Episode 2: Blood and Hope

  Chapter 004 - The Kings' Decree

  “Vynelor… the name is true,” Luminar whispered with knees pressed to the cold marble. Her hands braced the floor as her white hair spilled over her face. “He really exists…”

  The halls of Armiton Headquarters were vast and silent. Her breath fogged in the dim light, the frigid air pinching her lungs. The marble below her reflected a look of horror. Arched windows stretched floor to ceiling, casting a faint silver gleam. Chandeliers above remained dark. And the candles were put out.

  Her breathing slowed, each exhale sharper than the last. The silence pressed in.

  “If he’s real…” she said, “then we have to kill him. If what you said is true, none of us is safe while he lives. But please… do not kill the innocent. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “That is not our problem,” said a shadow in front of her.

  It was just a pitch black place where no light reached. But one figure stood in it. Luminar could see no eyes, no body, no limbs, no lips. Just a voice that spoke with calm, a womanly voice at that. It spoke disturbingly close—right against her face. She could feel the breath brushing against her face. Yet the voice came from every direction.

  “Our concern is the child,” the shadow continued. “Leave the kings to their duties. We are to slay that newborn. And you know as well as I do… the slaves aren’t only defending their own. They’re defending Vynelor. The Matron has done her fair work to bring them to her favor.”

  Luminar straightened. Tears glistened on her cheeks. She scanned the shadows, desperate to catch the woman’s gaze, and cried, “Send me to the Matron! Wasn’t I the one who established this government? If I can do such, I can at least do this! Why are you ordering one of my men on the hunt? He has no heart, and he will do more harm than needed.”

  “And that is the right tool to use. He will get the job done. You know the rules. We will not let the Matron sway any more hearts. She’s already taken too many. We won’t risk losing you. You’ve come too far to become less than a spectacle. You, the one who crossed RathNah with the help of your brother.”

  Luminar’s breath caught. “So you are saying… I am easily swayed?”

  “And it’s not your fault,” the voice said. “Descendants like you need anchors to ground their visions. That is why I’m here, to anchor them. Not to mention you. The ones your founder envisioned… You were made to worship.”

  There was silence, letting only Luminar’s quiet sobs echo through the chamber. A single tear fell to the marble floor. After a minute, she whispered, “Are you certain that this is the truth?”

  “You’ve seen the visions yourself, and they weren’t pleasant,” the shadow replied, unmoved. The voice pressed closer. “I’ve said enough. Remember the Overturn. You fought hard for this. Are you ready to throw it all away?”

  The question hung in her mind longer than she wanted. Her tears wouldn’t stop. Her fingers quivered in distress. She tried to cover her face, but her hands shook too much to steady herself.

  “You keep denying what you see. But don’t forget what the world saw before your eyes. Our systems cried out for their master. They believed their Lord had returned in the form of a child. Is that not enough evidence to concede?”

  It was true that Luminar had seen visions before, but not like this. They had never felt so vivid, so certain. How many times had she dreamed of the child? How many times had she wanted to see the promise? A chance to break the divisions? All these questions ran through her head without an answer to explain.

  But the shadow’s voice was certain, and Luminar’s faith was exhausted. After everything, she had no strength left to fight it.

  She exhaled, even laughing weakly. Then, in a restrained tone, she said, “So, the end isn’t near. It’s already begun. That means we have to stop that child from living. He must not take the crown.”

  “You’re learning,” the shadow said, almost as if smiling. “If his life is cut short, we will delay the worst that comes after him. Isn’t that a kind of mercy? Your brother is already in the throne room with the council. The kings are ready to issue the decree. Our goal is to keep the world revolving, and that is to tamper with a dangerous force, and only such. For now, accept the truth—as Marshal—and wait until the decree is finished. That will mark the end of the prophecies, and we will leave your people be.”

  “Then what about me?”

  There was a pause. Then she answered, “You are coming with us.”

  Luminar lowered her head, her tears returning in silence. “If we kill one to save many,” she whispered, “then I will accept. I will not partake in the issuing of the decree. But the rest, I will assist. May Donnor find the same truth. Brother… please understand.”

  She remained kneeling with her breath slow. Behind her, the great hall of Armiton stood silent. No guards were posted at the door, and no footsteps lingered in the corridors. But the muffled clash of voices and weapons outside seeped through the walls, blending with the storm’s distant thunder.

  Not far from where she knelt, beyond a thick stone barrier, was the royal tower, a designed spectacle by expert architects, and untouchable all the same. Within its highest chamber, a very different silence held its breath.

  The throne room gleamed. Light sliced through angled slats and half-veiled windows, casting long silver bars across the room. That same glare pooled across the red-carpeted marble floor, and at the center was a long, round-bellied table of darkwood. On it were carved the names of the ten council members. One of them:

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  COMMANDER OF THE LEGIONS

  DONNOR THALLION

  Donnor sat near the head of the table, positioned just enough to see the kings above. To his left, four other military commanders sat silent. Normally standing with discipline and composure, their backs were now too straight, their brows beaded with sweat. None of them spoke or had color in their faces. Donnor didn’t either. All nine council members were present with the same expressions.

  Except one, who was not present.

  To his right, one seat remained empty. Etched into its wood in silver filigree was a name:

  MARSHAL: SOVEREIGN OF THE FIVE

  LUMINAR THALLION

  His eyes lingered on the name. Beside him, his system window flickered faintly.

  Just moments ago, they had seen something none could explain. Donnor tried to stay composed, but the room still trembled from the silence that followed. He looked at the empty seat again. “Luminar Thallion,” he muttered.

  No one spoke of her absence. But they all felt it.

  High above, three golden thrones loomed in shadow. The kings.

  Their forms remained obscured, distant silhouettes beneath the massive columns. From their hollow sockets, golden light spilled downward like mist. It drifted in thin ribbons, trailing down the columns in silence.

  Then, the one seated in the middle leaned slightly forward.

  “The systems pulsed, and the storm has passed. With it gone, the order must continue,” said the middle voice. It was low and weightless. “We are not reckless. We have fed them, clothed them, given them breath under our law. But we do not forget. The last rebellion of the laborborn cost us decades of cleansing.”

  His voice deepened. “It was mercy that let them live. But mercy unguarded gives room for recklessness. A kingdom cannot tolerate its decay.”

  He leaned again. A shadow fell over his throne. “So let it be declared. RrodKa will return to obedience. The fields will be cleaned again.”

  No one at the table responded. The council sat silent, their expressions grim. They had known this day would come. The signs had been clear… rising unrest, swelling numbers among the laborborn, and above all, the Matron.

  Donnor looked around the chamber. The others waited, their eyes fixed on the thrones, prepared for the final words. All three kings leaned forward in unison. And then, in one voice, they spoke.

  “The decree is issued. Cleanse the bloodline. The early kings obeyed our founder, and so shall we.”

  The final words of the decree rippled through the room like a wave. As the echo faded, a new sound emerged, a soft chime rising from the council members’ systems. Donnor’s window blinked open beside him.

  Temperament Slate — 2/13 Awakened

  Forebode ? Lv. 16: Why are they moving on from the monumental event so quickly?

  Royalbind ? Lv. 5: Your masters demand an answer. What is yours?

  One by one, system windows flared to life across the table, hovering just above the polished wood. Above each display, a golden seal of the three thrones spun in silence, casting pale light over the names engraved into the table’s edge.

  Donnor stared at his name on the table. His fingers curled into a fist as the system was demanding an answer: accept the decree, or stay silent. Silence was still an answer, but indecision wasn’t. Would he raise his hand and slam his palm to seal the law?

  Before he could act, a loud smack broke the air.

  A hand struck the wood to his left. Then another, across the table. One by one, the council responded to their systems and the decree. They declared their allegiance with their hands surrendering to the will of their kings.

  Then all eyes turned to him. Donnor did not move.

  “Commander Thallion,” said the man beside him. Donnor turned, and the man continued, “It’s to be expected. If we don’t act, no one is safe.”

  “Slaves adapt quickly,” added another, seated just beyond him. “Because of us, they’ve acquired magic, strength, traits we can’t afford to let grow unchecked.”

  “Though really,” said the woman across from him, the Trade and Goods representative, “the kings and Marshal Thallion could handle this themselves. They only need us to experience the emergency protocol. Besides, the Marshal’s not even here, the kings’ wildcard.”

  “Or more like the Marshal’s pawns,” another chimed in.

  The first man leaned in. “Cast your vote. If you accept, your system will tether itself to purpose. The responsibility will fall on the kings. That way, the blood you shed won’t be yours to carry.”

  Donnor’s fingers hovered above the table, just above the flickering interface. His system glowed faintly beside his engraved name. And next to his was her sister’s. There was no interface for her. Nothing. She should have been here.

  He stared at her name, a chill blooming in his chest. Is she okay? Did she see what I saw? She had been strange lately. What’s going on with her? If she received more visions, then something must’ve happened. But she is never absent from these matters. Never. This is not normal. None of this is.

  The longer he hesitated, the more his system pulsed. His head throbbed with pressure. The word was still there, even though the system had erased it. It hadn’t left his mind. No one mentioned it, but he remembered it all. The way the system had collapsed, the way the light bent around the screen, the single word that declared LORD.

  But the decree was in motion. The kings had spoken. And now, he was to enforce the slaughter of an entire generation. The supernatural loomed behind his thoughts, but the present pressed harder.

  He opened his hand, and he slammed his palm against the table.

  Then the storm rumbled, like a beast giving its final breath.

  All across the throne room, the systems responded. Every interface flickered red. The glow spilled down the walls and across the floor in red. Even the kings’ systems pulsed. On every screen, the same message appeared:

  ● SYSTEM ALERT ●

  Directive Confirmed

  Authorized by: Council of the Ten | Royal Throne Triumvirate

  MISSION

  Slaughter every infant under one year of age.

  Target: Descendants of Ladrack

  Priority: Absolute

  PENALTIES FOR DELAY

  Extended hesitation will incur system penalties.

  Offense: –0.01% HP/s of inaction.

  May the blood of a generation be on your hands.