The caravan rolled through the moonlit gates of Virelia, wheels crunching softly on the cobblestone path that led into the inner courtyard. The night air was unusually still, thick with something unspoken. Just as they crossed beneath the final arch of the palace gate—
A flare ignited the sky.
A deep, pulsing red, it arced high above them like a bloody comet before bursting into a glowing sigil—ancient Virelian script that only few could read. It painted the clouds crimson, casting an ominous hue over the alabaster palace walls.
The horses neighed and stumbled, guards paused mid-step—and Eiran, Rhaellis, and Selene all froze.
Selene's voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper.
"Rythe…"
They didn't wait. Without another word, the siblings bolted through the palace halls, their cloaks whipping behind them like shadows. Aurean followed close, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the weight of something he did not yet understand.
The great doors of the throne room were already open.
Inside stood their elder siblings: Calyon, the Crown Heir of Virelia, and princess Amirei. Beside them stood Garren, the eldest of the royal craftsmen, his soot-dark hands clasped behind his back, eyes grim.
The emperor sat upon his throne in silence, his silver circlet glinting faintly under the flickering firelight.
Rhaellis stepped forward quickly, breathless.
"Father—what's happening?"
The emperor said nothing at first. His fingers drummed softly against the armrest of his throne as the tension in the room grew thick.
Then—a guard entered, head bowed, handing the emperor a sealed parchment.
Before the emperor could take it, Calyon stepped forward and received it on his behalf. With solemn precision, he broke the wax seal, unfolding the note with steady fingers.
His voice was strong, but laced with unspoken emotion as he read aloud:
"The enemy is near. They have crossed the boundary edges and approach the borders of Virelia's veil. They are not ordinary men. They wield magic—old, wild, and honed for war. I will hold them off.
Pay attention to the sky. The flare will speak in my stead.
—Rythe."
A silence fell so heavy it might as well have been a scream.
All eyes turned upward, through the wide glass dome of the throne room where the red flare still pulsed, its light now dimming slowly into a deep scarlet—no longer burning but waiting.
Amirei pressed a hand to her mouth, her face pale. Eiran stood stone-still, while Rhaellis muttered something under his breath in a language Aurean didn't know. Even Selene—who was usually the first to speak—had nothing to say.
Aurean, standing just behind them, stared at the sigil in the sky. He didn't know what it meant yet—but he knew what it felt like:
War was coming.
A heavy silence still lingered under the stained-glass dome where the red flare had faded into a soft glow, leaving only its crimson hue etched against the star-smeared sky.
Then Princess Amirei turned to her father, her voice quiet but unwavering.
"Father… you said you met up with Rythe. What exactly happened?"
Her question hung in the air.
Calyon, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, added,
"Yes, Father. What aren't you telling us?"
The emperor exhaled, long and slow, before rising from his throne. His silver robes rustled softly as he stepped forward, each movement weighted with thought.
He looked at each of his children, pausing last on Aurean, then began:
"I received a message from Rythe… not too long ago. A direct one, sealed with the old sigil."
"He said he was following a trail—something that started small: whispers, vanished nobles, missing diplomats. But what began as rumor turned into undeniable pattern."
He turned, looking toward the still-glowing embers of the flare above them.
"Some kingdoms have lost entire noble houses overnight, without warning. Others have had citizens disappear... only to return weeks later—changed. Hollow-eyed. Cold. As though something else walks around in their skin."
Gasps echoed softly through the court.
"Rythe told me he found an Ardan diplomat—hanged, with the word Silence carved across his chest. No signs of struggle. No blood on the scene. Just silence."
A shiver ran through Selene, her hand gripping Eiran's arm. Amirei's lips parted, her brow furrowed in disbelief.
The emperor continued, his voice darkening.
"Rythe followed the clues where they led him. Though it wasn't what he originally sought, he uncovered something else. A coalition. Rogue omegas… with powers even the ancients would deem unnatural. And they are not alone. He said they've allied with dominant alphas—some of them outcasts, others exiled royals—each with their own vendetta and magic. Together, they've built a following. Dangerous, secretive… and growing."
Garren, the master craftsman, grunted grimly.
"A cabal."
The emperor nodded.
"They call themselves the Veiled Dominion."
Murmurs rippled through the room. The name had never been spoken before… but something about it felt primordial, like a word buried in the bones of the world.
"Their goal is Virelia. Rythe believes the essence that flows in our lands—the one our ancestors once bound to this soil—can be harnessed, corrupted, or used to fuel their cause."
Aurean's heart pounded.
"Why Virelia?"
The emperor's gaze settled on him.
"Because of the barrier. The enchantments woven into our mountains. The purity of magic that flows in the land. To them, it is a beacon. A crown. A prize."
He fell silent for a beat, then added solemnly:
"Rythe told me to return home. That when the time came, he would send the signal."
He raised his eyes toward the heavens, where the final flare had faded into a ghost of red light.
"That… was the signal."
Silence blanketed the court once more.
Then Calyon said lowly,
"So war has begun."
"No," said the emperor. "The hunt has."
Rhaellis glanced around the throne room, eyes sweeping over the tense faces of his siblings and few trusted members of the court present.
"But Father," he said cautiously, "these people—yes, they're incredibly dangerous. But Rythe wouldn't ask for that blade just for them. There's something you're not saying."
His words hung heavily in the air.
The emperor's expression darkened, and for a moment he looked impossibly older, as though the weight of knowledge had hollowed him out.
He lowered his voice.
"They hold the Orb of Vael'Zarien."
The moment he uttered the name, the room went deathly still.
Even the flickering torches lining the throne room seemed to dim.
Selene let out a strangled gasp, stepping back.
"It's over," she whispered. Then louder—"It's over. There's nothing we can do."
Aurean looked around in confusion, his pulse rising.
"What's going on? What is the Orb of Vael'Zarien?"
It was Garren, who turned to him, voice gravel-thick with dread.
"It is one of the Six Primordial Artifacts, forged before time was time—before even the enchantments of Virelia. The Orb of Vael'Zarien can unravel magical constructs… strip lands of their essence… and silence wards, enchantments, barriers—everything. If activated near our lands…"
He paused, and the words seemed to taste like poison in his mouth.
"…Virelia will fall. Its magic will be gone. The barrier shattered. And we will be nothing."
Aurean's throat tightened.
"And Rythe's blade?"
Garren slowly turned toward the grand window, the sky beyond turning from night into nightmare.
"That blade… it was forged long ago using magic that resists deconstruction. It was quenched in sacred blood, and bound with a rune lost to time. It is the only weapon known to not just withstand the Orb's power, but possibly sever its connection to its wielder."
Selene wrapped her arms around herself.
"He only asks for that blade when there's no other way."
Then, as if on cue—
A green flare shot into the sky, casting a ghostly light through the glass.
Everyone went still. Hearts stopped.
Amirei whispered hoarsely,
"What does green mean?"
But the emperor already knew.
He closed his eyes.
He has started fighting them.