Loc was in a state of peace after the festivities. All was quiet in the early morning hours, but this peace was soon shattered by chaos. The deep bellowing of horns echoed across the kingdom as battle sirens blared from every corner of the capital. The walls of Loc had been breached by an unknown enemy. The northwestern wall was obliterated without warning, and through the smoke and rubble came an army, dark and imposing. Three giant stone colossi with demonic eyeballs for heads smashed their way in, followed by waves of dark soldiers. Massive catapults, positioned just beyond the castle walls, launched boulders into the city. Balls of fire rained down, destroying everything they touched. Citizens fled in panic, tripping over bodies as they scrambled for safety. Utter mayhem had descended upon the once-great capital.
The air was thick with the cries of the people, mingling with the crumbling of buildings and monuments. Towers collapsed into heaps of flames and smoke, casting a dense smog that blanketed the city. Smoke and embers filled the air, dulling the senses with their suffocating mixture. In moments like this, confusion became a weapon more potent than any blade. It silenced logical thought, rendering people helpless to their own fear. The enemy wielded the element of surprise like a scepter, smiting every inch of the city it touched. The crown's guard had already taken to the streets, only to find themselves overwhelmed by casualties and far too many foes to fend off. It was as if a hellscape had emerged from nothing and began swallowing the capital whole.
In the castle, three men walked swiftly down a grand corridor—the king, his father Baros, and the knight captain Sir Girus. Sir Girus, a trusted friend of the former king and mentor to Ori, had trained him in combat and discipline throughout his childhood. The rumblings of the assault shook the very foundations of the castle. Girus looked at Baros, silently questioning whether they should intervene or wait for Ori's command. Ori remained silent, his mind a storm of emotions, though his face was calm and resolute. They were headed toward the armory to prepare for battle. As they passed a side corridor, Ori's sister appeared, rushing up to them, breathless.
"Ori… Dad, what's happening? Everything is being destroyed! Who are these people?"
Ori's eyes widened at the sight of his sister. In the chaos, he had not even thought about her safety. He struggled to respond, his voice caught in his throat as worry took hold. She placed her hands on his arms.
"Brother… what's happening? Are we going to be okay?"
Ori gritted his teeth and looked away. "I… I don't know. No one knows what this is."
Baros stepped forward. "Sweetheart, we have work to do. I need you to go with the king's guard. They'll escort you to safety until we can resolve this."
"I'm not running and hiding while our people are getting slaughtered! I want to help them!" she protested.
Ori immediately snapped. "Absolutely not! It's my job to protect them. I can't risk losing you right now. I won't be able to fight with a clear mind if I'm worried about you."
Baros intervened. "Continue on with Girus, Ori. I'll handle this."
He gently pulled her aside as Girus led Ori toward the armory. She stared at her father, alarmed by the dread she saw in his eyes—the same dread she had seen only once before, when she had been gravely ill as a child. "Is Ori going to be okay? He didn't seem like himself," she asked quietly.
Baros sighed. He, too, had noticed his son's unease. It was understandable, given the circumstances, but deeply concerning. Ori seemed shaken, not for himself, but for everyone in the kingdom. "Your brother fears for his people. He knows he isn't prepared for this, just as none of us are. But he feels the weight of responsibility more keenly than anyone."
"How could he have known this would happen?" she asked.
"Tis the burden of the crown, I'm afraid," Baros replied, reaching into his cloak.
He pulled out a key and took her hand, placing the key in her palm and closing her fingers around it. "This key opens a tunnel beneath the castle. In the back of the cellar, you'll find a door. Lead everyone in the castle through it. Once they're safe, see if there are others you can help. But if it gets too dangerous, you lock that door and lead them out. Do you understand?"
She nodded, her excitement growing as she felt the weight of the key in her hand. Baros smirked slightly, knowing he was disobeying his king's orders. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll tell your brother I had you whisked away to an unknown location."
The princess clutched the key to her chest, her hands trembling with fear. Baros met her gaze, his expression firm. "Now go!" he commanded.
She flinched at his sharp tone but immediately obeyed, running off down the corridor. Once she was gone, Baros made his way to the armory.
Inside the armory, Ori stood with his arms raised as the castle servants hurried to fasten his armor. The clang of metal echoed in the room, but their hands shook with fear. The earth continued to quake outside, the sounds of destruction drawing ever closer. One servant fumbled with his breastplate, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to secure it. Her fingers slipped, and the piece of armor clattered to the floor. Silence fell over the room, save for her rapid breathing and the distant roar of war. Ori watched her, feeling the weight of her fear as if it were his own.
"You may go," he said quietly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within. "All of you—if you wish. I'm sure you have loved ones you want to be with."
The woman stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes before turning and rushing out of the room. Girus moved to stop her, but Ori shook his head. "Leave them," he insisted.
"But your highness—"
"I can outfit myself," Ori replied, his voice steady. "They've done enough."
He bent down to pick up the fallen breastplate, his fingers tracing the engraved wings along its edges. The armor felt heavier than ever—burdened not just with metal, but with the weight of the crown. He gritted his teeth, forcing his mind to focus. His people needed him. His kingdom needed him.
Baros entered the room, his eyes sweeping over Ori's half-armored form. "Ori…" Baros began, his voice calm but carrying the weight of the situation. "I know this is a dire circumstance, seemingly appearing out of the night, but you must—"
"I know," Ori cut him off, fastening his wrist guards with sharp motions. "I know what I have to do."
Baros stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "You're not alone in this, son. The weight you feel isn't yours to bear alone."
Ori looked up, struggling to understand his father's words. "What are you saying, Father?"
"I'm saying you can't throw yourself into this recklessly. You need a plan." Baros hesitated, hearing the distant cries of the city. He gently placed a hand on Ori's head, pulling him close. "Quiet the storm in your mind. Every fear, every doubt… quiet them."
Ori barely whispered in response. "It feels like a cruel joke—an invasion on my first day as king. Why is this happening?"
"The why doesn't matter. You have a duty, and you need only trust in that."
Ori nodded, though inside, he still felt like a child—lost and in need of reassurance. As he reached for his helmet, molded in the shape of a griffin's head, he tried to shake the doubts from his mind. He fitted the final pieces of his armor—a halved chest plate that left his right arm free, golden greaves with wings engraved at the knees, and a shoulder piece shaped like a griffin's wing. A velvet sash bearing the crest of Loc hung from his waist.
He was ready to face the enemy.
Baros and Girus watched as Ori fastened the last pieces of armor, satisfied to see the dread replaced by resolve in his eyes. Girus stepped forward. "If you're ready, my lord, my men await your command."
"How many do we have?" Ori asked.
"Five hundred, ready to march. Two hundred more already deployed for damage control."
Ori walked to the balcony, looking out over the chaos below. The colossi moved slowly but with terrifying strength, their paths cutting through the city like a scythe through grain. As Ori scanned the scene, something caught his eye—a group of three figures standing motionless atop the far wall. One of them floated above the others. Another was a tall, muscular figure with gray skin and armor that appeared to be part of their body. The third was a large, masked figure wielding a massive spiked weapon. None of them looked to be were human.
"I think I've found the ones responsible," Ori said, still watching the figures. "Girus, can you position the five hundred men outside both gates?"
"With haste, my lord. Just give the word."
"Drop the 'my lord,' would you? You've known me since I was in diapers. I want five of your strongest with me. You and Father will lead the rest."
Ori turned away from the window, ready to leave. now calm and thinking more clearly than before. "I'm going to try and cut off the snake's head, while you and Father deal with the body."
"Is that an order, Your Highness?" his father asked, standing alongside Girus.
Ori paused for a moment, thinking carefully. He understood what this was. His father and Girus needed to see his resolve—to hear it.
"Yes," he finally said, his voice steady and filled with determination. "It is."
Baros and Girus exchanged glances, satisfied with Ori's response. His father gave a nod, and Girus saluted before stepping forward. "We'll move into position. Stay safe, lad."
Ori hurried out of the armory, with his father and Girus following close behind. Just before reaching the door, Baros paused, as if suddenly remembering something. He raised his hand to his mouth and let out a loud whistle. For a moment, nothing happened, but soon the sound of galloping echoed through the corridor, causing the armor hanging on the walls to rattle.
Baros listened as the noise grew louder, followed by an echoing call—like the cry of an eagle, but wilder, more feral. Moments later, a large, four-legged creature with wings rounded the corner, its eyes lighting up at the sight of Baros.
It was a griffin. Though still an adolescent, not yet fully grown, it was already much larger than a full-grown horse. It lightly galloped its way to Baros, lowering its head as it got closer. Baros reached out a hand to pet the creature, ruffling its feathers in a show of affection, then leaning in to meet eyes with it.
Baros had been raising Helix since the day he cracked the shell of his egg. His mother, killed in combat by soldiers defending the city, left behind two unhatched cubs, one of whom became a pet of the royal family. Baros was much younger when he took Helix in—younger than Ori is now—and since then, he has cared for the majestic beast as if it were his own child. Griffins mature much slower than humans, with a lifespan of about 150 to 200 years, meaning Helix is comparable to a post-pubescent teenager by human standards. Helix is a proud creature—only taking orders from Baros or Ori, though he seems to be particularly fond of Aria. He can even communicate with them telepathically, an ability griffins develop around his age.
"Your brother's in trouble, but you already know that, don't you?" Baros asked, holding the creature's head in both hands. "He's going to need you out there, watching his back, Helix."
The griffin huffed, shaking its head and scratching at the floor. It was clear that Helix was as shaken by the chaos as everyone else. Baros made sure to speak calmly, trying to ease his anxiety. He knew Helix wasn't afraid for himself but for Ori, sensing the weight of his burden as if it were his own. Helix's eyes darted toward the sounds of battle outside, his feathered ears pinned back.
"Hey, hey, don't you go turning chicken on me now. I'm scared too, and so is Ori. That's why I need you out there with him, understand?"
Suddenly, Helix's ears perked up. He raised his head and spread his wings wide, letting out a loud squawk. Baros smiled and turned to open the large doors to the armory, flinging them open and stepping aside.
"Well, don't just stand there. Get after him."
With that, the beast huffed and darted out of the room toward an open balcony at the end of the corridor. He leapt over the banister, wings tightly tucked to his sides, and disappeared below the balcony in a swift drop. Baros sighed as he began making his way to the castle's front gates, setting aside his worries as a father so he could be the warrior who leads armies. He had his orders from the king. That was all that mattered now.
At the edge of the kingdom, high on the remaining northwestern wall, three figures reveled in the destruction below. The tallest, a muscular figure, seemed less amused than the others, his arms tightly folded as he watched the Locian people struggle for their lives.
"Weaklings—the lot of them. I don't understand why we don't just raze the entire kingdom and be done with it."
The floating figure grinned with devilish delight, holding a morbid-looking weapon. The metal appeared twisted, as if bent by some dark, malignant force. His long black hair lay flat and lifeless, draping down to his abdomen. He slowly turned to the taller figure, clearly amused by his displeasure.
"Oh, come now, Zealot," he began, spreading his arms. "There is an art to sowing chaos and destruction. One does not simply raze a kingdom; you unravel it. We came here to lure him out. Destroying the kingdom—and him along with it—simply won't do, especially while he yet holds the mantle."
Zealot sneered at his comrade's remark, clearly uninterested in his philosophy lecture. "And yet we remain unopposed. This is a waste of time—nothing but delay and theatrics."
The heavy set figure remained silent—taking slow and heavy breaths through his disturbingly strange helmet. It was the head of decapitated demon with two large chains crossing around its face. The mouth lay open—illustrating the terror the demon incurred before death, and allowing his glowing white eyes to shine through. His stomach rose and settled with every breath as he stood, staring off into the distance—unmoved by the destruction. His body was riddled with strange markings, mostly around his belly. His weapon seemed impractically large—even for a man of his stature, yet he held it with ease. The floating figure leaned back with his arms out—throwing his head back as if basking in the ambiance.
"Pout all you want. I'm sure Akil will agree with me." He paused after noticing the unbreaking glare in his comrade's eye. He floated a bit closer to him—curious about his silence. "Akil? Is something the matter?"
Akil's response was minimal. He let out a slow grunt before slowly raising his hand to point at the castle. "Up…there…" He said—his voice like the deep rumblings of the ocean.
They turned their attention to the highest tower of the castle. They could see a man standing on its roof, fully clad in gold armor. He wasn't moving as far as they could tell, and even though he was too far to make out a face, they knew their presence was known to him.
The floating figure's grin became more malicious. He lowered his head in anticipation—his body beginning to surge with excitement. "I believe the real show is about to begin gentlemen." He said, slowly floating forward.
"Just because he's making an appearance, doesn't mean that's our target, Urah." Zealot growled.
"Oh ye' of little faith," Urah replied. "Only ones chosen by destiny make such an entrance. Let's sit back and watch, hm? I'm sure he's going to make this very interesting."
Chapter end -