The throne room of Aelthameir trembled long before anyone entered. A faint quiver, an almost- felt hum slithered across the walls, climbing the pillars. The castle walls flickered just once- like a blink of fear.
The Chambers quickly filled. Kings, Queens, high nobles and military commanders formed restless clusters beneath floating lanterns that burn with spellfire instead of oil. Their shadows shivered like creatures trying to escape their bodies.
They were afraid.
They simply didn't want to say.
Prince Ander came at last, striding with confidence like someone who hadn't doubted his destiny a single day. His dark hair braided with royal sigils caught the lantern light, even his steps sound like authority.
Ander was born without any signs of magical abilities, he has never believed on demons and mystical beings. He hated the idea of gathering over superficious ideas and wasting time addressing to old men who claim magic was real.
At the center of the chamber, stood Elder Morvain, his presence like a quiet storm. When Morvain lifted his gaze, silence fell.
"The seal is cracking", he said, voice low, steady and far to calm to carry the weight of words.
A ripple of panic swept the room. Youngest noble gasped. The generals exchange grim look. Even the ministers of war swallowed hard.
"Explain", King Veras demanded.
The ancient barrier grows thin. Last night, some seers recorded the greatest tremor in nearly three hundred years.
A noble woman, clutched her amulet. "And what the big deal if it breaks".
Morvian disappointed by the ignorance of the nobles explained; "The world would suffer what the previous era barely survived, that's what." Only that this time the demons would not wait centuries to adapt to magic, they would act immediately.
A cold dread settled across the chamber.
"Elders", the King said. "You were summon because you are the last wielders of pure magic or it knowledge,so I heard. Don't tell me you have came without solutions?"
Give elders stepped forward. Dressed in white robes whispering like an ancient scripture.
They bowed deeply.
We have theories, elder Celra began, but none can guarantee success.
Reinforcing the seal with magic untouched by human desire or corruption, might just do the trick, Celra said.
Morvian gaze darkened. And such magic doesn't exist among us.
Murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Then we are doomed?" A general snapped. None of us here can even light candle wax, lest talk about fighting hordes of demons."
"No", Morvian replied. Only the destined one can afford to use such magic.
The room froze.
Someone whispered, "the chosen"
Another scoffed, "fairytale".
But Prince Ander stepped forward, jaws clenched in defiance.
"And who", Ander said decides this so called destiny.
He approached Morvian standing only two steps away from the elders. For years, you've spoken of this chosen one, as if the rest of us are unworthy of such title. If such- a destined one exist, why hasn't he or she appear.
Magic is not real, this are all fantasy which at your age you should stop listening to. "Have anyone among us ever summon beasts, lightning or even flame?" No. The answer is no and no it will remain. There is no destined one neither there is a seal.
But deep within his heart, Morvian could feel it, a faint tug, a spiritual pulse that has hunt him for years. The destined one live, he had seen signs, followed omen, pieced together fragments left by ancient mages.
And Morvian knew exactly were this destined one was.
And he knew why exactly no one must interfere. But the world was running out of time.
Faraway in a deserted land, far from the kingdom, the cloud split into a violent scream of lightning. A tear of Crimson fire slashed through the sky.
From that rift... Something emerged.
A massive figure crashed shaking the ground as though a mountain has fallen. Smoke and shadow coiled around it body. Two burning eyes opened like twin Suns of malice.
It was a demon general.
The first of many.
And the seal has cracked... More than anyone knowing. And the general had escaped to prepare the way for Kings and Lord's.
Back in the throne room, Morvian staff shattered it own crystal tip- something it has not done in his entire life.
The invasion, Morvian breathed, dread crushing his chest.
Has already begun.