Greensend was a continent with a mild, balanced climate—warm enough for dense vegetation to thrive, yet temperate enough that the heat was never fatal. The rays of the sun were clean and cool, a tame comparison to the rich golden glow of Aesland. Unfortunately, like almost every other continent in the world, Greenland also had its fair share of scars.

  A vast swath of broken, barren earth stretched far into the distance, beyond the gates of the forward Capital city of Cirin and extending far outside the sight expansion of any Spirit lord. It was not natural, as far as Spirit Lady Helera knew—a result of a long-forgotten war that had almost shattered the world.

  She stood in the battle room of the palace of Cirin, the Capital city of the kingdom of Camlen, and watched as a group of some of the most powerful and influential Wielders in the world gathered to discuss the sudden tension that had rippled across the world.

  Standing a step behind her queen, Helera thought back to the days when she had been just a simple Monarch, an important one with reach into the Kingdom's governance, yet still just a Monarch wielder.

  Back then, Spirit lords were myths to her, figures to be viewed from a distance yet unable to be truly approached.

  It wasn't that they were overly rare or something. Contrarily, Spirit lords were far more than a dozen on the planet, present in almost every Kingdom or Empire of note. However, her one and only encounter had been her former liege.

  Now she was in the same room with almost a dozen of them, and almost half of them equal to her in might.

  She had been an ordinary Monarch serving under the kingdom of Camlen. Just one dime a dozen, nothing special. Her luck had come when she'd partaken in a series of borderland clashes against soldiers of the Solarian Empire.

  Her big call came in the aftermath of a battle founded on a chance encounter and a large bit of pride and arrogance, which had fortunately allowed her to rise past the ordinaries of the power hierarchy and into the elite ranks of the Spirit Lords.

  Post-ascension, she had been brought before her previous liege, bequeathed the honor of seeing and conversing with her sovereign. He had questioned her about a lot of things, from her past to how she saw her future. In the end, she had been permitted to leave, departing the Throneroom that day with an elevated position as the foremost aid to her liege and also his personal bodyguard.

  She had worked together with her liege since then, fending off assault after assault from the Empire with their combined strength. Unfortunately, honey never flowed endlessly. Their luck ran out, leaving them entrapped in the Empire's web.

  They had fought the combined attack of five Spirit lords, a futile endeavor. Eventually, it dawned on them that their deaths could not be avoided and her liege had chosen to sacrifice himself to give her a chance to flee.

  "There is not enough time for the two of us to break free, so I am trusting you to do right by me, and with my daughter. She will be returning to take the Throne now that I am gone. Guide and protect as I have done for you, Helera. Do not let my daughter end up as I did." Those words were the last her liege ever spoke to her.

  Now, many years later, Helera watched as the young woman of those years sat on her throne and listened as her peers— Rulers of other powerful Kingdoms, as well as equally important Essence wielders, discussed.

  Queen Fenore was an extremely beautiful woman, blessed with the same beautiful raven dark hair as her father. She wore a dark green dress matching her inherited emerald eyes, with black painted lips that matched her hair. Her impressively toned figure and slim stature—never mind the height, made her into the very visage of a warrior queen.

  "I've already set about more Monarch scouts to patrol our borders. If anything suspicious happens, I will know," she said, voice calm, as a warrior queen should be, while her eyes panned the room impassively.

  "I'm not worried about what they'll set their dregs to do, Fenore," Danor waved dismissively, "but on what they'll choose to do themselves. You don't take from the Empire and not expect repercussions. The Emperor will demand blood and he's going to come for it."

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  Swordlord Danor was a grandfatherly man of slim stature with dusty white hair resting on a sharp face. It didn't help that his piercing lightning-blue eyes, unnerving in their intensity, seemed to gaze into the souls of everyone within, like he could see all that everyone hid.

  Looking at him now, he looked nothing like his status, wearing a simple cotton shirt and pants, with a weathered brown coat drawn over both. The only indication of his warrior status was the silver hilt of a sword peeking out of his coat.

  The title of 'Sword lord' was worn by high-level individuals who had invested themselves in the study of the sword. True blade-masters. Ordinary blade-wielders were numerous. More than half the people who grew to be Essence Wielders chose the sword as their primary weapon. Swordlords, on the other hand, were in a different category all on their own— few and all of whom were all high in the hierarchy of power.

  "You sound scared, DanDan, why? Aren't you supposed to be some fancy sword wielder? I thought y'all fancy sword people did away with fear as part of your training?" Brunos' voice boomed, his massive chest rising and falling in boisterous laughter.

  King Brunos of Gandor, Protector and Leader of the Gandoran people. He was a massively great man, rising as tall as seven feet, with a large beard and hair that was almost the entire length of his torso. Anywhere else, in a different situation, Helera would have assumed him a madman, given his almost barbarian way of dressing, which entirely contrasted with his royal status. It was a good thing a silver circlet had made a home around his head, else he would have been dragged out of the palace and thrown into some dump somewhere in the streets.

  The Gandoran people were mostly known for their flaming red hair and eyes, as well as their intimidating height. As a Spirit lord, King Brunos accentuated this more with his hair color that went deeper than the commonly seen red shade, almost bordering on bloody crimson. A huge maul heavy enough to crack the reinforced concrete they stood upon hung across his back like some weightless ornament, and a great tower shield equally as tall as he rested on the arm of his chair.

  They all had their aides with them, all Spirit lords as well. Two massive men with red hair, though not as large as Brunos, stood behind him, while a short woman who also wielded a sword stood behind Danor.

  "Don't call me that, I don't like it. And I'm not afraid, just cautious, as you all should be. The Empire isn't some rattling little kingdom or city-state that we can just take for granted. They are vengeful and best rest assured that they will come in force. You should understand what that would mean."

  Nobody laughed after that. For all of the Empire's faults, there was one thing everyone couldn't deny they lacked: Power. There was a reason that despite their imperialist habits, nobody had ever been able to defeat them. A few had tried, true, and they were all either in the grave, their kingdoms ransacked and taken, or they were in hiding, having fled into exile.

  "Enough," a voice cut through the silence, quietly carrying across the room with magnetic force and attracting their focused attention to back it.

  Helera turned towards the last group in attendance, and she felt a chill run down her spine as she stared into those cold, grey eyes. Aside from the Emperor, nobody had ever brought fear into her like the man who stood near the entrance. Until a few months ago, he had been a recluse—hardly ever seen, even amongst Spirit lords. Despite that, however, any Spirit lord worth their power knew about him.

  The youngest and single most powerful Spirit lord to have ever walked the planet in known history. His young features were just like every other Spirit lord's, with advancing power already halting the effects of aging. But all knew this young man wasn't even past his twenties, lacking the air of ancientness every other Spirit lord of considerable age walked with. But there was one thing Helera was sure all the other Spirit lords in this room felt: Fear, even though they all had at one point knelt and professed loyalty to him, taking the status as his Emissaries.

  Lord Damien was accompanied by his brother, Keilan. With a nigh golden hair and ocean blue eyes, it was obvious that they lacked any familiar resemblance, but nobody was stupid enough to ask for details. As far as anyone knew, they had appeared together and were always seen in each other's company.

  None in the room had ever sparred nor seen lord Damien fight before, but what they felt from his aura told them where they all stood in comparison to him. The only man to have ever clashed with Emperor Solaris and come out alive. And that was years ago.

  How much more powerful had he grown after all these years?

  His eyes panned the room with calm certainty, taking everyone in with not a sign of wariness. "Danor is right that you should be wary of the Empire, afraid even. But that is if you wish to fight them alone, a prospect I am sure none of you will foolishly attempt to do.”

  "Given their Modus Operandi, it is most assured that a response will be sent soon," Queen Fenore said. "You have not been seen in a long while. Solaris will want to test your capabilities before he engages fully with you. I assume you know who he will send?"

  Lord Damien let out a little smile. "I have a few guesses."

  "You're prepared then? This is possibly going to be an ambush."

  Rather than respond to the question, his smile widened further. "I have been gone too long, it is about time I flex a little bit of power."