The sky above the Imperial Palace churned like a wrathful sea, swollen clouds boiling with lightning, wind howling through the ancient spires as if fate itself screamed in warning. The marble corridors of the throne room stood cold and vast, each step echoing like a dirge in a mausoleum of kings.
At the heart of that silence sat Emperor Castiel Valerius, veiled in darkness upon his obsidian throne. The storm outside mirrored the tempest within—rage, fear, defiance—all buried beneath the calm of golden eyes that had watched empires rise and burn.
And before him, on one knee, Lucian Vancrest knelt—or the shadow that bore his name.
What remained of the once-heroic knight was a distorted echo. His silver hair now bled with black streaks, each thread twitching with unholy vitality. Plates of once-pristine armor pulsed with demonic veins, and beneath the surface of his flesh, something ancient and wrong stirred. His crimson eyes no longer shone with purpose—they burned with wrath.
"You asked me to be your sword," Lucian rasped, his voice layered with a second, darker tone. "Now I ask you... where shall I strike?"
Castiel did not flinch. His gaze swept to the war table, where a crimson sigil now dominated the Empire's heart: House Arden.
"Kael moves like a grandmaster," the Emperor said, fingers drumming against the map. "He seizes hearts, minds, thrones—my Empress included. He's dismantled every bulwark I built."
His eyes narrowed, lips curling in defiance.
"But he has forgotten that a throne is not just a seat of power. It is a beacon. And tonight, I remind the heavens who holds it."
From beneath his imperial robes, he withdrew a sealed scroll—the wax seal gleamed with a golden symbol not of this world, pulsing with quiet divinity.
Lucian's corrupted senses recoiled instinctively.
"That sigil…" he murmured, voice tight. "It's not human."
Castiel rose slowly. "No. It is Celestial."
He held the scroll aloft. "The Covenant of Dominion. A pact forged in blood and flame, blessed by the Archons of the Celestial Fold. They have answered my call. Kael's cunning ends where divinity begins."
Outside, the storm ceased.
A silence heavier than thunder settled—pregnant, divine, eternal.
And then, without warning, reality tore.
A blinding rift opened behind the throne, not with sound, but with silence so complete it screamed in the mind. From within stepped a figure robed in light and shadow, its face veiled by a golden mask etched with the language of stars. No footsteps. No presence. Just being.
Lucian's body convulsed as his demonic blood recoiled.
The Archon spoke—not aloud, but into the marrow of their bones.
"The Covenant is sealed. The mortal shall rise. The usurper shall kneel."
Lucian fell to one knee, sweat beading on his corrupted skin. He was no coward—but this was no enemy he could strike. It was like standing before a living law.
Castiel did not kneel.
He stood proud, voice thunderous.
"Bear witness, Kael Arden. You may command demons and empresses, but I—" he gestured toward the being behind him "—I command gods."
As lightning carved the heavens once more, the final game began.
And the board had just changed.
Forever.
To Be Continued…