The war room was no grand hall, but a chamber in the palace, plain stone walls enclosing a rounded oak table polished smooth by years of councils. Yet tonight, the air itself seemed heavy, charged with the weight of war.
Baron Yert sat stiffly, his brown hair cropped short, his cloak of green velvet trimmed with gold. His fingers drummed against the table, each tap echoing like a heartbeat. Beside him, Duke Liam, tall and broad‑shouldered, wore a robe of deep indigo, his chain of office gleaming faintly. His pink hair caught the torchlight, a strange but noble mark that drew every eye.
Marquis Margg, the youngest, leaned forward eagerly, his crimson mantle spilling across his lap. His eyes burned with ambition, restless in contrast to the older lords. Baron Tililan adjusted the rings on his hand, each jewel glittering like a promise of wealth, his expression calculating.
At the head of the table stood Zackline, his voice sharp as steel. "The war against the Velous Nation of the Lawed Zone grows darker. They are hiring mercenaries from the Unlawed Zone. Their armies swell with outsiders who care nothing for honor, only coin."
The torches hissed, shadows stretching long across the chamber.
Zackline's tone deepened. "Aunt Zira has sent word from the battlefield. She fights even now, and her message was clear — reinforcements are needed."
The door opened.
Queen Zellene entered, her robe of midnight silk flowing like water, bound at the waist with a crimson sash. Her dark silver hair gleamed in the torchlight, her golden eyes calm yet piercing. The lords rose slightly in respect as she crossed the chamber, her presence filling the room like a tide. She sat at the rounded table, her robe whispering against the stone floor.
Zackline inclined his head. "We march in two days. Preparations must be swift. The enemy gathers strength, and we cannot delay."
Marquis Margg leaned forward, eyes burning. "Then let me lead the vanguard. Let me prove myself."
Duke liam smirk curled from the shadows. "Eager children die first."
Zackline's gaze hardened. "Enough. This war is not about pride. It is survival. Aunt Zira fights even now, and her message was clear — reinforcements are needed."
The council murmured, maps folded, seals pressed, orders whispered. At last, Zackline's voice cut through the noise: "The decision is made. In two days, we go to war."
Later that night
The night air was crisp — ahhh — each breath sharp against the skin. Lanterns flickered across the reflecting pools behind the palace, their light bending into fractured ripples. The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft crunch of footsteps.
Keal walked alone, crimson and violet eyes steady, unreadable. His shadow stretched faintly beneath him, whispering with each step — swish, swish.
From behind, another presence approached. Zackline emerged, her black‑and‑gold armor muted in the lantern glow. She matched his pace, her voice low, almost hesitant. "I want to ask you a favor."
Keal didn't stop walking. His tone was flat, cold. "I don't do favors."
She kept beside him, golden eyes unwavering. "It's not for me. It's for Zack."
Keal's gaze flickered, surprised.
Zackline continued, her voice steady but tinged with concern. "He jokes too much. But he's not weak. He's… important."
Keal stopped. His silence pressed against the night — thud. "You're going to ask me to protect him."
"Yes."
He considered for a moment, then gave a single nod.
Zackline's lips curved faintly, almost a sigh. "If something happens, I'll owe you. Whatever you want."
Keal raised a brow, his voice edged with warning. "You shouldn't say that to someone like me."
She met his gaze without flinching. "Maybe. But I trust my instincts."
Her voice lowered, almost a whisper, heavy with unease. "And my instincts say something dark is coming."
She shifted the topic, her tone sharpening into command. "You'll be enrolled in the Central Capital Academy. Not for training — but to stay close to Zack. His recklessness will get him killed if someone doesn't watch him."
Keal's silence was heavier than words. His crimson and violet eyes glowed faintly, but he said nothing.
Moments later, Zack appeared. His usual grin was gone, replaced by a strange, serious expression. He walked up to Zackline, voice oddly formal. "I've arranged for people to polish your armor and prepare your room and ." Has he was talking zackline interfered
Zackline tilted her head, amused. "So you're not grounded anymore."
She turned to leave, her golden eyes flicking once toward Keal. "Don't forget what we talked about," she said firmly, before disappearing into the palace halls — swish.
As soon as she was gone, Zack's serious mask shattered. His grin returned, wide and mischievous. He practically bounced on his feet, jubilant — hahhh! "We'll go to different places before we leave! I'll show you the best food stalls, the hidden corners, the training grounds — oh, and the brotel! You'll love it!"
He blabbered on, words spilling like a flood, his laughter echoing against the lantern‑lit pools.
Keal's crimson and violet eyes narrowed. His whisper was low, bitter, meant only for himself. "…Why the fuck am I here? Should I just leave?"
Zack kept talking, oblivious, his voice bright against the heavy silence.
TWO DAYS LATER
The royal gates groaned open — thud, thud — as the Queen, Zackline, and her small elite force rode out from Weton. Horns blared across the palace walls — fwaaaahhh — their echoes rolling through the stone courtyards like war drums.
From a high balcony, Zehron watched, his smirk hidden beneath the folds of his cloak. His eyes gleamed, sharp and calculating, as if the Queen's departure was nothing more than the opening move in a game only he understood. The wind tugged at his cloak — swish — but his smile never faltered.
In the main courtyard, Keal stood beside Zack, both watching the riders vanish into the night.
Zack's hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, his usual grin nowhere to be found. His voice was low, uncertain. "Guess it's just us now."
Keal didn't reply. His silence pressed against the air — ahhh — heavier than words.
Zack shifted, glancing sideways, his tone half‑joking, half‑nervous. "You think someone will try again?"
Keal's crimson and violet eyes shimmered faintly beneath his hood, cold and unreadable. "They already have."
Zack's mouth opened, ready to speak, but Keal's voice cut through, low and sharp, like a blade sliding free. "Stay close. Don't trust anyone."
Zack blinked, startled. His grin faltered into something almost human. "You're… actually worried about me?"
Keal's gaze didn't waver. His silence was the only answer.
Above them, Zehron's cloak shifted again in the wind, his smirk curling like a predator watching prey. The lanterns flickered across the courtyard, shadows stretching long and restless.
The night felt colder.