Long before heavy crowns bent their backs, and long before massive armies shouted their names in terror, four young men stood side by side. Over fifty years ago, they were just students under the proud banners of the Ascension Academy—the one place where the most gifted youths in the world came to forge their destinies.
Back then, amidst the loud clashes of the training fields, they had crossed blades, shared drinks, and tested their limits together.
Alaric Voltaire, whose golden lightning moved faster than a mortal thought.
Rayling Infris, whose azure flames burned with a hunger that could devour other fires.
Ether Gaia, a solid, unyielding mountain in human form.
Ivan Frost, the smiling "White Devil" whose blade carried the deadly touch of winter.
They were bitter rivals, yes. But they were also brothers. They were young dreamers chasing glory beneath the exact same sky.
But time is a cruel master. Dreams fade, hearts grow cold, and the warmth of friendship is easily crushed by the heavy weight of duty. The boys who once sparred in the sunlight now ruled massive empires divided by ambition and blood.
The very bond that once held them together was now the spark that would ignite the continent.
Far away from those distant, bittersweet memories, the fortress city of Saelthorne was preparing for hell. The tension in the air was coiled as tight as a drawn bowstring.
Inside the stone war chamber, Earl Saer stood leaning over a massive oak table. A map of the borderlands was spread across it, covered in carved wooden markers showing the movement of troops. In the flickering candlelight, the deep lines of exhaustion on the Earl's face were obvious.
"They are moving much faster than we anticipated, My Lord," said Henry, his trusted advisor. Henry was a man with silver hair and calm, tired eyes—a man who had survived too many wars to be panicked by the next one. "Our scouts just confirmed that the Infris vanguard has already crossed the eastern marshlands. If they keep this brutal pace, they will reach Saelthorne before dusk."
Earl Saer's fingers gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked.
"If the Azure Fiend claims the Flamore Lionous egg," Saer said, his voice low and dead serious, "then even His Majesty's golden lightning might not be enough to stop him. We cannot let that happen, Henry. Not while I am still breathing."
Henry nodded slowly, his tone heavy with reality. "Then our path is clear, My Lord. We must protect the innocent first. We need to evacuate the citizens to the mountain shelters before the blue flames arrive."
For a moment, Earl Saer was completely silent. Then, he gave a hard, decisive nod.
"Sound the horns. Do not hesitate for a single second. Every man, woman, and child must be moved immediately."
Saer turned and strode out onto the open stone balcony. The crimson banners of House Saer flapped weakly against the darkening sky. Down below in the massive courtyard, thousands of soldiers were gathering into tight, disciplined ranks. Their heavy armor gleamed like molten gold in the dying sunlight.
The Earl took a deep breath, and his booming voice carried across the entire city.
"Send word to every soldier in Saelthorne! Sharpen your blades, brace the outer walls, and steel your hearts! We are the shield that holds the line until Emperor Alaric arrives! The Voltaire Empire will not fall! Not here! Not today!"
His words rolled over the courtyard like thunder. The soldiers roared in response.
Moments later, the deep, mournful blare of the evacuation horns echoed across the city. Panic and order mixed as families rushed through the streets in hurried lines, fleeing toward the safety of the mountain passes. Their terrified faces were lit by the fading sun—and by the terrifying, growing glow of distant fires on the horizon.
On the walls, the soldiers took their posts. The clatter of their weapons and armor sounded like the frantic heartbeat of Saelthorne itself. The fortress wasn't just preparing for a battle. It was preparing to fight for its very survival.
High above, the cold winds carried a tragic whisper.
Once, four brothers had stood beneath this same sky, dreaming of the future. Now, that same sky was going to watch them tear the world apart.
The storm was here. And it brought nothing but memories and fire.
___