William stood tall atop the colossal walls of Black Keep.

  The ancient black stone structure stretched endlessly, snaking proudly to the north and south like the spine of a sleeping primordial dragon. The wall was so long and massive that its form pierced the limits of sight, shrinking and finally vanishing, swallowed by the dark horizon at both ends of the world.

  At this height, the night air wasn't merely cold; it was a lethal entity.

  The wind blowing from the Wasteland in the north didn't greet the skin; it bit it. The wind roared carrying microscopic ice crystals, slamming into William’s face with merciless cruelty. Every time he inhaled, it felt like breathing shards of glass freezing his lungs from the inside. The thick fur coat wrapping his body felt as thin as paper against temperatures capable of freezing blood in minutes.

  However, William did not flinch. His eyes stared straight into the pitch darkness in the distance.

  Tonight...

  The knowledge throbbed in his head, a secret passed down directly from King George’s lips.

  There, far beyond his vision, in the heart of the cursed Valley of Death, William knew that the Ignis Magna Beacon had been lit.

  He closed his eyes, letting his imagination paint the grand yet terrifying scene.

  In his mind, he saw giant torch pillars—trunks of ancient ironwood soaked in whale oil for a decade—now standing tall encircling the lip of Mirror Canyon.

  He imagined the moment the first fire was ignited.

  Whoosh!

  The giant ring of fire must now be burning wildly, licking the night sky with tower-high flames. That blinding orange and blood-red light would shatter the valley's eternal darkness. And the most terrifying part was its reflection...

  True to its name, the slick and glittering cliff walls of Mirror Canyon would capture that firelight, reflecting it millions of times in all directions. William imagined the canyon no longer looked like a dark abyss, but like a hell crater vomiting light, turning night into bloody day for whatever creatures hid within.

  William stood frozen atop the cold wall of Black Keep. He no longer felt the freezing night wind. Following an ancient technique taught by his father, he closed his eyes.

  His breathing slowed. His consciousness was pulled back, crossing hundreds of kilometers in an instant, entering the King’s mind. His father opened the connection gate, letting William share his hearing and vision in real-time.

  And instantly, William’s world changed.

  White.

  As far as King George’s eyes could see, this private room held only white.

  Polished smooth alabaster walls towered around him. Milky marble floors stretched vast and seamless beneath his bare feet. No windows. No gaps.

  George’s ears rang softly. Riiing...

  This room—located within the massive Ivory Bone Hall building—was designed to create absolute acoustic void. A luxurious sensory deprivation chamber pressing against the eardrums with unnatural silence.

  Here, silence had weight. George could feel it pressing on his skin pores, heavy and dense.

  FWOOOSH!

  King George flinched slightly. The silence shattered instantly.

  At the end of the room, a giant fireplace that never burned, suddenly ignited fiercely. No servant lit it, no fuel was added.

  Tongues of fire roared wildly, licking high up the chimney, bright orange contrasting with the room's pallor.

  King George stared at the fire. He knew what it meant.

  The fire didn't burn wood. The fire burned energy. It was sympathetic resonance—an echo of ancient magic responding to the upheaval that had just exploded in Mirror Canyon.

  That orange light now cast long shadows in the previously dim room. The white pillars surrounding King George now looked like giant bones porous from shadow-eating.

  He looked down again at the large oak desk in front of him.

  He still wore the crown. Though his golden royal robe hung far away in the wardrobe. He wore only a loose white shirt with sleeves rolled up carelessly, displaying young and sturdy arms—remnants of his youthful strength rarely seen.

  His hand held an old parchment. His eyes scanned the last line.

  Nil.

  Crunch.

  He crushed the edge of the fragile paper.

  The desk in front of him was messy. Dozens of ancient manuscript scrolls scattered—dynasty history, forgotten prophecies, records of past war strategies. He had checked them all. He searched for answers, searched for gaps, searched for hope.

  However, the manuscripts were mute.

  In the corner of his eye, King George saw movement.

  The Grand Advisor—that loyal old man in indigo robes—walked closer to the fireplace. His footsteps were perfectly dampened by the marble, making him move like a ghost.

  George saw the old man extend his wrinkled hand toward the raging fire, fingers trembling, as if begging for warmth just forcibly ripped from this world.

  "Your Majesty," the Grand Advisor’s voice sounded soft, yet its reflection echoed off the alabaster walls. The man spoke to the fire, turning his back on his King. "The Piper has arrived."

  King George’s shoulder muscles tensed slightly. His back stiffened.

  "And the Ignis Magna Beacon..." the Advisor continued in a grim tone. "...is lit."

  King George didn't ask for details. He didn't need to ask. The flames before him were answer enough.

  He sighed long.

  Hhhhh...

  Air left his lungs heavily.

  Then, with one simple movement, smooth yet full of measured violence, George swept his right arm across the desk.

  SWISH!

  George cleared the desk.

  Priceless ancient history scrolls were thrown. They fell, rolling helplessly on the white marble floor, scattered like useless trash. History could no longer help him. The past was over.

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  George pulled the desk drawer roughly.

  He took a heavy object from there.

  An ebony Chessboard.

  He opened it on the now-empty desk. Tabula rasa.

  George began arranging the chess pieces. His movements were fast and sharp. Clack. Clack. Clack.

  In front of the fireplace, the Grand Advisor still stared at the dancing fire, but his lips moved again continuing the report.

  "The safest places in the world right now are three," the old man murmured.

  George ignored the prologue. His hand picked up the White King piece made of pure ivory.

  Click.

  He placed the King pawn in its place, on a black square on the board. The game began.

  The Advisor finally turned from the fire. He looked at George.

  "First is the Ivory Bone Hall," he said. "Where Your Majesty is right now. The private residence of the King of Carta. The main defense heart."

  King George stared at the chessboard with cold black eyes. No doubt there, only pure calculation of a general ready to sacrifice anything.

  His hand moved again. Picking up a Rook piece.

  Click.

  He placed it in the corner, securing the flank. The fire in the hearth crackled, reflecting on the shiny chess piece surface.

  "The second," the Grand Advisor’s voice returned. "Is the Old Mansion belonging to House Sanjaya."

  King George didn't blink hearing that name.

  His hand now hovered over the board, holding one most crucial piece.

  The Queen.

  George stared at the lone King piece.

  Then, he lowered the Queen.

  Click.

  However, George didn't place it in the center of the white square that was its rightful place.

  He placed it shifted.

  Very close to the King piece. The shoulder of the Queen piece physically touched the King piece. Its base even crossed the line, touching the territory of the square beside it.

  It was an illegal move. Violating the rules of the game.

  But in George’s eyes, it was a symbol of desperate power unification. King and Queen inseparable, protecting each other’s blind spots.

  The Grand Advisor saw the cheating move from afar. He understood. He didn't protest.

  "The third," the Grand Advisor continued, his ancient voice echoing softly yet absolutely in the white stone room.

  George raised his head, waiting for the last name.

  "Is the Old Temple of House Sagara."

  King George still stood frozen in front of the chess table, hands supporting his body weight on the edge of the ebony desk.

  He saw the Grand Advisor step back, the voice of Theodore—the elder usually considered senile and useless in council by nobles—now echoing through a magical communication link or perhaps, through the collective memory of the white room itself.

  King George listened intently.

  Theodore’s voice didn't sound trembling or confused as usual. No trace of senility. The voice was heavy, ancient, and clear, as if the fog in his brain had been swept clean by the newly lit fire.

  "After the three are lit, Your Majesty..." Theodore said, his voice lilting like a seal-opening spell.

  King George felt a subtle vibration travel from the soles of his feet touching the marble floor. It wasn't an earthquake. It was the pulse of Carta’s land just jump-started by its heart.

  "All the lands of Carta..." Theodore continued. "...will answer the call."

  King George closed his eyes for a moment. inside the darkness of his eyelids, he could see the topographical map of his kingdom stretching vast. And as Theodore’s words were spoken, points of light began appearing on that mental map.

  "In ancient temples whose ruins are covered in arm-thick moss..."

  He imagined stone altars in the middle of forests dead for centuries, suddenly sparking fire.

  "In the fireplaces of old nobles' castles whose walls are cold and damp..."

  He imagined old castle halls across the land, where old lords slept, suddenly waking because their fireplaces roared to life again.

  "In the depths of valleys untouched by sun... On steep mountain slopes where the wind whispers..."

  Theodore’s voice rose higher, full of victory.

  "Menhir stones standing mute in meadows... Ancient tombs of forgotten heroes... Dusty dungeons whose doors have long been sealed... Hermit caves..."

  "And who knows in what other places forgotten by modern man..."

  King George opened his eyes again. The fire in the Ivory Bone Hall fireplace now raged higher, colors shifting between orange, blue, and white.

  "Fires will ignite in unison," Theodore concluded, his voice final and absolute.

  King George stared at his chessboard. He saw the three main pieces he placed earlier seemingly glow.

  "They are all merely follower fires, Your Majesty," the voice whispered, fading. "They are merely small candles waiting for the main wick to be lit."

  "Tonight, all fires across the land will bow to the Three Great Flames."

  King George straightened his body.

  He realized. Tonight Carta was no longer dark. If someone looked from a satellite in space, the entire territory of the Kingdom of Carta right now would surely look twinkling beautifully.

  "Formation..." King George hissed softly. "Absolute Defense."

  King George’s gaze shifted from the palace fireplace, descending back to the chessboard. His eyes locked on the Queen piece he placed illegally beside the King.

  That piece represented the Mansion of House Sanjaya.

  Instantly, William’s consciousness was dragged following his father’s focus. The view of the white room faded, replaced by the darkness of a cold and grand corridor.

  The hallways of Sanjaya Mansion usually rumbling with the thud of military boots and the tap of stilettos, were now silent.

  This silence felt wrong. Like a fortress whose heart stopped beating forcibly.

  Jeremy, the head butler who had served generations of Sanjaya for fifty years, walked slowly down the main corridor. His steps echoed alone. No sound of clashing swords in the training room. No heavy laughter of Maronn shaking the dining room. No perfectionist nagging of Vanessa about dust on the windows.

  The family—his masters—had gone. They marched toward the lip of hell in Mirror Canyon, leaving Jeremy alone as the guardian of this empty shell.

  He paused in front of a large family portrait painting. He adjusted his reading glasses which had slipped slightly, then sighed long.

  Hhh...

  His breath misted thinly. The air inside the mansion felt colder every hour, as if the stones of this mansion joined in suspended animation.

  "This mansion is dead without them," he murmured softly.

  He continued his steps toward the Document Room. His task wasn't finished. War required logistics, and Jeremy was the only person who knew where every bullet and every spare ration can lay in this giant house.

  He entered the archive room.

  In the room designed to store clan secrets, the atmosphere was dead. Fine dust danced silently under pale moonlight entering through high gothic windows. Heavy maroon velvet curtains hung limply, as if mourning the departure of the inhabitants.

  Jeremy lit a small candle on the mahogany work desk. The small flame trembled, fighting alone against pitch darkness.

  He picked up the inventory list. The paper crinkled softly in his wrinkled but still steady hands. His dim eyes, obstructed by thick glasses, began scanning line by line of his master’s handwriting.

  .50 Caliber Ammo Box: 20 Crates - Underground Warehouse 4.

  Emergency Ration Type-C: 500 Units - Dry Kitchen.

  Lamp Oil...

  Jeremy drowned in his work. He tried hard to ignore the odd feeling that he was counting treasure inside a giant tomb.

  Suddenly.

  A strange light flickered in the corner of his vision.

  Jeremy stopped reading. He didn't turn immediately. Decades of experience serving a military family kept him calm in odd situations. He lowered the inventory paper slowly onto the desk.

  His head turned slowly. His eyes fixed on an object in the center of the room, right between two giant bookshelves.

  There stood an Iron Torch.

  An ancient furnace waist-high. For fifty years Jeremy worked here, the object was considered merely an antique display with questionable artistic taste. The design was strange, made of rough forged black metal shaped like three long sharp claws gripping the marble floor, as if holding something back from emerging from the earth's belly.

  Jeremy remembered often complaining to young maids how hard it was to clean dust between those iron claws. The object was cold, ugly, sharp, and useless.

  Until this second.

  FWOOSH!

  Without warning, without the sound of a lighter, the torch furnace that should have been cold and dead suddenly vomited fire.

  Jeremy stepped back in shock, hand reflexively touching his left chest.

  The fire wasn't orange or red.

  The fire burned with a Spectral Blue color.

  The color reminded Jeremy of eternal ice on mountain peaks or the color of a soul just released from the body. The ghost fire crackled high at its peak, dancing happily, writhing wildly as if it had slept long in that iron prison and now woke happily smelling approaching danger.

  Its eerie light made shadows in the room look sharp, long, and unnatural. Bookshelves looked like tilted skyscrapers. Jeremy’s face in the window glass reflection looked pale like a corpse illuminated by moonlight.

  However, what surprised Jeremy most wasn't just the flame. But the sensation accompanying it.

  When the blue fire lit, Jeremy felt the room temperature that was freezing earlier, suddenly change.

  Not becoming hot. But becoming... dense.

  Jeremy felt the air around him thicken. As if Sanjaya Mansion had just raised an invisible shield. The stone walls of the mansion felt vibrating subtly, responding to the flame with a low hum.

  "Protection Fire..." Jeremy whispered, voice trembling in disbelief.

  He had heard this fairy tale from his grandfather—the Sanjaya butler before him. That Sanjaya wasn't just a mysterious military family. That this house wasn't just a pile of bricks and cement.

  That Sanjaya Mansion was one of the kingdom’s Anchor Points.

  Jeremy stared at the blue fire with awe.

  Turns out it was true.

  His masters might be fighting on the front lines with red fire of wrath. But Jeremy’s duty now changed drastically. He was no longer just an old butler maintaining cleanliness and food stock.

  He was now the guardian of the only blue flame serving as the last bastion if the front line collapsed.

  Jeremy straightened his usually hunched back. He adjusted his suit collar with a firm movement. Under the spotlight of that ghost blue light, Jeremy stood tall like a veteran soldier receiving the final command.

  "Very well," he said to the fire, voice full of dedication.

  "I will keep you burning."