the centre, despite the considerable distance from the gates.
It seemed Lucas wasn't particularly fond of walking.
"We are here; let's enter." He said, stepping onto an altar. He then muttered some runes that Wren didn't recognise, despite having learned every runic language known to mankind.
The runes embedded on the altar glowed, and their intensity grew in seconds before completely enveloping them.
The two of them disappeared from the altar.
...
"Fufufufu, the two of them seem to go along pretty well." A voice echoed in the darkness as it watched everything happening.
...
The blinding light faded, revealing a metal door engraved with runes. It opened on its own, without any force. Wren looked at Lucas, who just shrugged his shoulders and prompted him to go inside.
He entered the room, as he was instructed to do.
The General's chamber was strikingly spacious—an illusion that belied the compact exterior of the fortress. It seemed the work of sorcery to him, and it was indeed fascinating to him.
He could see large stone shelves filled with scrolls, books, and various other items containing information. There was also a large round table, and various items were placed on top of it.
"You seem fascinated by my room," a voice whispered beside him. Wren jumped in surprise, instinctively drawing back, his heartbeat quickening as his senses heightened. His gaze darted to the source of the voice, landing on a mysterious figure who had materialised almost out of thin air.
The sharpness in the voice reminded him of a particular someone.
The woman stood with an ethereal grace, her jet-black hair cascading like a starless void, framing her face with an almost otherworldly quality.
Her slender figure was cloaked in a black robe that clung tightly to her form, suggesting both elegance and power. As she turned to reveal her full presence, the flickering shadows seemed to dance violently around her, enhancing the enigmatic aura that surrounded her.
"It seems my presence surprised you. However, your response wasn't lackluster either," she said, her tone dripping with amusement. "Quite refined movements for someone like you, I would say." Her words lingered in the air as she studied him with an inscrutable expression.
Wren felt a strange chill trace its way down his spine, not solely from the sensation of her gaze but also from the striking resemblance she bore to someone he knew all too well. The intensity of her vermillion eyes sparkled with an unsettling glee.
"I am Transcendent Melina, the Blade of the North. You may call me the General of the Raven Fortress, though it is entirely upon your tastes," she continued, her voice smooth yet commanding. "May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the elusive King of the Broken World?"
In this moment, through a veil of astonishment and disbelief, a single name echoed in his mind:
'Morgan.'
This woman was strikingly similar in features and demeanour to the princess of Valor.
Wren kept his face composed and bowed his head.
"I am Wren, the King from the Broken World, and I greet Transcendent Melina, the General of the Raven Fortress." He said, maintaining a professional and respectful tone.
Melina offered him a small smile as she walked to the circular table and took a seat.
"Please have a seat. I would like to hear the full account of the incident that occurred prior to today. It is very rare for a mundane human to fight and even slay a corrupted creature, particularly a Fallen one." She said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
Wren gulped dryly, thinking.
'Indeed, why not? I will tell her how I received powers from an unknown and living God and defeated a Fallen. Yes, why not?'
He took a seat and briefly recounted the events that had transpired. Throughout their conversation, Melina showed no signs of surprise and kept asking question after question until she seemed satisfied.
Or so he thought.
Melina looked at him with a strange smirk on her lips and then asked:
"What about this ability of yours? I can sense you haven't even formed your soul core, and acquiring an aspect isn't possible without it. Can you explain that?"
Wren met her gaze and grinned.
"That's a secret. A king needs to have some hidden weapons in his arsenal, doesn't he?" He replied politely, though he felt sweat forming at the nape of his neck.
Melina chuckled.
The sound of her laughter was sweet and trancing.
"Indeed, indeed, I will praise you for your bravery. No one has ever dared to say such a thing in front of my face; you are the first." She stood up and walked towards one of the closets.
She pulled out a set of clothes, though they didn't look normal in any sense.
"May I ask what this is?" Wren asked.
Melina looked behind her back, a small smile on her face.
Oh, it's for you. I can't let you attend the meeting looking like a beggar, can I?" She said before taking out a few more things.
"A meeting?" He asked.
Melina hummed in response.
"Indeed, you will be attending the meeting with the other generals and important members of the Divine legion. Just stay beside me, and don't even get close to the lineage of the Sun God; those perverted people would suck the life out of you in the name of their precious passion."
Wren just stared into the air and thought.
'Crazy nightmare.'