Far to the west, beyond the mountain passes and crumbling bridges of the war-torn lands, Apollo soared swiftly over forests and ash-choked valleys. From above, he witnessed the devastation the war had wrought upon the land. 'Such a waste of resources... what madness drives the old fool, when doom is all that awaits us?' he thought grimly.
He recalled the sudden shift in Achilles's demeanor upon encountering the Hunters. 'The leader of the Hunters appearing at the eastern front, abandoning their reconnaissance missions as assigned by the War Council... Curious. This must be reported to Lord Drethemir.'
Apollo reached for the leather pouch at his waist and retrieved a black ruby ring. He whispered an ancient word, and the gem ignited—glowing red-hot to the touch.
"Lord Drethemir."
"Verminnnnnn..." The voice that emerged was low and terrible, a guttural vibration that echoed within Apollo's skull. He staggered slightly, fighting the nausea that followed. "If you dare to summon meeee... then you must possessss... something of value..."
Apollo's jaw tightened at the insult, but he did not react. "I bring urgent news—intel that could alter the course of this war. The Slum King is scheming, and the Hunters have been compromised."
"It matterssss nottttt... In eight daysss... Doom descendsss... upon the Lower Realmmm..." Drethemir's voice crackled like a dying flame, and the ruby faded to black. The connection was severed.
Eight days... Apollo clenched his jaw. 'Preparations must begin immediately.' He tugged the reins of his mount, and the wyvern let out a shrill screech as it banked and dove toward the capital—Thalia, the Jewel of the Nine Rivers.
The city of Thalia was vast—its boundaries stretching as far as the eye could see, defended by towering white walls. It stood where the nine rivers of the realm converged. One river, the mighty Kazarne, ran parallel to the city gates, while the remaining eight flowed obliquely, merging with Kazarne at various points like veins feeding a beating heart.
Apollo landed upon the high platform of the Royal Tower, where members of the High Guard stood in rigid formation, bows drawn and eyes vigilant.
"General Apollo," the captain said, saluting crisply. "The Assembly awaits."
Apollo gave no reply. He dismounted and strode across the sky-bridge connecting to the main keep.
The castle was a monumental structure, capable of housing thousands. It rose with proud spires and towers carved from pristine white marble. At its heart stood the throne room, its walls gilded and its stone aglow with ember light when kissed by the sun.
Let's see what secrets this scroll reveals, Apollo thought, tightening his grip on the sealed parchment as he approached the throne room, where the Everlasting Flame burned beside the vacant throne.
The grand doors to the throne chamber stood closed, as tradition dictated in the King's absence—accessible only to the Fire Maidens.
"Halt. None may pass save the Maidens or the King," declared a deep voice. One of the two sentinels standing guard stepped forward—Emir, clad in ceremonial crimson armor, his spear gleaming with enchantment.
Without a word, Apollo unfurled the scroll he had received from Achilles and revealed the seal of the Phoenix—coiled in regal authority.
Emir took the scroll, scrutinizing the seal through his visor with grave intensity. After a long moment, he spoke.
"Eaerwin—summon the Maidens."
The second sentinel produced a small horn and blew a single resonant note.
Moments later, the great doors began to open with a deep groan, and the path to the Throne of Flame was laid bare.
The throne room doors groaned open, revealing the vast chamber beyond. The Everlasting Flame, a pillar of fire rising beside the throne, flickered steadily—burning without smoke, its heat felt even from the entrance.
Apollo stepped inside with firm, measured strides. The chamber was empty, save for three figures already moving toward him—cloaked in flowing black and gold. The Fire Maidens.
He bowed slightly, more out of respect for tradition than reverence.
"I bring a sealed scroll, issued under the authority of Achilles, commander of the eastern front. The seal can only be opened by the throne's flame."
The lead maiden, Ismarel, nodded wordlessly. She extended her hands, and Apollo placed the scroll in her grasp. She turned and approached the throne, holding the scroll near the flame. The heat did not burn her. As it neared the Everlasting Flame, the coiled phoenix seal shimmered, then disintegrated in a flash of red embers. The scroll unfurled by itself.
Ismarel read its contents silently, then turned and handed it back to Apollo.
He read.
Lines etched in precise, coded writing stared back at him. As his eyes moved across the words, his expression darkened.
He clenched the scroll tightly. "They want us to fall back," he muttered. "They want to abandon the eastern front entirely. Surrender over a dozen strongholds..."
He crushed the scroll in his hand. "Cowards."
He rolled the scroll back up, tucked it under his arm, and gave the Maidens a brief nod. "Your duty is done."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and exited the throne chamber. The sentinels outside stood tall as he passed, but Apollo didn't even glance at them.
'Achilles is losing his edge. He thought, Pulling back now... letting fear dictate strategy. Eight days until doom? No. I won't wait to see Thalia brought to its knees.'
In the great assembly chamber, the air was thick with tension. Lords and ladies of noble blood filled the marble hall, draped in ceremonial attire. The heads of the nine houses sat elevated in a semi-circle. As Apollo entered, the chamber quieted. His crimson cloak trailed behind him as he walked with deliberate confidence to the center of the floor.
"General Apollo," spoke Lord Carion of House Veilmark, " Today is an emergency session. We expected to see His Majesty, but instead we find his general."
"I speak on behalf of the eastern front," Apollo replied calmly. "The king remains in conference with the war council. I bring urgent dispatches that concern all of us."
He unfurled the scroll theatrically, ensuring all could see the Phoenix seal had been burned open by flame—legitimate, unquestionable.
"King Achilles has issued a withdrawal. Immediate retreat from the eastern defenses. The border strongholds are to be vacated, our men recalled, and all strategic resources diverted to Thalia."
Gasps and alarmed voices filled the chamber. Lord Vaelir of House Redheart stood. "Withdraw? What madness is this?"
"Has he finally lost it? Outskirts mentality, no dignity." Said Lord Frederick of house kreed, the house which Victor belongs to.
Apollo gave a sympathetic smile. "The king believes he is protecting us. He fears the enemy's next move will be overwhelming."
"And do you agree with him?" Lady Olyss of House Varn, whose family commanded the river legions, narrowed her eyes.
Apollo paused.
"My loyalty lies with Thalia," he said smoothly, "but I believe abandoning half the realm without resistance is premature… and dangerous."
"So you disagree with the king's command?" asked Kaedran of House Solverren, his tone accusatory.
"I follow orders," Apollo said, bowing his head just enough. "But I also see what the War Council cannot. I see morale fading. I see soldiers questioning their cause. If we fall back now, we may never rise again."
Murmurs grew louder. Noble heads turned to one another, whispering.
"Apollo my son, what's the situation on frontlines?"
Apollo bowed to his father, Lord celemor the Lord of house dusk.
And continued, his voice calm, persuasive. "Father, The Dark lord is moving and has surrounded the main army along with the king. And I have received word—though not through official channels—that something catastrophic approaches. Lord Drethemir himself sent a warning: in eight days, doom will fall on the Lower Realm."
"Drethemir?" Carion scoffed. "You consort with that... abomination? This is treason. Celemor did you know of this? "
"I did not." Celemor sounded calm and looked at his son.
"I seek answers where others fear to look," Apollo replied coldly looking at carion. "Because someone must be willing to make hard decisions when others cower behind old laws."
There was silence for a moment. He had their attention.
"If the nobility does not act—if we simply wait—we will burn. But there is still time to redirect forces, to fortify the border instead of gutting it. To win, rather than survive."
"Achilles believes the capital is no longer the center of survival," Apollo said finally. "He has reason to believe the real threat is not the enemy at the gates—but something else, something rising beyond the veil."
A few heads nodded. Others remained stone-faced.
Only Ilea from the house of Night, remained silent. She stood and spoke, this time slower. "My sources tell of a god reborn. A weapon from the time before records. Something... below the Black Spiral."
"Fairytales," "Heretics..." "Blasphemy." Many of the present leaders scoffed at this remark.
"No," she whispered. "Old truths."
'Crazy witch...' Apollo eyed her intensely. Inside, Apollo's thoughts stirred.
'Let them rally behind my voice. Let doubt take root. When Achilles returns and finds the tide turning against him, he'll be forced to depend on me—or be swept aside.'