Somewhere in the northern lands...
"We've found something!" a man shouted from within the dig site.
He cleared away the thick mud and clay, revealing a fragile piece of parchment buried beneath the earth. A tall wooden ladder reached from the pit to the surface. The man carefully climbed up, cradling the find in his hand.
At the top, he handed the parchment to another man-older, with sharp eyes and the air of authority. This man was Lyarupung, the head of this archaeological team.
Standing nearby, draped in a dark cloak, was the prince himself.
Lyarupung bowed slightly. "Your Majesty."
The prince gave a subtle nod, signaling for him to read.
Lyarupung hesitated. His hands trembled slightly but a royal command was not something to question as he unfolded the brittle page.
He began slowly, "When that sword kisses that blood, the devil shall walk again."
The prince narrowed his eyes. "A prophecy?"
Lyarupung nodded. "Yes, it seems like a prophecy ,Your Majesty "
The prince frowned. "From sage Sabha? That doesn't make sense. Check the parchment again. Look for faded words-maybe something was erased over time. Use your Prithalestial."
For reader's
[ Prithalestial= Special ability ]
Lyarupung closed his eyes briefly and let his power awaken. His gaze scanned the page with unnatural precision.
"There are no signs of erasure," he said. "No natural fading, no tampering. This is all it ever held."
The prince let out a quiet breath. "Then... read the second page."
Lyarupung carefully unfolded the second sheet. "There's something written at the top-'2949th Alignment.'"
He continued reading:
"The evening was growing cold. He lit the fire and sat alone by the camp, watching the flames.
Then I saw an old man approaching.
He spoke: 'She is not your blood, nor even human in truth. Yet you call her your daughter. Do you really believe bonds can be forged beyond flesh?'
He paused, glancing at Nivara, asleep beside him.
'Blood means nothing. Time does. The longer you walk with someone, the deeper they carve into your soul. Bonds aren't born-they're built.'
As the old man came closer, his features sharpened in the firelight.
'And yet... she is not like you. She wasn't born. She was made-from energy, shaped in darkness. Can such a thing truly love, truly feel?'
He tossed water onto the fire, dimming it slightly. His voice softened but grew firmer.
'Love isn't a privilege of flesh. It's a force beyond it. If she laughs, if she grieves, if she holds my name in her heart-what more proof do I need?'"
Lyarupung lowered the page. "That's all, Your Majesty."
The prince thought for a moment. "This is the 4th page we've found so far. The one being written about-this 'he'-his name still hasn't been mentioned. But everything seems to revolve around him. These all texts are from Sage Sabha, right?"
Lyarupung nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. These writings come from him. He had the Prithalestial that allowed him to enter the past lives of others. It seems he lived through this man's memories... witnessed them himself... and wrote them down."
The Prince walked a few steps, his mind racing. "The previous two pages were marked with the alignments 2924 and 2828. This one says 2949.
He took the first parchment and stared at it.
But this prophecy page... it has no alignment. Why? What does that mean?"
[Miles away, The kingdom of Ilangdor ]
"I'm running.
And that thing... it's chasing me. I don't even know what it is. Feels like a void-empty, endless. Like it wants to swallow me whole. It doesn't stop. It doesn't get tired.
I know it's real. My heart believes it. Even if I keep telling myself it's just in my head... I know.
Today's the tenth day since winter started. I'm so damn tired. I just want to sleep. But I can't. Not again. That stupid dream comes back every time.
In the dream, everything gets small. Not just smaller-farther. Like the whole world is shrinking away from me. People, places... all slipping out of reach.
And then there's this feeling in my head-like something's pressing in, concentrating everything. But I can't tell if my head's getting bigger... or smaller
And the feeling that follows... It's not just fear. It's like... like I'm vanishing.
Like the whole world's forgetting I was ever here.
Ivan takes a long sigh.
Is running and fighting the same thing?
It feels like it... at least in the dream."
Shaking off the thought, Ivan reminded himself that today was important.
"Today is my birthday. I'm sixteen now," he said aloud, rising to his feet. "A knight-to-be of the Kingdom of Ilangdor."
His chest swelled with pride, but the weight of that strange dream still clung to his thoughts, refusing to let go.
Next morning:
In the Royal palace Of ILangdor
Grandpa Royal leaned back in his creaky wooden chair, the firelight catching the gleam in his weathered eyes. There was something solemn in the way he spoke, as if the words themselves carried the weight of the past.
"Long ago," he began, voice low and rich like distant thunder, "when the world was still raw and untamed, there was an energy-Pritharos. Wild, ancient, flowing through the veins of the universe like blood. And then... it began to take shape." His fingers curled slightly, as if cradling an invisible flame. "The Prithalestials-relics of impossible power-were born from it."
He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to pull Melvin in-or so he hoped.
"Over time," the old man continued, "beings of great cunning discovered these relics. Learned to wield them. Some grew strong. Others..." His gaze darkened. "Others became something more. Gods, or close enough to make no difference."
A log cracked in the hearth, sending up a flurry of sparks.
"One such being was Fezklyn," Grandpa Royal murmured. "He found a Prithalestial unlike any other-Singularity. A force so vast it remade him. And with that power..." The old man's voice dropped to a whisper. "He shaped worlds. Ours among them. Then he scattered the Prithalestials across the cosmos like seeds in an endless, star-strewn garden."
Melvin exhaled through his nose, stretching his arms over his head until his joints gave a satisfying pop.
"Man," he said, rolling his shoulders. "That was a real snore of a story, Grandpa." With a practiced flick, he slid his sword back into its sheath and pushed himself up from the floor.
"Anyway. I'm out. Gotta replace this thing before the shop closes."
Grandpa Royal squinted at him, the firelight carving deep shadows into his face.
"Where are you off to, lad?" Grandpa Royal called after him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "We haven't even gotten to the tale of the Sage Sabha yet. And-unless that sword's rusted straight through your memory-there's a ceremony today. Or did you forget?"
Melvin didn't even glance back as he reached the door. "Not interested," he said, flicking a dismissive hand. "The other two princes will be there anyway. Crowds, speeches, bowing till my spine cracks-" He shot the old man a dry look over his shoulder. "This place bores me to death."
Grandpa Royal watched him go, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Ah, you're growing younger by the day, lad," he mused, though the words carried a weight Melvin didn't bother to decipher.
Outside, the palace thrummed like a stirred beehive. Servants darted through the halls with armfuls of silks, knights polished ceremonial armor to a mirror shine, and cooks bellowed over the clatter of pots in the kitchens. The capital itself had burst into color overnight-streets draped in banners, market stalls overflowing with sweets and trinkets, the very air thick with the scent of roasting spices and fresh-cut flowers.
But the palace? It was a jewel set atop the frenzy.
Every corridor glowed with lanterns strung between garlands of jasmine and fire-orchids. The grand courtyard, usually a austere expanse of marble, now shimmered under the sun, its pathways lined with gilded braziers waiting to be lit at dusk. Even the statues seemed to stand taller, their stone faces softened by the golden light.
And beneath it all-the hum of anticipation. The kind that made even the most jaded courtier lean a little closer to the windows, watching, waiting.
Melvin, of course, strode past it all like a storm cutting through a garden party.
Far from the Palace
A fist hammered against the door-bang, bang, bang-hard enough to rattle the hinges.
"Hey, sleepy demon! Wake up, Ivan! IVAN!"
Groggy and scowling, Ivan wrenched the door open, his dark hair tousled from sleep. The morning light hit him like an insult.
Melvin stood framed in the doorway, clad in worn traveler's armor instead of royal silks, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Tch. And here I thought you were supposed to be the brave one."
Ivan's glare could've stripped bark from a tree. "And I thought you were a prince. Yet here you are, skulking like a rat in a pantry."
Melvin's grin didn't waver, but his eyes flicked to Ivan's stony expression. "Huh. Not even a fake smile for me? I'm hurt."
Ivan exhaled through his nose. "Why. Are. You. Here."
Melvin's smirk faded. "We've got work to do. The Devil's Wood isn't going to explore itself."
A beat. Ivan's brows knit together. "That outer forest? It's forbidden-" Then it clicked. His gaze raked over Melvin's disguise: the dirt-smudged pauldrons, the lack of insignia. "...Oh. So that's why you're dressed like a bandit."
Melvin nodded, all levity gone. "The entire kingdom's busy celebrating Warrior Day for my sister."
Ivan crossed his arms. "So sneaking out should be easy."
"Exactly," Melvin agreed. "The ceremony lasts all day, then there's a big feast. We have plenty of time-but we should hurry."
Ivan's small house stood near the wide river that circled the royal city. They took a hidden path to avoid being seen, heading toward the river crossing that would take them away from the capital.
The beautiful city-with its flower-filled gardens and tree-lined streets-was busy with celebrations. But Ivan didn't look back. His eyes were locked on the dark forest ahead.
As they crossed the river, Ivan finally asked, "So what's Warrior Day anyway?"
Melvin looked surprised. "You really don't know?"
"Nope," Ivan said.
Melvin shook his head. "It's a special celebration when girls turn twenty. They get recognized as official warriors."
"So Princess Reya is twenty," Ivan noted. "Four years older than us."
Melvin gave him a curious look. "Why does that matter to you?"
Ivan didn't answer. Instead, he pointed ahead. "Look. We're here-the forest."
Melvin studied the eerily quiet treeline. "This part's just an empty shell now. No animals, no threats - nothing left to worry about."
Ivan kicked at the dry leaves underfoot. "Hard to believe everything just abandoned such a perfect habitat."
"They didn't abandon it," Melvin corrected, pointing deeper into the woods. "They were pushed out - into Devil's Wood. Which is exactly where we're headed."
Ivan kept his expression blank. "You mean where we're going to become some predator's lunch?"
"Relax, we're just scouting. Unless..." Melvin's eyes narrowed. "Did you have that nightmare again?"
Ivan stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Yeah."
"Strange," Melvin murmured, uncharacteristically solemn. "Dreams can mess with your head like that."
"Can we drop it?" Ivan rubbed his temples. "All this seriousness is exhausting."
Melvin blinked, then broke into a grin. "Wait - does this mean I win?"
Ivan rolled his eyes. "Sure, prince charming. Take your victory lap."
Melvin's grin turned triumphant. "Thanks for surrendering. I was starting to lose my grip on staying in character too."
Ivan exhaled in relief. "Yeah, serious conversations don't suit either of us."
"Then let's just be ourselves while we can," Melvin said, giving Ivan's shoulder a firm squeeze.
A rare, genuine smile crossed Ivan's face. "We're pretty lucky, aren't we?"
"The kingdom's most promising knight candidate as my best friend?" Melvin nudged him. "Definitely blessed."
Ivan's expression softened. "You saved me, Meli. I'd say I'm the lucky one."
A shadow flickered across Melvin's face. "Let's hope we never have to repay those debts."
Ivan frowned. "Where'd that come from?"
"Because debts between friends..." Melvin gazed at the rustling leaves overhead. "When they're paid, the story ends. But if they remain... we get to stay like this forever, we will stay young forever."
Ivan barked a laugh. "You absolute weirdo."
Melvin's smile returned as he changed the subject. "So, your sister? Did you remember her flowers?
"Did it first thing this morning," Ivan said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Right before going back to bed."
Melvin shook his head in amused disbelief. "Only you, Ivan. Only you." His gaze shifted to the dark tree line ahead. "But enough stalling - we're really doing this."
The Devil's Wood rose before them like a fortress of nightmares. Towering trees twisted skyward, their gnarled branches clawing at the clouds as if trying to strangle the sun itself. The air grew thick-not with mist, but with silence, the kind that pressed against eardrums like a physical weight.
Ivan froze mid-step. His breath hitched.
"This place is... wrong," he muttered, eyes scanning the grotesque trunks. Their bark resembled scarred flesh more than wood, pulsing with veins of black moss. "These aren't trees. They're tombstones. We shouldn't-"
Melvin Reassures Ivan. "Relax. Only a few things here can actually kill us." He patted his sword at his side. "Besides, I've my Prithalestial."
Ivan's gaze snapped to it. "That's a Type-B Prithalestial. And last week its core was emptier than your sense of self-preservation."
"Topped it off some days ago,"Melvin said, flashing teeth.
"With what, hope? That thing's not even half-charged!" Ivan grabbed his arm. "If a Zarothyn picks up our scent-or worse, the border patrol-we're not just dead. We're disappeared."
For the first time, Melvin's grin faltered. Not into fear, but something colder-more focused. "Then stop thinking like prey,"
he said quietly. "One goal. One path. Doubt now, and we've already lost."
Ivan exhaled sharply. "Damn those Royal Center archives. You've swallowed every mad scribble in them whole."
Melvin moved without hesitation, his twin swords flashing silver in the dim light. He paused, eyes shutting briefly as he drew a slow breath. When they opened again, something extraordinary happened-the blades darkened, their metallic sheen transforming into an earthy, textured brown, as if forged from living soil rather than steel.
Ivan's breath caught. "That's... void energy manipulation," he murmured, recognition dawning. "Just like Master Kunwar demonstrated. You actually mastered it?"
Melvin adjusted his grip, the newly transformed blades humming faintly with power. "One of my Prithalestial's little tricks," he said, flashing a quick grin before his expression hardened. "Stay close."
Before them, the forest seemed to pulse-shadows twisting between the trees like restless spirits. The air hung heavy, every rustle of leaves sounding like whispered warnings.
Ivan tensed, but Melvin didn't falter. With a shared nod, they crossed the threshold, the darkness swallowing them whole.
Meanwhile, at the Royal Center
The grand ceremony was in full swing. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air, while lanterns bathed the garden in a warm glow. Nobles and dignitaries moved about, exchanging toasts and cheerful conversation.
At the heart of it all, Princess Reya sat with perfect poise, her expression cold and unreadable. Surrounded by twenty knights in shining armor, she radiated both elegance and authority, drawing the attention of everyone who dared to look her way.
From their elevated thrones, the king and queen watched, their faces a mix of pride and quiet emotion. Yet, despite their warmth, Reya remained unmoved-her gaze steady, her features as still as ice.
As the moment arrived, Reya rose gracefully, her gown catching the lantern light in a soft shimmer. The crowd fell silent, all eyes on her as she began to recite the sacred oath.
"This land has fed me. This land has sheltered me. This land is my home. I will never abandon it, no matter the cost. And if my blood must spill, then so be it. Every drop will be shed in defense of this soil."
Her voice was steady, each word carrying the weight of duty and devotion.
The knights stood still, their eyes fixed on the princess, absorbing the weight of her words. As she finished her oath, they responded in unison, their voices steady and resolute:
"For you, our queen, our blood will fall before yours."
Only then did they kneel. With practiced precision, they drew their swords, holding them horizontally before them. The crimson glow of their blades shimmered in the lantern light, a silent vow of loyalty. One by one, they bent their knees, offering their sacred tribute to their new queen.
Princess Reya's cold gaze swept over the bent knights before her. She paused for a moment, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade:
"And now, we are martyrs."
At her words, the knights rose to their feet, solemn and resolute, knowing they had committed their lives to her service.
From their seats, the king and queen stood, clapping as the hall erupted in cheers. The king, with a proud smile, leaned toward the queen. "Look at her. Our daughter has become queen of her knights."
The queen, her eyes shining with unshed tears, smiled through her emotions. "May these knights serve her well, and may she serve this kingdom with all her strength."
The king chuckled softly. "She's not joining the Politics anytime soon, though. This is all tradition-hundreds of years old."
As the guests cheered and applauded, the queen leaned in and whispered, "To my daughter, the queen."
Meanwhile, in the Devil's Wood
Ivan kept close behind Melvin as his companion carved through the dense undergrowth, swords flashing in swift, deliberate arcs. The forest fought back-branches cracked, leaves hissed, and the air thickened with the scent of damp earth. But the deeper they ventured, the quieter it grew, as if the trees were swallowing sound itself. An eerie stillness settled over them, heavy and watchful.
Ivan halted, every nerve taut.
"It's too quiet,"he murmured, his voice barely louder than the rustle of a leaf.
Melvin shot him a glance, calm but sharp. "They don't call this place Devil's Wood for nothing."
A split second later, the forest roared to life. A massive log hurtled toward them, tearing through the brush.
"Move!" Melvin's shout ripped through the silence. They lunged aside-just in time.
Ivan hit the ground, heart hammering. He scrambled up, eyes darting through the shadows. "You okay?"
"Yeah, but what the hell was that?" Melvin's voice was low, his gaze darting between the trees.
A guttural growl rippled through the forest, deeper than thunder. Ivan seized Melvin's arm and yanked him behind the gnarled trunk of an oak. "Look," he breathed.
Ahead, the woods were chaos. Two titans tore into each other-roots ripped from the earth, trunks splintering under the force of their rage.
The first beast was a grotesque fusion of fur and fury, its massive body sheathed in matted brown hide. But it was the tentacles that made Ivan's blood run cold: slick, sinewy things whipping through the air like striking vipers. Each swipe of its claws left gashes in the earth, methodical and brutal.
The creatures collided again, a cyclone of muscle and malice. The air trembled with their roars; the ground shuddered as birds burst from the canopy in a cacophony of shrieks and feathers.
Melvin's knuckles whitened around his swords. "Zarothyn," he muttered, barely louder than a whisper. "An evolved beast."