Elandor raged with fury at the declaration of war by the three neighboring kingdoms of Baiteng, Aelorienne, and Serenwynn. "Do these kingdoms not know all that Kaelon has done for them in the past?" Elandor roared, slamming his fist on the table. "And now they stab me in the back? Now, when I need support most? This ungrateful pact of parasites and would-be saints! If they insist on it, then let them have their war! Let them burn as if they were in hell!"
His advisor, Kaeldrim, stepped forward cautiously. "But my King, we cannot wage war against three kingdoms at once! That would be madness."
"Kaelon is powerful," Elandor retorted sharply. "More powerful than any other."
"Against one kingdom, yes," Kaeldrim countered. "Perhaps even against two with the right strategy. But against three? That is a suicide mission. And even if we win, the other kingdoms won't just stand by and watch us annex everything."
"Only the Kingdom of Longteng would pose a serious threat," Elandor dismissed. "But we have excellent relations with them. Emperor Qin and I grew up together; we trained and fought together. He is like a brother to me. We have nothing to fear."
"But Baiteng is allied with Longteng," Kaeldrim warned quietly. "And our kingdom is weakened. We've spent vast amounts of gold on bounties… Forgive me, my King, I meant invested." He lowered his gaze in shame.
Elandor approached him and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Kaeldrim, my old friend. You served my father faithfully. And you have always been a good advisor to me, and above all, a good friend. No matter what happened, you always stood faithfully by my side! But you must never look down on your King's abilities!"
Kaeldrim nodded slightly several times, but his gaze remained fixed on the ground in shame. "How many battles and wars have we won together, my old friend?" Elandor asked.
"I've lost count, my King," Kaeldrim said.
Elandor nodded slightly, smiled, and said: "And have we ever lost a single battle, my old friend?"
Kaeldrim looked into his King's eyes. "No, my King," he said, raising his head proudly. "We have always been glorious."
"And why? Did we have the strongest army? No. Did we have the most allies? No. Did we have the most resources? No. So what did we have that our enemies didn't, Kaeldrim?"
"A wise King!" Kaeldrim said, bowing to Elandor.
Nodding, Elandor held Kaeldrim by both shoulders. "Believe in your King now, my old friend!"
Elandor's eyes gleamed dangerously.
Thus, Elandor officially declared war on the three kingdoms. Beforehand, he sent a message to the Kingdom of Longteng to secure his flank:
"Most Esteemed Emperor Qin of the Longteng Empire,
We have been bound together since childhood. You have surely heard of the tragic murder of my beloved Lysandra and my daughters. Cowardly dogs defiled and beheaded them. These criminals fled to the kingdoms of Baiteng, Aelorienne, and Serenwynn. But instead of handing them over, these kingdoms have declared war on me. How can I accept this disgrace?
I know that a wise Emperor like yourself would never tolerate such injustice. I march not to conquer, but to demand justice. I take only the heads that are rightfully mine. Heads of my own people. I hope for your understanding and respect for my plans, just as I offer you my deepest respect.
Your brother Elandor, King of Kaelon."
Elandor set his plan in motion. He sent a strike force against the Baiteng Empire—but it was only a decoy. He had countless empty tents erected near Baiteng's castles to simulate a siege.
As expected, Aelorienne and Serenwynn rushed to the aid of their ally Baiteng. They anticipated little resistance, believing Kaelon's main force was tied down in the north. But Elandor had positioned his army in ambush along the River Kaelon. When Aelorienne and Serenwynn's troops reached the river, they found all the bridges destroyed.
"This could be a trap," the Aelori general warned his ally, the Wyn'ari general. Cautiously, they began to cross the river. For safety, the Aelori general offered a prayer: "Ô lumière divine, source de toute pureté, écoute ma supplique. Enveloppe-nous de ton éclat et ôte la vue à nos ennemis."
A dazzling light, brighter than the sun, enveloped his troops and blinded every enemy. A Kaelonian scout, observing the entire scene, was blinded by the light and was instantly struck blind. Even Elandor and his men, hundreds of meters away in their trenches, had to avert their gaze. Panic broke out.
"Calm yourselves!" Elandor shouted over the din. "You know your landscape! You don't need eyes to know where the enemy is! Today your families need you! Today your kingdom needs you! Today we will not lose! Take up arms, soldiers of Kaelon!"
The soldiers rallied. "Sol'kael! Luma'rin!" – "For Kaelon and the Light!" echoed the battle cry. A hail of arrows darkened the sky.
The enemy generals reacted immediately, ordering their soldiers to raise their shields and seek refuge in the river. The Wyn'ari general then invoked the wind: "O wyn'aelor sel'thalor, lor'enai ven'rae. Shal'wyn enae ven'sorin, aethar'thal ven'nor."
He attempted to create a wind barrier, but the hail of arrows struck them before the spell was complete. When the bulk of the enemy army was in the middle of the river, Elandor offered his own prayer: "O flumen sanctum, custos terrarum nostrarum, audi supplicem meum. Robora me contra eos qui Kaelonem minantur, et fer malitiam eorum extra regnum nostrum."
And indeed, the river answered. It swelled into a raging torrent, sweeping away Aelorienne and Serenwynn's soldiers. Those who had already reached the bank fell victim to a second hail of arrows, as the water weakened the Wyn'ari's wind magic. The few remaining on the far bank were forced to retreat.
"We have lost. We can only save ourselves and the remaining troops," the Aelori general said dejectedly. "We must entrench ourselves in our castles and wait for Baiteng's support." The Wyn'ari general hesitated for a few more seconds, but he knew there was nothing more he could do for his soldiers and averted his gaze in anguish.
They sent a falcon with a distress call to Baiteng. But one of Kaelon's archers shot down the falcon. Elandor had the message forged by a scholar. The text remained almost the same, but Elandor added a crucial postscript:
"Your Majesty, King Yang of the Kingdom of Baiteng,
Unfortunately, our armies have suffered a crushing defeat, and we are now in retreat. Kaelon will surely attempt to annihilate us with a decisive strike, so we will barricade ourselves in our castles and urgently request support from the great Kingdom of Baiteng.
P.S.: Please take the southern route. Our scouts report that the southwestern route has been sabotaged.
Respectfully yours,Your allied realms Aelorienne and Serenwynn!"
Then they sent the forgery off with a new falcon. Elandor wanted to lure the Baitengians from their fortress, but he wanted them to take the long southern route so that he would have time to intercept them.
"We must reach their kingdom before the Baitengians," Elandor ordered. "But, my King," Kaeldrim objected. "Even if they take the southern route, we will never make it with our baggage." "Not if we take off our heavy armor!" Elandor said. Kaeldrim was appalled. "Against the steel of the Baitengs? They have some of the hardest steel in all of the Middle Valley. They'll cut through us like butter!"
"We need speed and the element of surprise. If the Baiteng army reaches Kaelon first, their senses will be heightened! As Tiger People, they already have the advantage of possessing some of the keenest senses in existence!" Elandor insisted. "Obey my command!"
Elandor continued to consider his strategy to increase his chances of success in the battle against the Baiteng army, aware that the Baiteng Empire could not be underestimated. After all, the Baiteng Empire possessed one of the most advanced technologies in the entire Middle Valley.
King Yang, still in his kingdom, received the message. He wanted to set off south immediately, but his advisor Meiyun, the "Beautiful Cloud," held him back. "My King, look at this mistake," she said, pointing to the word éte. "The accent is missing. It should be été. An Elf would never make that mistake."
They analyzed the routes. The southern route would take much longer. "If the message is a forgery," the King concluded, "then the enemy is trying to mislead us." "If the southwestern route has indeed been sabotaged, then we would need one day there and one day back to reach the southern route. The southern route would then take us three days. That means we would need a total of five days."
"But if we were to take the southern route and it had actually been sabotaged, then we would need three days there and three days back to finally reach the southwestern route. That means we would need a total of seven days in this scenario."
"Therefore, logically, we take the southwestern route—the direct route to Kaelon."
A scout brought Elandor the bad news: "The Baitengians weren't fooled! They're already on Kaelonian soil." Kaeldrim turned pale. "How could they have known?" "That's not the right question right now, Kaeldrim," said Elandor, now strangely calm. "Where were they last, Scout?" "They were at the Maren Belt, my King," said the scout. "They must be passing through the Maren Pass."
"I'll ride ahead," Elandor decided. "Come as fast as you can." "Alone? Against an entire army?" Kaeldrim cried out in despair. "I have a plan," said Elandor.
Elandor reached the pass before the enemy. From a high ground, he saw them coming: a massive force of Tiger squads in impenetrable armor. An army brimming with power and strength. An army without equal. An army that seemed invincible.
Elandor didn't move. But what was Elandor waiting for? Had he perhaps frozen in fear? The Baitengians drew ever closer to Elandor's location, second by second, until they were almost at the narrowest point of the pass.
Then he closed his eyes, clasping both hands together in front of his chest, as if in prayer. Then he moved his right hand slightly outward and upward, as if greeting the sun and simultaneously receiving its light. His lips formed several prayers in succession:
"Solanar, leon'cor – mar'cor veshai."
"Solanar'kael, luma'dar zenai mor'nal."
"O flumen sanctum, custos terrarum nostrarum, audi supplicem meum. Robora me contra eos qui Kaelonem minantur, et fer malitiam eorum extra regnum nostrum."
He repeated the last prayer several times in succession. By combining several prayers simultaneously, he created a prayer of amplification to reinforce the final one.
The King of Baiteng, whose tiger-like hearing was extremely acute, raised his fist. He heard something. A rumble. First faint, then deafening. A gigantic wave of water, summoned from nowhere, crashed over the pass. It swept away the mightiest army of the Middle Valley as if they were toy figures.
The way was clear now. Elandor besieged Aelorienne and Serenwynn for ninety days, until hunger forced their surrender. The citizens of Kaelon who had fled were delivered up and executed. He returned home in triumph, the heads displayed upon spears, the blood still fresh upon the tips.
Yet when he rode through the gates of Kaelon, no one awaited him.
No cheering masses. No flowers. Only silence and frightened faces that hastily withdrew from the windows.
Chaos was no accident.
Chaos was the result of freedom without guidance.
If the world bled beneath his order, it was only because it had refused to follow him before.
He repeated these words like a prayer. But they rang hollow within his own skull.
In the nights that followed, Elandor stood alone in the throne room. The torches cast flickering shadows upon the empty walls. He still wore the blood-soaked garment from the execution. Three days. Four. Five. The servants dared not address him. He stared at the empty throne beside him—Lysandra's place—and whispered conversations with a woman who would answer no more.
"Not yet enough," he said one night to no one. His voice sounded rough, alien. "The true murderers still sit free."
He expanded his campaigns. Attacked neutral realms. Lands that had never threatened Kaelon. Lands that had once paid him tribute and revered him as a "wise protector." He shed blood until the rivers ran black. He sought phantoms in every shadow, interrogated the innocent, tortured confessions from empty hands.
For the true culprits sat safe in Melandor. Yet he knew this not.
He knew it not when he burned the next city. Knew it not when he spitted the next innocent head upon a spear. Knew it not in every second of waking madness.
But if he stopped—if he paused even for a single breath—he would see them. Lysandra's eyes. The empty sockets of his daughters. He would smell how their hair had burned.
So he killed on.
Until one morning a messenger knelt before him with trembling hands and forced out the words Elandor had long felt in his gut:
"All the realms... Your Majesty. They have allied. Even Longteng. Even... even Emperor Qin."
Elandor laughed. A sound like shattering glass.
"My brother," he said softly. Then louder: "My brother!" He seized the messenger, shook him as though he could beat the words from him. "Tell me he did not do it! Tell me!"
The messenger swallowed. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
"He... he signed the pact, Your Majesty. Last night. In his own... own blood."
Elandor let him fall. The man crashed upon the marble, moved no more.
Kaelon stood at the brink of ruin.
And Elandor?
Elandor stood in the throne room, his gaze fixed upon the empty chairs. His crown sat crooked upon his head. He had not removed it for weeks, as though the metal could still hold him together.
He had lost everything.
His kingdom, which once had loved him—now it hated him. He heard the whispers in the alleys. Madman. Demon. Tyrant.
His beloved family—those who had touched his soul. He found them still, sometimes, in mirrors. Lysandra stood behind him, laid her cold hands upon his shoulders. The girls laughed in the next room. When he turned, no one was there. When he opened the door, silence.
He had given them no burial. Could not. When he spoke their names—Lysandra. Elenya. Lyrielle.—when he formed the words upon his lips, something broke in his chest. Something that would never heal again.
So he remained silent. And let them live on in the darkness of his thoughts.
Even the sun seemed no longer to heed his prayers.
He knelt now each night in the throne room, his brow upon the cold stone, and pleaded. Solanar. Luma'rin. Flumen sanctum. He repeated the words that had once made him mighty. The river had answered him. The sun had answered him.
Now nothing answered.
Only silence. Deep, perfect silence that screamed louder than any battle.
Was it my faith that faded? he asked himself in the darkness. Or were my prayers ever heard at all?
Had he ever received the Light? Or had he only believed he saw it, while he walked in shadow?
He raised his gaze to the window. No moon. No stars. Only black sky, as black as the void within him.
And in that void—in that abyss of hatred, madness, and powerlessness that crushed his bones—he felt it.
Not the sun.
Not the river.
Something older. Something that did not beg for worship, but demanded.
A pull, deep in his chest. Not from without. From within. As though something in him had waited. Fed by every scream he had unleashed. By every drop of blood he had shed.
Elandor's soul sank into a morass of hatred, madness, and helplessness—a pull that finally drew the Devil's attention.
Elandor smiled. It was no human smile.
"You are early," he whispered into the darkness.
The darkness did not answer. It need not.
For what the Devil desires—that he takes.