A storm loomed over the ancient fortress carved into the mountains—Fort Kaelion, seat of the Crimson Lion Clan. The clouds churned red under the pressure of mana-infused war banners, each rippling with ancestral power.
Thousands of warriors—Crimson Knights, Flame Generals, Shadow Wraiths, Blood Sentinels—stood in formation, waiting.
Then came him.
Cloaked in battle robes of obsidian and gold, his mantle trailing crimson threads that shimmered with the blood oaths of past Lion Lords, High Lord Kaedin Leonhart, the Head of the Crimson Lion Clan, walked to the central platform.
He faced the vast legions of his people.
Mana flared in the sky. His voice carried through every battlefield scrying mirror, across the six continents, four oceans, and two sacred seas—every kingdom, guild, and hidden clan heard him.
"My son. The heir you love. The cub of this clan—was ambushed. Not in war. Not in combat. But in a place meant for peace… by cowards wearing crowns."
Silence.
Kaedin's eyes flared like suns.
"The kingdom that cowered beneath our protection, the land we spared from ash a generation ago… now bares its fangs at my child."
He raised his hand.
"I am not just a father. I am the Lion. And they—have drawn blood from my blood."
He turned to the army.
"So I ask you, my pride. What should we do?"
There was a pause.
And then—the roar.
"DEATH!!"
"DEATH!!"
"DEATH!!"
It echoed across valleys, carried by war horns, mana runes, and fire drums. Even those watching through magical transmissions trembled. The sound was not human. It was primordial. It was inevitable.
Kaedin's voice returned, quieter now—more dangerous.
"Then death it shall be. Hear me, world."
He raised a fist and lightning cracked behind him.
"From this day forward—any kingdom, clan, merchant, noble, or commoner who aids the ones responsible... who shelters their soldiers, their king, or even speaks in their defense… shall be marked as enemies of the Crimson Lion."
He extended his hand forward as a flaming lion sigil hovered in the sky.
"And we will erase not only you… but your entire bloodline. From maps. From memory. From history itself."
---
Scene Shift: Inside the Royal Palace
The court was in chaos. The King's knuckles were white on his throne. Ministers screamed over each other.
"We must send an envoy—!"
"Summon the High Mages!"
"Call for help from the Eastern Empire—!"
But the Queen remained defiant, despite her slapped cheek and crumbling support.
"They're bluffing. They wouldn't burn everything over one boy."
Suddenly, a transmission crystal flared. It broadcast the Lion Lord's speech again. But this time, it was personal—a sigil of the Queen's family flashed.
A new voice rang out.
"You are already marked. Your bloodline is cursed. Your ancestral temple will fall first."
She turned pale.
The King muttered, "You doomed us all..."
---
Scene Shift: Northern Dragon Clan – Ryen's War Room
Ryen Drevaris watched the broadcast beside his generals.
He cracked his knuckles, fury rising. "It's begun."
An officer stepped forward. "Do we engage?"
Ryen looked down at the image of Alen and Lyra holding hands on a magical scry-mirror.
"We protect the Lion Heir and my sister. And if that means toppling a kingdom…" He turned, drawing his blade, its aura glowing with frost and thunder. "...Then we do it without hesitation."
---
Scene Shift: Academy Grounds
Alen, standing on the training field, watched the Lion's declaration play across the sky.
Lyra stood beside him. Her hand trembled in his, but her eyes were fierce.
"So the world knows now," she said softly.
Alen nodded. "Now they'll come for me with everything they've got."
Lyra looked up at him.
"Let them try. I'm not letting you go again."
Alen smiled, but there was no softness in his eyes anymore.
"Then let the world burn."
-E-N-D-