The war had entered its seventh week, and the world had not known silence since. Across the expanse of Artherion's sacred soil, every battlefield blazed with chaos, lit by steel, spell, and shadow. No trumpet heralded the rising of the sun anymore; only the clash of blades, the roar of dragons, and the agony of the dying marked time.
In the east, near the volcanic ridges of Kael'Tharan, flame rained from the sky. Fire mages of Dravenguard dueled with frost-casters of Artherion upon crumbling stone bridges suspended above rivers of molten fire. Below, bodies fell by the dozens, their corpses caught by the magma, or left to rot atop the stone.
At the icy northern pass of Vel'Myrr, blizzards howled, and enchanted siege beasts rumbled forward. There, Riven stood, a phantom of dread among mortals. His blade never dulled, never stopped, never hesitated. One man, yet his kill count rivaled battalions. He darted through enemy lines like lightning through a stormcloud, cutting generals from their steeds and cleaving through armored ranks. None could touch him. Few could even see him move.
His steps left no blood, for the corpses of those he slew simply vanished, claimed by the dark magic of Ashkeroth, their forms twisted into new soldiers for a shadow army.
The southern jungles of Ilyros fared no better. Warbeasts roared through the underbrush, scattering terrified infantry. Artherion's rangers fired enchanted arrows that split through shadows, while Saevan's infiltrators used curses to bend the minds of Artherion commanders.
But still... none of Artherion's territories fell.
Because something unseen moved among them.
Each time a loyal soldier fell, light enveloped them, a golden seal upon their breast pulsed with sacred warmth. The Knight's seal. His holy mark. Their broken forms would rise anew, restored in mind and body, brighter than before.
And each time a soldier lacking the seal died, something darker occurred. Their bodies twitched, grew still, then rose in silence. Their eyes now empty. Their voices silent. Their souls no longer their own.
Shadow soldiers.
The war had become a cleansing. A judgment. A division of eternal consequence. And even the most hardened of veterans were beginning to understand.
---
In the heart of Artherion's western province, in a marble-walled fortress surrounded by mountains, a small host held their position.
Commander Vaelis, who had served King Elyrion for over seventy winters, leaned over the ramparts, watching the impossible.
A soldier screamed and fell as a shadow beast tore through his chest. Then, before the creature could turn on the rest, the fallen soldier's body shone like a second dawn, and he rose again, armor mended, wounds sealed, eyes filled with new fire.
He turned, raised his blade, and struck down the beast in one blow.
Vaelis stumbled back. "This... this is not war. This is prophecy."
---
Far across the sea, in Dravenguard's burning council chamber, a surviving scout stumbled in.
"The Rift legion..." he croaked, eyes wide with horror. "Gone. All of them."
"What do you mean gone?" Prince Alaric growled.
"A trap. An Artherion mage... he was sealed. They unsealed him. He destroyed the entire legion."
"You lie," snapped a general.
But the man's face told truth. He wept. Then laughed. Then wept again. "We never had a chance."
King Ashkeroth rose. His face was unreadable. "Then summon the Primordial Hosts."
Gasps swept the chamber.
Even Saevan blinked. "My king, that would exhaust--"
"Do it."
"...As you will."
Outside, the clouds began to bleed.
---
Meanwhile, I stood in the healing encampments. My hands trembled, gripping a towel soaked in blood not my own. My eyes never left the hill.
There stood Lucien.
Still.
Watching the battlefield below.
He had not moved in hours.
I could see the glow of power around him, subtle, soft, a light no mortal man should possess. His expression was quiet, unreadable, like a painting of a god whose judgment was not yet rendered.
"Why won't he fight?" whispered one healer.
"Because this war is not about steel," I said, though I barely understood the words myself.
Lucien turned his head slightly, as if he had heard.
Mirelleth stepped back.
---
That night, flames danced in the skies above Thavros, where Artherion's armies had pushed deep into reclaimed land. From afar, the blazing outline of a creature larger than a castle grew.
A beast of bone and rage, summoned by Saevan in secret weeks before.
It descended with the wrath of a thousand storms.
Men screamed. Fortresses crumbled.
The air turned black.
And then, as the smoke and dust parted...
Lucien walked onto the battlefield.
No armor.
No blade.
His hands were in his pockets.
The beast turned, sensing power. It roared. Lightning spewed from its maw as the earth shook beneath its feets.
Lucien stepped forward.
The lightning never reached him. It curled, then vanished. Reality itself bent around his frame, refusing to defile him.
The beast charged.
Lucien stepped again.
... then he disappeared to reappear above the beasts head,
And with the tip of his shoe, he gently landed it upon the monster's head.
There was no explosion.
Just... silence.
And then the creature's skull cracked as if something strong, hard and massive had forcefully collided with it.
Its skull caved in fast and violent.
Then shattered.
Dust.
My eyes widened, the army who stood knowing they had no chance against it stood frozen at a spot.
"With j-just a step on it's head," one soldier said in awe.
"There's just nothing we know so far of the young prince nor his capabilities," another said in reverent fear.
Lucien exhaled.
As he descended gracefully, I thought, 'what manner of man is this?'
As Lucien landed he was of the same expressionless face still. He turned and vanished into the dust.
---
In the darkness of the old throne hall in Dravenguard, generals no longer celebrated. They watched the horizon and saw fire and light. Some began to doubt.
Saevan said nothing. But his eyes burned.
The cleansing had begun.
The war would no longer be won by blades.
But by allegiance.
To one throne, or the other.
And not all kings were born mortal.
---
To be continued...