“Between thunder’s echo and the hush of dawn, hearts find their harmony.”
Themis lingered at the edge of the shattered courtyard, the wind tugging at his scarf like a memory trying to pull him back.
Beyond the broken stone and bloodstained battlements, the sky hung low—quiet now, but heavy with echoes of the storm.
His thoughts drifted to Heathcliff.
The quiet one. Loyal, sharp-eyed, always watching the edges others overlooked.
He had vanished without a trace—from a prison cell deep within the Bastille.
No signs of struggle. No goodbyes. Just gone—like a shadow swallowed by deeper darkness.
And then… Shilol.
Themis’s breath caught.
Her absence was louder than any battlefield. His childhood friend—his sister in all but blood—disappeared during the Chaos of Crotchet, when smoke and screams choked the city streets.
He remembered her then, clearly—her voice calling his name from the forest’s edge, long before the world had burned.
Before fate had scattered them like ash in the wind.
His jaw tightened. His hand curled into a fist at his side.
“I need you both,” he murmured, the promise buried deep in his chest.
Hold on.
I’ll find you.
Unknown Rhapsodia Outpost — Years Ago
A younger Orion, perhaps sixteen, knelt in the dark before a shattered statue of the old Harmonia gods—now outlawed in Rhapsodia.
Raiju, his father, stood nearby—tall, calm, with storm-grey eyes. The only Rhapsodia general who refused the warpath.
“Orion… do you remember what I told you about real strength?”
Orion, still rough, still learning, nodded.
“That it’s not about how many men you lead… but how many you protect.”
Raiju smiled—softly, sadly.
“I fear the day will come when you must choose between your country and your soul. When it does… don’t follow my path. Choose your own.”
The grand mourning hall was suffocating with silence. Heavy banners of red and gold draped the towering walls, swaying gently in the wind that seeped through stained glass.
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Orion stood motionless in battle-worn armor, streaked with dirt and dried blood. Before him rested the coffin—dark ebony, trimmed in silver.
Inside, his father, General Raiju, lay still. The once-proud storm of Rhapsodia reduced to silence.
His armor had been stripped, but the deep spear wound across his chest remained—raw, accusing.
The scent of incense did nothing to mask the rot of betrayal.
Footsteps echoed across the marble.
Premier Katharina Virelthane entered—regal in crimson robes, her expression measured, her eyes gleaming with cold calculation.
“Your father… died not as a warrior. But as a traitor, they say.”
Orion flinched.
“But they won’t tell you the full truth. It wasn’t just betrayal. It was a setup.”
She circled the coffin slowly.
“Brauer lured him out. Promised peace. A secret meeting under a false banner. Raiju went—unarmed, hopeful. And Brauer’s blade answered his trust.”
Orion’s hands curled into fists.
“No… My father believed in peace. He said Brauer was his friend.”
“Friend?” she scoffed.
“Your father stood against my orders, tried to warn the enemy. And for that, Brauer put a spear through his chest and called it diplomacy.”
She stopped beside Orion, placing a hand on his armored shoulder.
“They’ll raise statues to Brauer. They’ll erase Raiju’s name... unless you remind them who he was.”
Orion’s jaw locked, his breath shallow.
“They broke the treaty… they murdered him… all because they feared a prophecy.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “And they’ll do worse if we let them. They will awaken this Child of Darkness.”
Her tone sharpened, striking like flint.
“I need a general, Orion. Rhapsodia needs a storm to answer their Darkness.”
Orion looked down at his father one last time, silent grief turning to rage.
He stepped back from the coffin, stood tall, and met her gaze.
“Then I’ll be your blade, Premier. I’ll bring them their reckoning.”
Orion stood atop a hill overlooking the walls of Alto Capital, his armor polished black and silver, his dark blade humming with restrained mana.
He removed a blood-stained cloth from his belt—his father’s battle sash—and tied it around his wrist.
Behind him, thousands of Rhapsodian soldiers waited in silence, their ranks gleaming faintly under the moonlight.
“No dawn for traitors,” Orion said softly.
“No more prophecy.”
He lifted his blade toward the sky.
“We strike at first light—eastward.”
A murmur rippled through the ranks—half fear, half reverence.
Lightning tore across the horizon, washing the hills in ghostly white.
And as thunder rolled over the earth, Orion’s eyes burned with purpose.
The storm was coming.
Title / Role: The Silent Mediator
Affinity: Fire, Wind
Age: 39
Birthday: April 7
Weapon / Skill Specialty: Rapier
Description / Personality:
Brilliant and sharp-tongued, Katharina’s diplomacy burns hotter than her spells. Her wit has ended more battles than blades ever could, yet few see the weary strategist behind her flame-born pride.
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