The sun had already climbed high, its golden light cutting through the narrow windows of Ashenhold's inner keep. Outside, the training yard was alive with movement—soldiers sparring, steel clashing, boots grinding against the dirt. The air carried the scent of sweat and iron, mixing with the distant smoke from the forges.
Elric stood with arms crossed near the yard's edge, his sharp gaze sweeping over the warriors in training. A sparring match ended with a dull thud as one soldier was knocked onto his back.
Elric (calm, observing): "Too slow on the counter."
The defeated soldier scrambled to his feet, bowing his head in silent acknowledgment before returning to stance.
But Elric's attention had already drifted elsewhere. Cassius was missing.
He hadn't seen the prince since last night, after the vision—after that damned relic glowed and whispered secrets of the past. Cassius had been unsettled, that much was clear. But Elric hadn't expected him to oversleep.
Without a word, he turned and strode toward the inner halls of the keep.
Inside Cassius's chamber, the room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn. A faint blue glow pulsed from the relic resting near his bedside—soft, rhythmic, almost like breathing.
Cassius lay motionless. His breath was deep, unnaturally steady.
Elric entered silently, his footsteps muffled by the stone floor. He called out once. No response.
Twice. Still nothing.
His sharp eyes flickered to the relic. The glow hadn't been there last night.
Frowning, he stepped closer, reaching out—then stopped. Instead, his hand went to the small wooden basin near the table. With a measured tilt, he poured the cold water directly onto Cassius's face.
Cassius jolted awake with a gasp, his hand instinctively reaching for the relic. His breath came quick, as if surfacing from deep waters.
Cassius (startled, disoriented): "What the hell—?"
Elric (unmoved, dryly): "You're late."
Cassius blinked rapidly, pushing himself up. His body still felt heavy, as if he hadn't truly woken. He rubbed his temples, remnants of the vision clawing at the edges of his mind.
Cassius (quiet, troubled): "I saw something again…"
Elric didn't react immediately. He studied Cassius, then gave a slow nod.
Elric (calm, yet firm): "Get dressed. Your father is waiting."
A knock sounded at the door.
----
The door creaked open, revealing a soldier clad in Ashenhold's colors. His stance was rigid, professional.
Soldier (formal): "Prince Cassius, the King requests your presence. Alone."
Cassius stiffened. His father rarely called for private meetings. Especially not without reason.
Elric, standing beside him, remained silent for a moment before speaking.
Elric (low voice, serious): "Take your time. But whatever you find in that room—don't carry it alone."
Cassius cast him a glance, but Elric had already turned away.
Gripping the relic tightly, Cassius exhaled and followed the soldier.
The halls of Ashenhold were old, worn by time and war. Tattered banners hung above, once proud emblems now faded, whispering of past glories. The castle's heartbeat was steady—guards on patrol, servants moving swiftly, blacksmiths hammering in the forges.
Yet, despite the movement, something felt still.
Cassius's boots echoed lightly against the stone as he walked, the weight of the relic growing heavier with each step.
He knew, deep down—this conversation would change everything.
The throne room was dimly lit, torches casting flickering shadows against the high walls. King Marko sat upon his throne—not in full regalia, but in his worn battle leathers, a sign that he had been thinking, brooding.
He did not speak immediately. Instead, he simply watched as Cassius approached.
Finally, in a voice heavy with unspoken weight:
Marko: "The machines will not stop. Not until they have you."
Cassius stopped short. His fingers curled.
Cassius (quiet, demanding): "Why?"
Marko leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze was unreadable.
Marko: "Because of what you are."
Cassius's heartbeat quickened.
Cassius: "What am I?"
Marko (hesitant): "The Catalyst... The First Catalyst… was not just a hero. He was also a destroyer. The war was not as you were told."
Cassius clenched his jaw.
Cassius: "Who was he?"
A pause. Then, a simple, weighty response:
Marko: "Genesis holds your answers."
Cassius took a breath, his decision already forming. He stepped through the heavy doors, his father's voice still echoing in his mind.
The heavy doors of the throne room shut with a deep thud, sealing the space in a dim glow of torchlight
As the doors shut behind him, Marko exhaled, his shoulders heavy. He sat there for a long moment, staring at the map laid out before him.
Marko (muttering to himself): "So… it begins."
After a brief pause, he turned toward one of the guards standing near the entrance.
Marko(commanding, steady): "Summon them. We have much to discuss."
The guard bowed and quickly exited. Moments later, footsteps echoed down the hall.
Marko stood at the head of the long table, hands pressed against the surface. Before him sat his advisors—battle-worn generals, cunning strategists, and lords who had survived the war. Elric and Varcen stood near the door, listening.
At the far end of the chamber, General Aldric shifted his stance, the dim torchlight casting deep shadows over his weathered face. A jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw—a relic from battles long past. His broad shoulders bore the weight of decades of war, his armor dulled not by neglect but by relentless use.
Beside him, Strategist Rhen stood with arms crossed, his calculating gaze never wavering. Unlike the grizzled general, Rhen was lean, draped in dark robes instead of steel. A thin silver chain rested against his chest, the only sign of rank he cared to display. His sharp features gave little away, save for the constant glint of quiet intellect behind his eyes.
A tense silence filled the air. The general, Alric, broke it first.
General Aldric(gruff, disapproving): "The boy cannot leave, my King. Ashenhold needs him now more than ever."
The strategist, Rhen, leaned forward.
Strategist Rhen (calculating): "And yet, if he stays, the machines will continue hunting him. There is no hiding from them, not anymore."
Marko exhaled slowly, his gaze distant.
Marko (weary, measured): "And what do you suggest? That I send my son into the unknown, to a land that may no longer welcome us?"
Varcen crossed his arms, stepping forward.
Varcen (firm, straightforward): "If Genesis holds the truth about the Catalyst, then that is where he needs to go. Staying here won't stop what's coming."
Elric had been silent, listening to the arguments unfold. Now, he finally spoke, his voice calm but deliberate.
Elric (collected, neutral): "Cassius is no longer just a prince. The moment the machines called him 'Catalyst,' he became something else. Whether we like it or not, his path is already set."
Marko's gaze hardened. His fingers drummed against the wooden table as he considered their words. He had always known this day would come.
Marko (low, resigned): "Cassius will decide his own path."
A heavy pause. Then, he stood.
Marko (finality in his tone): "This meeting is over."
The advisors exchanged glances but said nothing. The decision had been made.
---
The sun was beginning to set over Ashenhold, casting long shadows across the training courtyard. Soldiers moved in disciplined formations, steel clashing against steel as they drilled. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and dust.
Cassius stood near the stone archway, staring at the worn dirt beneath his boots.
He had known this moment would come, yet now that it was here, the weight of it pressed against his chest.
Footsteps approached. Elric and Varcen.
Elric stopped a few feet away, his expression unreadable.
Varcen, as usual, was more direct. He smirked slightly, though there was a knowing look in his eyes.
Varcen (teasing, yet serious): "You look like a man with something on his mind, Cassius."
Cassius took a slow breath. Then, he lifted his gaze.
Cassius (firm, resolute): "I'm going to Genesis."
Elric's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted—a quiet acceptance.
Elric (quiet, resigned): "So you've decided."
Varcen grinned, his arms still crossed.
Varcen (light-hearted, but approving): "Well then. We best prepare."
Marko, watching from the steps, approached. He extended a sealed letter.
Marko holds out a sealed parchment, the wax emblem unmarked—a rare sight. He doesn't hand it over immediately. Instead, he studies Cassius for a long moment, as if measuring his resolve.
Marko (low, firm): "This must reach someone in Genesis. An old ally… or perhaps an enemy. Time will decide which."
Cassius takes the letter, feeling the weight of it—not just in his hands, but in the tension between his father's words.
Cassius(frowning, cautious): "Who am I delivering this to?"
Marko exhales sharply, eyes shifting toward the window, where Ashenhold's banners ripple in the wind.
Marko(quietly, with meaning): "The Veiled Assembly."
Cassius's fingers tighten around the letter.
Cassius(hesitant, skeptical): "The Assembly? I thought they abandoned us when the war began."
Marko gives a small, humorless smirk but doesn't look at him.
Marko (grim, knowing): "That's what they wanted you to believe. But if there is any hope of understanding your role in all this, they are the only ones who can help you now."
Cassius studies his father's expression, sensing the unspoken distrust beneath his words.
Cassius (narrowing his eyes): "And you trust them?"
Marko finally turns to face him.
Marko(measured, serious): "I trust that they know more than I do. And that, Cassius, is why you must go."
Cassius took it, the parchment rough under his fingertips.
His father's voice was quieter now, almost tired:
Marko: "You must uncover the truth, but do not let it define you."
-------------------------
Elsewhere, in the depths of a forgotten stronghold…
The chamber was vast, its walls adorned with ancient engravings—symbols of a forgotten past. Five figures stood in the dim light, their forms obscured by flickering torches. At the center, a single figure sat upon a raised seat—not a throne, but a place of quiet authority.
The leader remained still, fingers resting lightly on the armrest. Their presence alone kept the others subdued.
One of the standing figures, a man with a sharp voice, finally spoke.
Figure 1(calm but urgent): "There was a disturbance at the First Engine."
A second figure, slightly shorter, added,
Figure 2(tone cautious): "An anomaly. It was brief, but… different."
The leader did not react immediately. Instead, a silence stretched, deliberate and heavy.
A third figure shifted uneasily.
Figure 3(uncertain): "We are investigating. If it's what we suspect—"
The leader raised a single hand.
Instantly, the room fell silent.
Then, after a long pause, the leader spoke. Their voice was calm, measured—not loud, but absolute.
Leader (quiet but firm): "The First Engine is irrelevant."
Another silence followed.
Leader(finalizing tone): "Focus on the plan. Everything else is noise."
No one spoke further. There was no need. The discussion was over.
The leader leaned back slightly, the torchlight casting shadows across their face. All was proceeding as expected.
For now.
*********