Massive stone walls surrounded the island like the ribs of a dying titan.
Beyond them, the ocean stretched dark and endless, its waves crashing against the cliffs as if trying to swallow the last light of the world.
Inside those walls stood the Sun Kingdom.
Not a kingdom of gold and celebration.
A kingdom of survivors.
Narrow roads twisted between thousands of refugee camps. Tents filled every open space. Banners from fallen nations hung side by side along the walls — Windan, Kaizen, Brighthollow, Draymoor — stitched together not in unity, but in desperation.
Once, these races had fought each other.
Now they fought for food.
Humans stood in ration lines beside elves. Dwarves reinforced barricades with iron scraps. Drakari warriors kept watch from rooftops, their scaled arms folded as smoke drifted from their nostrils. Witches whispered protective charms over the outer gates.
Carts rolled through the main road, carrying bruised apples and grain sacks salvaged from distant coasts.
One cart slowed.
The driver noticed fresh parchment nailed to a central pillar.
He climbed down and read aloud under his breath:
"All who can fight.
All who can withstand the darkness.
All who believe their will is stronger than fear…
Present yourselves at the palace gates in three days."
He swallowed.
Three days.
Across the kingdom, similar decrees were being nailed to stone, wood, and iron. Crowds gathered. Whispers spread. Some faces hardened with resolve.
Others turned pale.
The tyrants would not wait forever.
High above the noise, standing on the edge of a crumbling watchtower, a lone figure observed the scene.
A black coat fluttered in the wind. Long dark hair framed a scarred face. Crimson eyes reflected the torchlight below. A red blade rested across his back.
He watched the crowd.
Watched the fear.
Watched the hope.
Then he stepped forward—
—and dropped.
He landed before the decree without a sound.
The crowd recoiled.
Whispers ignited instantly.
"…It's him."
"The Black Raven."
He removed his coat slowly. Old scars traced across his arms like forgotten battles. His gaze scanned the decree once.
A faint smile appeared.
"Finally."
He turned toward the palace.
"This time… I'm coming." The crowd parted as the Black Raven moved forward.
At the edge of the gathering stood a silver-haired young man, posture straight despite the chaos around him. His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the scarred figure walk toward the palace.
So this is the man they whisper about.
Murderer of nobles.
Self-proclaimed judge.
His fingers brushed the hilt of his silver sword.
Strength without order is just violence.
He shifted his gaze to the decree.
"All who can withstand the darkness…"
A faint exhale left him.
If this kingdom is to survive, it will not be through men like him alone.
Cedric turned from the pillar and began walking toward the palace gates.
Not to follow.
Not to chase.
But to stand on the same battlefield.
If the Black Raven intended to shape the future of the Sun Kingdom—
He would not do it uncontested. The South Gate stood sealed beneath iron and stone.
Two guards crossed their spears as a tall figure approached through the torchlight.
Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Scales faintly visible along his jaw and neck. When he lifted his face, the flames caught his eyes—
Black.
With a single gold ember burning at their center.
The guards stiffened.
"…Drakari."
"I need to see the King," Kaelor said.
"You and half this island," one guard replied. "Use the main gate."
Kaelor's jaw tightened, revealing the edge of sharp teeth.
"I will not ask again."
The second guard laughed. "We don't bow to wandering dragons here."
Silence fell.
Kaelor stepped closer.
Heat gathered in the air — subtle at first. The torches bent toward him, their flames stretching thin.
"Move."
The guards lowered their spears.
He moved first.
His heel struck stone.
The impact cracked the courtyard like lightning beneath the earth.
A violent pulse erupted outward.
The iron gates exploded inward.
Both guards were hurled aside, armor skidding across stone.
Alarms rang through the palace.
Soldiers poured into the courtyard, blades drawn, forming a circle around him.
Kaelor did not draw his weapon.
He pressed his foot down again.
Another shockwave rolled across the stone.
Men staggered. Shields splintered. Dust swallowed the air.
But one figure did not fall.
Through the settling debris stepped a knight in disciplined armor.
Darius Halvorn.
His curved golden blade rested steady in his hand. Not raised in panic — simply ready.
The shockwave struck him.
His cloak shifted.
His boots did not.
Kaelor's black-and-gold eyes narrowed.
"…Interesting."
Darius met his gaze without hesitation.
"Breaking palace gates," he said evenly, "is not how one requests an audience."
Kaelor's lips curved slightly, revealing sharpened teeth.
"Then stop me."
He drove his heel down once more.
The courtyard trembled.
Stone fractured.
The pulse crashed outward—
Darius did not move.
Not a step.
The air between them tightened, heavy with coiled force.
Steel rose.
"Enough."
The single word cut through the courtyard like a blade through silk.
Every soldier froze.
King Emerald stood at the palace steps.
His presence alone steadied the air.
Darius lowered his blade slightly, though he did not step aside.
"My lord," he said calmly, "he forced entry."
Emerald's eyes settled on Kaelor — on the black irises and the gold ember within them.
"You wished to see me," the King said.
Kaelor straightened.
"My name is Kaelor Ignivar of the Dragon Clan."
A murmur passed through the soldiers.
"I have come to fight what destroyed our lands."
A pause.
Emerald regarded him without anger.
"Next time," the King said calmly, "use the main gate."
A faint smirk touched Kaelor's face.
"Understood."