The Argent Sanctum was not built for sparring. Its crystalline floors were flawless, its air perfectly still. So, when Liora's moonlight blade met Elara's wing, the sound was shockingly loud—a high-pitched shing of resonating power that echoed through the Grand Foyer.
Liora fought with controlled, defensive grace, her movements a dance of parries and calculated footwork. She was a bulwark, her every action designed to protect and endure.
Elara was a storm. She attacked with a savage, overwhelming flurry of motion, using her golden, bladed wings as both shields and weapons. Every beat of her wings was a strike, every lunge a potential killing blow. She fought with the righteous fury of a freshly lit sun.
Rhys sat on his throne, watching them with the enthusiastic gaze of a fan watching an e-sports final. "Nice combo from Elara! Liora's parry animation is flawless, though. Great defensive timing. Really sells the whole Paladin-Tank aesthetic."
Theia sat nearby, her quill not recording the fight itself, but rather the developing theological implications. And the Light of the Shield and the Fire of the Sword met, not in conflict, but in a holy dialogue of strength, each defining the other through blessed opposition.
The sparring match halted in an instant when a shadow in the corner of the room deepened and Vesper stepped out of it. The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The ringing energy of the duel vanished, replaced by a cold, silent focus.
Rhys leaned forward, his face lighting up. "Speak of the devil and she shall appear! Did you find me a dumpster fire?"
Elara and Liora put their weapons away, their rivalry forgotten as they flanked the throne. All four women now focused on Vesper.
Vesper stood before the throne, a perfect effigy of lethal efficiency. She did not waste time with salutations. Her report was a series of concise, devastating truths.
"I have found a candidate," she began, her voice a low, even whisper. "A remnant of a kingdom known as Eldoria. It floats upon a shard of a shattered continent. Its capital city is Aethelgard. It meets all of your specified parameters."
She began to list them, each one a nail in the coffin of the dying kingdom.
"Parameter One: Political Instability. King Theron is decrepit, his mind lost to senility. His sons, Prince Galien the Brute and Prince Lorian the Schemer, wage a covert war for the throne, paralyzing the royal court and bleeding the realm."
Rhys clapped his hands once, a sharp, delighted sound. "A succession crisis! Classic! A perfect entry point for a group of influential outsiders. Beautiful. What's next?"
Liora's brow furrowed with concern. "A leaderless people… they must be terrified."
"Parameter Two: External Threat," Vesper continued, her expression unchanging. "The kingdom is besieged by the Groll, a horde of savage boar-kin united under a Warlord named Skull-Taker. Their army is camped on the border, their siege weapons are built. The royal army is a conscripted mob, rife with desertion. The city will fall before the next season."
"The Groll! Skull-Taker!" Rhys repeated, savoring the names. "Oh, that is fantastically generic fantasy evil! It's perfect! You can't have a good starting adventure without some cannon-fodder orcs... or, you know, boar-kin. Absolutely stellar. Go on."
Elara's hands clenched into fists, the knuckles white. "Beasts," she growled. "Filth, clawing at the gates of a broken city. They need to be scoured from existence."
"Parameter Three: Internal Rot," Vesper went on, her gaze steady. "The dominant religion, the Church of the Faded Sun, is led by the corrupt High Priest Valerius. He preaches austerity while lining his own vaults. In the slums, a death cult, the Children of the Final Slumber, gains followers. They actively welcome the Unraveling, promising a 'merciful oblivion' to the hopeless."
Rhys actually laughed out loud this time. "You're kidding! We've got a corrupt church and a death cult? It's a two-for-one deal on side-quests! We can expose the priest, smash the cult… The narrative potential is incredible!"
Theia finally spoke, her voice low and somber. "A faith with a forgotten god, and a faith that worships nothing. They have lost their way completely."
Vesper held up a single, slender finger. "And the final parameter, my Lord." Her voice was almost inaudible. "Beneath the High Cathedral of Aethelgard lies the Catacombs of the First Kings. An ancient evil sleeps there. Imprisoned. Dormant. And growing restless."
Rhys stood up from his throne, a look of pure, ecstatic joy on his face. "And there it is! The first dungeon! A crypt full of undead, probably ruled by a Lich King or a forgotten Demigod. That's the raid zone! That's our end-game for this whole arc!"
He paced before his throne, practically buzzing with energy. "A dying king, feuding princes, a barbarian horde, a corrupt church, a death cult, and a megadungeon right under the capital! Vesper, it's not a dumpster fire. It's a work of art. A perfectly crafted symphony of absolute misery and impending doom." He looked at her, his grin wide and triumphant. "It's the best starter zone I've ever seen."
He stopped his pacing and turned to face his apostles. Liora looked grim and resolute, Elara looked ready to declare a one-woman crusade, Theia looked like a historian who had just discovered the final chapter of a tragic epic, and Vesper looked... satisfied.
The Progenitor was pleased. Her mission was a success.
Rhys looked at them, his four divine instruments of power, his high-level adventuring party.
"Well, team," he announced, his voice booming with the joy of a gamer about to press 'Start' on a brand new, highly anticipated title. "It's settled. Time to make our grand entrance into the world."
He pointed a dramatic finger towards the endless blue void outside the Sanctum.
"We're going to Eldoria. And we are going to get involved in everything."