A meeting room inside Rothrosia castle…

Stone walls adorned with subtle carvings framed the space, interspersed with wooden beams that gave the room a sense of solidity and tradition. The grand wooden table dominated the center, its surface smooth from years of use, flanked by high-backed chairs arranged neatly around it. A large, ornate fireplace stood at one end, its mantle adorned with ceremonial objects and the emblem of Rothrosia carved into the stone above.

The air was heavy with anticipation. Sir Francis sat with his shoulders slightly hunched, his expression downcast as thoughts of the earlier ceremony gnawed at him. His mind lingered on the sight of Princess Alicia, radiant as she stood beside the so-called savior. He wished it had been him in instead, basking in her presence.

Sir William, composed as ever, sat beside him, his demeanor a picture of calm. He observed Sir Francis's brooding silence with a hint of amusement but said nothing, respecting the mood. Around them, the other knights sat in silence, their faces etched with varying degrees of focus and concern. The room, in stark contrast to the jubilant celebration outside, was suffused with a somber seriousness.

The door opened, and Sir Dunham, the chief knight, entered with an air of authority. He moved to the main chair, his presence commanding the attention of every knight in the room. As he sat, his gaze swept across the gathered knights, ensuring their full attention.

When he spoke, his voice was measured and grave.

"You have not been summoned here merely to witness the ceremony," he began, his tone underscored with the weight of the news he was about to impart. "There is a matter of grave importance to the future of Rothrosia."

The tension in the room thickened instantly. Every knight leaned in, their eyes fixed on Sir Dunham, their earlier concerns now replaced by a focused vigilance. Even Sir Francis, momentarily distracted from his personal turmoil, straightened in his seat, his expression serious.

Sir Dunham's gaze settled on Sir Gedeon, his eyes sharp with expectation.

"Sir Gedeon," he said, his voice carrying a note of authority that resonated in the stillness of the room.

Sir Gedeon, seated among the gathered knights, nodded in acknowledgment. His expression was composed, but the weight of what he was about to say was evident in his eyes. Leaning slightly forward, he rested his hands on the table, his fingers intertwined as he began to speak.

"The witches' attack on the castle earlier was no coincidence," he stated, his voice steady and firm. "It was planned, orchestrated with precision. Several of our own servants were involved." His words hung heavily in the air, the impact clear in the widening eyes and tense postures of those around him.

"They were either charmed or threatened into compliance," he continued, his gaze sweeping the room, taking in the reactions of his fellow knights. "We believe the witches have found ways to bend their will or instill such fear in them that they saw no choice but to act against us."

The revelation sent a ripple of shock through the room. The knights shifted uneasily in their seats, their faces reflecting a mix of disbelief and anger

Sir Gedeon took a breath and continued,

"We have evidence to suggest that this plot was conceived at least a week prior to the attack." He glanced briefly at Sir William, who gave a subtle nod. "Sir William's investigation into the home of one of the captured perpetrators has yielded substantial proof of their involvement. We found a map of the Royal palace, and traces of dark magic that indicate their collaboration with the witches."

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in.

The room was silent, every eye fixed on him. "Their motive is still unclear, but what is certain is their target: the royal treasury," he added.

There was a collective intake of breath, the room seeming to grow even quieter as the knights processed this information. Sir William, sitting beside Sir Francis, remained calm, though his eyes reflected the gravity of the situation. Sir Francis's hands, resting on the table, tightened into fists.

"One of the intruders we captured was found inside the treasury room," Sir Gedeon continued, leaning back slightly in his chair, his expression grave. "We believe they were after something kept there. What it is, we don't yet know, but it is likely of significant value or power to warrant such a risk."

The room buzzed with low murmurs as the knights exchanged glances. The implications of what Sir Gedeon was saying were clear: the witches were after something more than just chaos.

"However," Sir Gedeon continued, his voice drawing the attention of every knight in the room.

All eyes were on him, waiting, the tension palpable.

"There is something else," he said, his tone grave and laced with concern. He took a deep breath, the seriousness of his next words evident in the way his gaze hardened. "The servant we apprehended muttered a name—one that we cannot take lightly. A name so devious it carries fear with it."

He paused, and the silence that followed was so profound it felt as if the very air had thickened around them.

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"Alastair."

The room seemed to freeze. The weight of the name hung heavy in the air, an oppressive force that settled on each of the knights. The atmosphere was suffocating, every breath a struggle against the sudden chill of fear.

Sir William, who had maintained his calm demeanor throughout, now appeared visibly shaken. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, his jaw clenched as he processed the implications of what he had just heard. Sir Francis's face was a picture of shock, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape, struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Across the table, Sir Dunham's expression was set in stone, his brow furrowed deeply. He sat with his arms crossed, his entire body radiating a deadly seriousness.

Suddenly, one of the knights shot to his feet, his face pale, eyes wide with fear. His voice trembled as he stammered, "It can't be, that's—"

"Demon Lord Alastair."

Sir Dunham's voice cut through the room like a knife, firm and final, leaving no room for doubt.

Sir Dunham's tone grew even more grave as he continued, "The neighboring kingdoms have taken notice of the commotion caused by the witches. Reports have already reached the Kingdom of Valoria, and they've dispatched a delegation. They're still en-route to the castle."

The room was silent for a moment as the knights processed this information. The presence of a delegation from Valoria meant that the situation was being watched closely beyond Rothrosia's borders. The political implications were vast; any sign of weakness could spell trouble for the kingdom.

One of the knights, leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concern. "

What about Aetheria? Have we heard anything from them?" He said.

Sir Dunham shook his head and answered. "No, there's been no word from Aetheria."

A murmur spread through the room. The kingdom of Aetheria was the most powerful realm in Caeloria, boasting vast lands, abundant resources, and the mightiest military force. More importantly, it was home to the sacred pilgrimage site of the Goddess Athia, the very heart of the faith that united the continent.

"I believe other neighboring kingdoms are now acting with greater caution," Sir Dunham continued, his voice steady but somber.

"Reports indicate that we are not the only kingdom to have faced such incidents," he added.

The room fell into a deeper silence as the knights absorbed the gravity of his words. Faces that had already been stern now appeared even more resolute, the weight of the situation bearing down on them like a heavy mantle.

Sir Dunham glanced around the table, ensuring he had everyone's attention. "I've received reports from multiple sources that other kingdoms have also faced threats—goblins, ogres, even dragons. And with the arrival of the savior"—his reference to Akimitsu was met with nods of acknowledgment—"one could conclude that the curse, or the promise, made by the Goddess Nishay may not be just a legend after all."

His words hung in the air, thick with implication. The knights shifted in their seats, the collective tension palpable. For years, the tales of Nishay's vengeful return had been whispered in dark corners, dismissed as mere superstition. But now, with so many ancient threats resurfacing, even the most skeptical had begun to reconsider.

"We need to be vigilant," Sir Dunham continued, his voice growing firmer. "From here on, we may face more threats to the kingdom. But it is our duty as Knight Errant to preserve peace in this realm and to safeguard not only the royal family but also the citizens under our protection."

His final words echoed in the chamber, carrying the weight of responsibility and the resolve that every knight in the room could feel deep within their bones. This was no longer a matter of political intrigue or territorial disputes. It was a battle for the very soul of Rothrosia and, perhaps, all of Caeloria.

...

Amidst the castle's shadowed passageway, where the evening sun filtered through the delicate tracery of the arched windows, Sir Francis and Sir William stood in a moment of reflective silence. The stone pathway stretched before them, illuminated by patches of warm, golden light that spilled through the intricate latticework, casting soft, dancing patterns on the worn, flagstone floor. The air was still, and the quiet echoed softly off the ancient walls, as if the castle itself were holding its breath.

Leaning against the cold stone of the archway, Sir William stared pensively into the distance, his thoughts seemingly still anchored in the recent meeting. Sir Francis, in contrast, sat against the opposite side of the arch, arms crossed over his chest, his expression caught somewhere between concern and frustration.

"What do you make out of all this?" Sir Francis asked finally, his voice low and tinged with unease.

Sir William exhaled deeply, his usual calm demeanor unshaken. "It's obvious. The world is headed toward chaos if the prophecy is true."

Sir Francis huffed in response, his brow furrowed. "Well, we have the savior, so it must be true." He raised his head, releasing a heavy sigh as his eyes drifted upward toward the vaulted ceiling. "To think that the legend we've heard since childhood is on the verge of being fulfilled... I just can't wrap my head around it. Rats!"

His tone was edged with irritation, his frustration palpable. Sir William observed his friend carefully, understanding the undercurrent of emotions that ran deeper than just the events at hand. The inauguration had been a particularly sore point for Sir Francis, especially after witnessing Princess Alicia's attentive interaction with the savior. The jealousy and confusion were clear as day to Sir William, but he chose not to address it directly.

A servant approached, his steps hurried as he neared the two knights. "Sir William," he said, slightly out of breath. Both Sir William and Sir Francis exchanged a quick, questioning glance.

“Yes, go on,” Sir William replied, his tone calm yet curious.

"The Royal Mage Angus sent me, my lord. It's about the parchment you brought back—the one Lady Sylvia gave you," the servant explained, his tone urgent, emphasizing the importance of the matter.

Sir William's expression turned serious, the weight of the situation sinking in. "Very well," he replied, standing straight. "Take me to him."

Inside the Royal Mage Angus's chamber, a room filled with shelves overflowing with ancient tomes and peculiar artifacts. Angus stood near his wooden table, arms crossed, his eyes locked onto a parchment spread out before him.

"Angus," Sir William greeted, but before he could say more, the mage cut him off with a voice laden with concern.

"The sketch Sylvia gave you," Angus began, "isn't a summoning circle." Both knights exchanged bewildered glances.

"It resembles one," Angus continued, his brow furrowed, "but it's actually a doorway—a portal between two separate locations. And there's a name etched into it. Alastair."

Sir Francis's eyes widened in shock. "Alastair?

"What does it mean?" Sir William asked, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

Angus exhaled, the weight of his words evident.

"It means, Sir William, that our land has been defiled by a creature so malicious it was thought to be cast into the void with the Goddess Nishay herself," he said.

A tense silence settled in the room, the implications of Angus's revelation sinking in.

The air felt heavy, filled with a sense of foreboding.