The first light of dawn stretched across the marble spires of Sanctum, the holy capital of Avalon. Beneath the radiant stained-glass dome of the High Basilica, the Council of Light gathered in tense silence. A lone paladin, bloodied and staggering, was escorted down the aisle toward the Cardinal's raised dais.
His armor was scorched, his once-pristine cloak in tatters, and one arm hung limp at his side. He collapsed to his knees, coughing blood onto the immaculate white steps.
"All of them… gone," he whispered, eyes wide with horror. "The sixth-tier… slain. Torn apart."
The council erupted in murmurs. Several bishops stood in alarm. The Cardinal, radiant in his gold-trimmed robes, stepped forward slowly, expression unreadable.
"How?" he asked simply.
The paladin's voice cracked. "We were ambushed. The terrain used against us. There was a knight—massive—an undead. I… I believe he was of the sixth tier himself."
"You're certain?"
The paladin nodded weakly. "He moved with unholy strength. The Light burned him, but he didn't flinch. He fought like death incarnate. We had no time to retreat. Only I survived albeit barely."
Gasps echoed through the hall. A cardinal whispered, "They've bred more monsters in that cursed land…"
Another muttered, "A sixth-tier undead? One we know nothing about. The Lich King must be preparing for war."
"No," the Cardinal said softly, but with unmistakable venom. "War has already begun."
Several high clerics turned toward him in alarm.
"Enough scouting," he continued. "Enough restraint. We sent twenty of our finest. They were slaughtered without warning or provocation. The Lich King has crossed a line."
He turned, eyes blazing.
"I want the Inquisition mobilized. Every frontier fort is to be reinforced. Send word to the Pope. Call for the Holy Blade Order. If this 'undead knight' truly rivals a paladin of the sixth tier, then I want a counter prepared—and I want him named."
"We will have to call for a high council meeting," spoke a high priest cautiously.
The Cardinal's gaze turned cold. "Then call for it. We will make sure they pay for their sins. I want to know everything that happens in that damned country."
At the back of the chamber, the Inquisitor-General—clad in shadow-black plate and a crimson sash—inclined his head.
"Shall I begin surveillance, Your Holiness?"
The Cardinal's reply was low and final.
"Begin."
Word spread and soon the Empire called for a council meeting at the mage tower in the center of Magus.
The Mage Tower was quiet, save for the council chambers, which rang with fury.Stone pillars carved with shifting glyphs loomed over the circular table where six figures sat—two each from the Empire's three nations: Avalon, the Holy Kingdom, and Magus. At the head, presiding with the calm weight of authority, stood Archmage Zachrius. His silver robes were unmarred by the chaos unfolding beneath him.
"Sir Valien is dead!" thundered High Lord Caelum of Avalon, armored even here in the Tower's sacred chambers. His voice echoed like a battle horn. "Our finest sixth-tier paladin, slain by that abomination, and his sword—a divine relic—corrupted! Will you sit idle, Archmage?"
Zachrius didn't flinch. "Your paladins invaded the Lich King's territory."
"We were seeking the child of prophecy!" snapped a bishop from the Holy Kingdom, slamming a hand on the table. "A child prophesied to bring about the Empire's ruin!"
"And who gave that prophecy?" murmured Magister Orren of Magus, a scholar cloaked in pale blue. "Your clergy? Your divine dreamers? We have yet to see proof."
The bishop glared. "And what proof now? The undead keep growing stronger by the day. The child is real—our blessed oracles say so. And now you want to debate scripture while Death arms himself with our very own sacred blade?"
Zachrius spoke at last, voice quiet but dangerous. "Who was that delivered such a weapon not just to his door step but into his own home? Do not forget four armies bled the last time you marched into Necrovia. And all we gained for it was a truce paid for with our dead. We were lucky he didn't raise every dead man of that army and we were allowed the chance to bury our dead."
Commander Elyra, the knight-lady beside Caelum, her plate inlaid with gold filigree, leaned forward. "This is not just about the prophecy anymore. The Skeleton King has mocked the Divine itself. He has turned a blessed weapon into a thing of blasphemy.The divines have said so. The people will demand vengeance."
Zachrius met her gaze. "And will the people fight your war, Commander? Will you lead mothers and farmers into Necrovia when your paladins fall?"
Silence followed.
One of the Magus delegates cleared his throat. "If I may… It is Avalon and the Holy Kingdom who pushed this mission without consulting with the rest of the Council. You acted unilaterally. You endangered the Empire's stability."
"You question our right to act?" Caelum growled. "We hold the majority on this Council now. Avalon's authority—"
"Is not absolute," Zachrius cut in sharply, his voice lined with the steel of a battle mage. "Let me remind you: this is the Magus Empire. Not the Avalon Empire. You sit in our tower. You hold part of thepower by ancient accord. But even that has its limits. Push too far, and you may lose more than your soldiers."
He stood, magic coiling faintly around him.
"You so-called knights sold your ideals to the Holy Kingdom and became puppets to their whims. Do not speak to me of Avalon's authority."
His aura flared, and the lights above them grew brighter, as though the Tower itself agreed.
The room fell into tense stillness. The factions eyed one another—knights gripping hilts, bishops whispering prayers, Magus scholars watching behind lenses and veils of scrying wards.
At last, the second Holy Kingdom bishop spoke.
"What course of action do you propose, then, Archmage?"
Zachrius's gaze drifted to the flame of the council brazier. "We do nothing—for now."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
"You would let this insult go unanswered?" Caelum hissed.
"I would let time reveal our enemy's true hand," Zachrius said. "If this child lives, he will not remain hidden forever. When the truth emerges, we act with precision—not fury."
He turned, his cloak trailing like a stormcloud.
"Until then… no war."