The great hall of the palace pulsed with an uneasy silence, lit by the dim hue of the bleeding sky seeping through the towering stained-glass windows.
The banners of Terra Neralis Kingdom swayed lightly, though there was no breeze.
Upon his high throne sat King Veylor, cloaked in black and crimson silk, eyes sharper than a sword's edge.
Advisors and high-ranking Brawns flanked him, their expressions unreadable, though their eyes betrayed concern.
Then the doors creaked open.
General Ovrek and General Merix strode into the hall together. Their steps were heavy, composed, deliberate—though their hearts beat with the weight of knowledge not yet spoken. As they reached the base of the throne, they dropped to one knee.
"All hail the Majesty! All hail the Majesty!" they called in unison.
King Veylor's voice boomed like thunder, yet tinged with frost. "General Ovrek. General Merix. I assume you both understand the significance of today."
Merix raised his head first, calm and rehearsed. "Yes, my king. The Red Eclipse has risen—this marks the fifth occurrence in recorded time."
Ovrek remained silent, his eyes locked on Merix with a dark, analytical glare.
Veylor's eyes narrowed. "And what, I ask, is the reason for such a cursed omen... and at a time like this?"
One of the Brawns stood abruptly, his voice filled with religious dread. "My king, this is the unholiest day of the Omen. If the sky bleeds, it is because something or someone has offended the balance of the divine. This is no coincidence!"
"Do we believe this to be internal... or an act from an outsider?" Advisor Kirn asked.
General Merix interjected quickly, "What matters now is not origin, but containment. We must act to protect the kingdom and its people before fear consumes them and they do something on their own. Which misht cause more trouble."
Ovrek's voice sliced through the room like a blade. "Perhaps there is someone among us who knows the cause—and still chooses silence."
All heads turned. Tension cracked through the room.
Merix's smile twitched. "Are you implying betrayal, General Ovrek?"
"Am I?" Ovrek countered without blinking. "We've all smelled the bait. We've all stepped into the trap. But only some of us may have known the cheese was poisoned."
Murmurs erupted. The air felt suddenly heavier.
"Enough!" King Veylor roared. The throne hall fell into dead silence. "Ovrek, if you carry accusations, you must speak them clearly."
With a pause heavy enough to silence heartbeats, Ovrek responded, "The only thing I can confirm... is that we've been lured—step by step—into a play we didn't author."
Before the king could respond, a cry echoed from the grand entrance.
"All hail the Majesty! All hail the Majesty!" A royal guard stumbled in, supporting the limp body of Commander Zerem. His face was pale, sweat dripping from his brow.
Gasps filled the room.
General Merix rushed to his side. "He's not breathing well. Water! Call the Medas!"
King Veylor stood. "Advisor Kirn, summon Yuu, Now!"
"At once, my lord," Kirn bowed and disappeared into the adjacent corridor.
"What happened?" Ovrek demanded.
A trembling guard stepped forward. "We were returning from the Temple of Nera. We saw a girl—Tula by appearance. She was running, hiding something. Zerem identified it—a sacred scroll from the temple."
Whispers rippled through the hall.
A senior Brawn rose with clenched fists. "The sealed chamber—was it opened?!"
"Yes," the guard confirmed. "The lock was broken. Zerem retrieved the scroll but... then it happened."
"What happened?" Veylor snapped.
"A man appeared. Dressed in black. But before we even saw him, the air changed. We all fell unconscious—like something drained our souls. When we awoke, the scroll, the girl, and the man were gone."
Ovrek raised an eyebrow. "Strange, how do you remember the man's attire if you were unconscious."
"Zerem told us," the guard replied. "He's the only one who saw him before succumbing."
Then Yuu, the royal Meda, entered. His long white robes fluttered behind him like feathers.
"All hail the Majesty," he said, kneeling.
"Yuu. See to the commander," the king ordered.
Yuu bowed again, then moved swiftly to examine Zerem.
The Brawn who had spoken earlier now whispered, more to himself than to others, "If it was truly a man dressed in black, who appeared like this... could it be him?"
"Who are you speaking of?" King Veylor demanded.
The Brawn stiffened. "No one, my lord... nothing confirmed."
Veylor stared him down for a moment, then turned to the generals. "I want that girl. I want that man. I want that scroll. I don't care who stands in your way—bring them to me. Lock down the Tulas. Scour the temple. Search the forests, the ruins, the sea if you must. This ends now. Do you understand me?"
The hall erupted in a chorus: "Yes, my lord!"
"Treat Zerem with utmost urgency. He may hold secrets we can't afford to lose. The court is dismissed."
As the crowd dispersed and orders were barked through the stone corridors, none noticed the black butterfly perched silently on the arched window high above the throne.
It stirred.
And then, without a whisper, it took flight—gliding beyond the palace, over the trembling rooftops of the palace, through the crimson sky, toward the woods... toward silence.
– – –
In the dark womb of the forest, hidden beneath a shroud of moss and stone, lay a forgotten cave.
Within it, the black butterfly fluttered softly, its wings beating like the pulse of a dying star. It landed on an ancient blade impaled into the earth—a sword that hadn't moved in decades.
Then, a voice emerged from the butterfly—serene, feminine, but laced with dread.
"Aren... Aren... the wolves have been dispatched."
Sitting beneath the blade, draped in shadows, was that man. His legs were crossed. His eyes closed. His breath steady.
He opened his eyes.
They glowed faintly—not with light, but with memory.
Tied against a gnarled tree before him was Layra. Her arms bruised. Her face bloodied. But she breathed.
Faint. Fragile. Alive.
The man did not move. The air around him hummed with something ancient—like time itself slowed to listen.
The butterfly circled him once, then vanished into the gloom.
And there, in the darkness, The Hermit waited.
The king had made his move.
Now, it was his turn.