Chapter 1: The Beginning Of The End.

“The Kieos is bleeding.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy as the scent of aged wood and polished marble that filled the throne room. Queen Liora sat poised on her throne, a masterpiece of whitewood and gold, carved with intricate patterns that reflected the kingdom’s heritage. Her golden mane, swept into an elegant updo, shimmered under the faint light of the grand hearth. This magical fire, conjured by Grandmaster Alaric’s power, would later blaze forth when called upon, illuminating the dark expanse of the hall. At present, the night veiled the room, and the only light came from the soft glow of the moon filtering through the tall stained-glass windows.

Hanging from these towering windows were banners depicting the kingdom’s emblem—a pair of wings surrounded by fire, flanked by two swords and a scythe. The fiery orange and silver hues of the insignia seemed alive, yet the oppressive silence of the room dimmed their usual vitality. On the far wall, a portrait of two winged fae in a half-embrace caught the moonlight. Their forms, surrounded by the halo of the sun, seemed to mourn as they fell from the heavens.

At the center of the hall stood the wise priest, hunched yet commanding in his presence, leaning heavily on his staff. His trembling voice carried the weight of prophecy. “The signs were subtle at first, Your Majesty. Now, they are undeniable. The Kieos bleeds, its roots grow brittle, and the ichor of our land begins to fade. The lifeforce that sustains us all is slipping away.”

A wave of unrest rippled through the council. The Minister of Agriculture stepped forward, his face pale and lined with worry. “Your Majesty, the ichor—the very essence of our harvests—is drying out. The grains wilt, and the fae creatures in the orchards falter. If this continues, we will face famine within weeks.” The Minister of Politics was quick to interject. “And let us not forget the Lunar Dominion at our southern border. They grow restless. Rogue faes cross into their lands unchecked, and their emissaries demand explanations. Their patience wears thin.” “Perhaps,” snapped the Minister of Defense, his voice cutting, “if we fortified the borders instead of entertaining endless diplomacy, the rogues would not be their concern—or ours.”

The Minister of Welfare, a composed yet stern woman, countered sharply. “And leave our people to starve and fade while you play soldier? Their powers are weakening! Their faith in the crown wavers. How long before desperation breeds rebellion?”

The room descended into chaos, the councilmen’s voices rising in a cacophony of blame and panic. Accusations flew, tempers flared, and the tension grew suffocating. At the edge of the group, the Councilman of Alchemy stood, his expression calm and confident as he listened. His words, when he finally spoke, carried an undeniable warmth, but there was an edge, subtle and fleeting, to the way he phrased his concerns.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice steady, “the bleeding of the Kieos affects every facet of our kingdom. While the grandmaster’s suggestion of direct investigation is vital, we must ensure the stability of the ichor reserves during this time. I can prepare a solution that will sustain our crops for a short while, but it will require rare materials. This, of course, must remain discreet.”

Alaric’s head, crowned with the wisdom of age, dipped slightly in approval. “A prudent suggestion, though our efforts must not delay the investigation. Time is critical.”

Before Liora could respond, the doors to the throne room burst open with a loud clang, silencing the council. A guard, his armor gleaming under the moonlight, entered, holding a rolled parchment in his trembling hands. His face was pale as he bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, a message has been found outside the palace gates. It bears the seal of an eclipse.”

The council erupted once more, this time with fear rather than anger. “An eclipse? The harbinger of doom!” one minister whispered, his voice trembling. Another exclaimed, “Surely this is a declaration of war!”

Liora raised her hand, her commanding presence cutting through the panic. “Bring it here,” she ordered.

The guard approached, placing the parchment into her outstretched hand. Unrolling it, she read the cryptic message aloud. The words were in the form of a poem, their meaning both ominous and foreboding:

> “When light and dark unite as one,
> The roots of life shall come undone.
> A shadow’s grip, a fading song—
> The end begins; it won’t be long.”

Chaos erupted in room. The ministers started another round of frightened discussions, their earlier arguments forgotten. Liora’s hands tightened around the parchment, her knuckles white.

The Minister of Welfare spoke above the growing cacophony. “Your Majesty, this… this suggests the Kieos is only the beginning. If the light and dark fae are not meant to coexist, then—”

“Enough!” Liora’s voice rang out, commanding and fierce. The grand hearth burst to life at her command, its flames casting an ethereal glow that illuminated her figure. Her kois, a vibrant gold, burned bright as her gaze swept across the room. The ministers froze, some mid-argument, others mid-step. Even the banners seemed to fall still in the flickering firelight. Silence gripped the room.

“I will not preside over chaos,” she declared, her tone measured but steely. “If you cannot conduct yourselves with decorum, I will see to these matters without your counsel.”

The ministers exchanged uneasy glances. Grandmaster Alaric leaned forward slightly, his calm voice breaking the silence. “Your Majesty, if I may?”

She nodded, her sharp gaze softening only for him. Alaric stood, his dark robes catching the light as he addressed the room. “The bleeding of the Kieos is a crisis we cannot ignore. Its ichor nourishes both our fields and our magic. I propose assembling a team of alchemists and scholars to investigate the roots directly. Simultaneously, our military must fortify the borders to contain the rogue faes and deter the Lunar Dominion’s opportunism. Diplomacy must remain open, but we must project strength.”

The Minister of Alchemy nodded, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Your Majesty, such an investigation will require rare and unstable materials. I will need authorization to requisition them. And…” He paused, his gaze shifting briefly to the glowing hearth. “Discretion is paramount. If word of this crisis spreads, it may invite further unrest.”

Liora studied him, her expression unreadable. “You will have what you need,” she said after a pause, her tone carefully neutral.

The Minister of Welfare spoke hesitantly. “And the people, Grandmaster? What of them?”

Alaric turned to Liora, deferring to her. She stepped forward, the glow of the hearth casting her features in sharp relief. Her voice carried a weight that demanded trust. “The people will not be abandoned. Ensure reserves are distributed to those in need. Keep them informed of our efforts. They must know that their queen and her council are working to heal the Kieos and secure their future.”

The ministers nodded reluctantly, their earlier fire dimmed by her authority. As they began to file out, their murmurs subdued, Liora remained standing, her gaze fixed on the banners hanging high above. The flickering firelight made the wings seem to move, as though they might take flight at any moment. Beside her, Alaric lingered.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “time is not on our side.”

She turned to him, her kois burning brighter than ever. “I know, Alaric. Send letters to the lunar dominion quickly requesting for help regarding the rouge faes. It is a common problem between us, But we will find a way. We must.”

Her gaze returned to the banners, her golden mane catching the light like a crown of fire. In the silence of the hall, she whispered more to herself than anyone else, “For Elthera, we must.”