The halls of the Moon Clan citadel pulsed with cold light. Silver lanterns flickered in rhythm with the breeze that whispered secrets through the narrow stone corridors.
High Lady Nymera moved with lethal grace, her silken robes trailing behind like the tail of a comet. Her expression, carved in moonlight and fury betrayed the storm within. Her footsteps echoed like accusations.
She flung the door of her private chamber open.
"Useless," she hissed, slamming her hand against the obsidian table.
"All of them–worthless cowards."
She paced.
Ten assassins. Ten trained shadows–vanished like smoke. Not one had returned. And yet Rhys, smug and untouchable, had ridden back with all his soldiers alive. All. Her thoughts spiraled. If none of her blades returned…then who killed them? And why does only Rhys return with a story too convenient, too clean?
"That snake," she muttered.
"He seeks a war he can benefit from."
She turned to the window. The sky was split between stars and storm clouds. A fitting mirror of what loomed ahead.
Grandmaster Solaruis would not let this pass. War would come. That she knew. And when it did, the Moon Clan needed to be more than ready. It needed to survive.
She closed her eyes. Then opened them with resolve.
"Summon Kane," she said to the silent guard at her door.
"Now."
Moments later, the heavy doors creaked open.
A boy entered.
He was seven.
And yet…something in his bearing defied the fragility of youth. Kane Vaelion stood upright, his dark-brown hair cascading down to his shoulders in soft, ethereal waves. His eyes–pale silver, cold, sharp, ancient for their age–locked with his mother's.
"Mother," he said, voice steady.
Nymera looked at him long, studying the future carved into his small frame. Her only son. The heir. The final light of the Moon Clan should everything fall.
"You are still a child," she began, "but the world will not wait for you to grow,"
Kane remained silent.
She walked to a sealed cabinet embedded in the wall. With a motion of her hand, a hidden glyph flared, releasing a hiss of escaping air. From within, she drew out a long, ancient scroll bound in black silk and silver cord.
She turned and knelt before him.
"Listen carefully, Kane," she said.
"There are whispers in the wind…war is coming. I cannot shield you from it forever. This–" she held the scroll up "–contains the knowledge of our ancestors. The ancient arts. Techniques long buried."
His eyes flickered to the scroll, but he did not reach for it.
"Yow will read it," she said.
"Study it. Master it. The time will come when you may have no one but yourself to trust. Not the clans. Not even…me."
He blinked slowly, emotionless.
"Why would I not trust you?"
A shadow crossed her face. She stood.
"Because love is not always enough. And survival…survival demands sacrifice."
He stepped forward and took the scroll in both bands. His fingers, though young, gripped it like a blade.
High Lady Nymera touched his cheek, her voice barely above a breath.
"You must outlive me. Outlive them all."
Kane looked at her, eyes unblinking.
"I will."
There was a pause.
Then she said,
"And Kane…never show them who you truly are. Not yet."
The boy nodded once.
He turned and left her chamber, scroll in hand, the shadows parting for him as if they, too, recognized the weight he now carried.
And as the doors closed behind him, Nymera whispered to the empty room,
"The Moon shall not fade."
The flickering amber torches cast dancing shadows across the stone walls of Rhys' chamber. He stood at the center, his back to the doorway, stripped of his armor, muscles taut and glistening with sweat and dried blood. The remnants of battle clung to him like a second skin.
He winced as the fabric of his inner shirt peeled from an open wound slicing across his back–a fresh scar, deep and jagged, like it had been forged from lightning itself.
Ravik stood nearby, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"You didn't mention you were wounded."
Rhys tossed the bloodied cloth aside, his voice a low growl.
"I've had worse."
Ravik stepped closer, his hand reaching as if to examine the wound, but he froze.
"That strike…" he whispered.
"Who did this?"
Rhys' eyes narrowed, golden irises flickering in the torchlight. He spoke just one name–
"...Kael."
Ravik's face twisted in contempt.
"That monster! I always knew behind his calm facade, there was a storm. I told you–he was never one of us."
But before Ravik could say another word, Rhys sharply, eyes locked.
"Silence." His tone was edged with command and something darker–shame, maybe…or regret.
Ravik stepped back.
"What happened to Kael?" he asked after a beat
Rhys turned away, fastening a new tunic.
"You speak to your prince too casually." his voice deepened
"It's none of your concern."
Before Ravik could say another word, a servant entered hurriedly, head bowed.
"My Lord Rhys…Grandmaster Solarius requests your presence in the Solar Hall. Immediately."
Rhys inhaled deeply, composting himself
"...Tell him I'm on my way."
The Solar Hall was cast in an otherworldly glow. Tall golden pillars held up a vast dome etched with ancient inscriptions of fire and legacy. Grandmaster Solarius sat alone on his obsidian throne, the weight of generations pressing down on his shoulders.
Rhys stepped in, his armor clean, posture firm–but his heartbeat thundered.
Solarius didn't look at him at first. His voice echoed, calm but razor-sharp.
"Tell me Rhys…what truly happened?"
Rhys hesitated–just a blink. But Solarius caught it.
"What I said before," Rhys replied carefully, "was the truth."
Solarius slowly turned his gaze, eyes glowing like dying suns.
"You failed again, Rhys. First, you let your brother vanish from our lands. Now, you return without him…or his son."
Rhys clenched his fists.
"I did what I could."
The Grandmaster rose, steps echoing across the marble floor.
"And you think that is enough to claim the Sunfire Throne?"
Rhys' chest tightened. "Father–"
Solarius cut him off with a wave.
"Nymera dared to send assassins into my realm…to spill the blood of my son, my grandson.." His voice shook with fury.
"So now, I will take what she cherishes most."
He walked past Rhys, eyes set beyond the horizon.
"We attack when they won't expect it. They will hear the roar of the sun. Begin to make preparations, Rhys. The war…" he paused, voice like thunder,
"...is only just beginning."