Part 1

Once upon a time, in a huge and beautiful land, there existed five kingdoms, each a jewel in a glowing crown. These worlds were home to cultures, full of life traditions, and strong warriors. Their lands were marked by waving fields, peaceful rivers, and tall mountains, but none were quite as amazing and interesting as the kingdom ruled by the cruel King. Under his strong leadership, the five kingdoms were merged.

The five kingdoms found themselves forced to merge under a single rule in order to avoid war. However, this forced existence faced a dark shadow with King's unfortunate passing. The news of King's death echoed through the lands. The kingdom, once held in an unsteady balance, now teetered on the brink of chaos.

The representatives of the five kingdoms gathered in the great hall of the capital to hear his only son's public statement. 'My lords, you are aware of the passing of my father,' Archlich began, his eyes scanning the faces before him. 'As his rightful heir, I now am your new king' he said boldly, 'I promise to support the values of my father, justice, honor, and the improvement of our worlds.' The guests listened intently.

'I know that the path ahead will be filled with challenges, but I trust that with your wisdom and support, we will overcome them as one.' he said. Archlich's advisor, Vizier's eyes shining with pride, nodded slightly to the young king, recognizing the perfect delivery of his speech. However, beyond the fancy sight, the faces of the four puzzling lords cast an almost opposite shadow over the gathering.

It seemed not all were convinced of Archlich's readiness to inherit the seat of power. 'You may possess your father's spirit, but can you hold the sword of command he soaked in this kingdom?' Lord Vosgar spoke up. In the records of the five kingdoms' history, there were few figures more polarizing than Lord Vosgar. Once celebrated as a perfect model of loyalty and courage, Vosgar's story had taken a dark turn.

'While it is true that you are the heir, you are still a child.' 'We cannot afford to wait for the young prince to mature,' he added. 'I may be young but I'm not inexperienced. I was present in battles alongside my father.' One by one, the lords voiced their reservations and concerns, each raising a different aspect of Archlich's perceived limits. 'But what else is there to do?' 'I'm the only successor to the king, am I not?' he said.

Archlich was lucky to have two loyal friends at his side, each possessing their own unique abilities: Vizier, his clever advisor, and Commander Jaran, his head of the army. Vizier watched carefully, his eyes narrowing as the lords continued to undermine the young prince. 'May I, my king?' Vizier stepped forward, his voice resonating through the hall. 'It seems the sneaky lords have already discussed this matter in your absence. This is only a charade they're putting on.' he said. 'Enough of the charade then.' 'Let us hear their big plans' said Commander Jaran.

'It is with deep regret,' said lord Regent the most cunning of all lords, 'that we must inform you of a change in our pre-planned future.' 'After much careful careful thinking, we have decided to shatter the union.' he said. Archlich, surprised, disappointed, and a little upset by Regent's bold courage, struggled to maintain his calmness. He felt a shooting pain claw at his heart. His cheeks were reddish-pink with anger, and his hands shook as he tried to strongly defend his authority. 'So, this decision was plotted long before?' Archlich asked.

'Indeed,' said Regent. 'The seeds of disagreement have been spread around deep within our ranks, and we have grown tired of your father's terrible rule. We have waited patiently for the time to come, and now that your father has passed, we declare our independence.' Regent was bold enough to stand in front of Archlich and make fun of his father to his face. Never had he imagined such an evil effort by a group of people he had considered allies. The meeting didn't last long. The young prince's speech was silenced, and his claim to rule was shattered.

One by one the lords turned their backs and walked away, signaling the shameful end of the meeting, their footsteps echoing through the empty hall like a sad complaint. As the last of them were gone, Archlich stood there, a sense of betrayal chewing at his core. 'Traitors!' he hissed. The kingdom that his father had very slowly and carefully brought together had now broken up into many, many scattered fiefdoms. The rule of Archlich, which had held so much promise at its beginning, had met a sudden and embarrassing death before it had even fully taken root. In a desperate attempt to save his rule, 'You have broken your vows. You will pay dearly for this.' he yelled.

The capital was a powerful and famous city. In the middle of its hurrying streets, lay a beautiful castle with tall spires, while its detailed walls and carvings whispered stories of a bygone time. The castle's interior was a maze of huge numbers of rooms and hallways, each decorated with beautiful furnishings. The grand hall, with its flying ceilings and large, fancy lighting fixtures, served as the heart of the castle.

Off the grand hall branched many hallways, each leading to rooms that held their attraction. To the left, the gallery welcomed those with a passion for art; a big and wide space filled with portraits of things that existed long. Further down the hallway, two heavy oak doors led to the library, maybe the most beautiful room of all. Hidden away in the west wing, away from the public area, were the private rooms.

In the depths of these private rooms, four traitors met in secret, their hearts on fire with want to do cruelty and evilness, and their target: Archlich, the late king's son. With emotionally intense feelings in their voices, they celebrated. 'We did it, lads,' Lord Regent said proudly. 'The bastard is done.' 'But what if he resists?' Lord Atheon asked nervously. The other lords looked at each other, their faces serious. They had thought about this possibility. 'He will not resist,' said Regent.

The traitors continued to plot and plan, their voices echoing in the darkness. They discussed every detail of their plan, from the moment they would attack to the moment they would claim victory. As the meeting drew to a close, the lords raised their glasses in a toast. 'To our victory!' they shouted. 'To the death of Archlich!' And with that, they drained their glasses and left the safe place. The palace was guarded by a powerful army of warriors, but the lords were not afraid. They had come too far to turn back now.

As Vosgar came out of the room his look fell upon a figure. It was the Army Commander, Jaran a man famous for his brilliance. 'So, my loyal friend, you cast your vote with them?' Jaran said. 'I had no choice. The tides have shifted, and I must change to fit the changing winds.' Vosgar replied. Slowly, Jaran nodded. 'Indeed, you have always been cautious and wise and perceptive.' 'I'm confident you understand the results that happen to those who risk to challenge the rightful order.' Jaran said. 'What are you hinting?' Vosgar asked.

The lords didn't stay within the walls any longer. They put on their coats and gathered their groups of assistants, preparing for the gates. Among the leaving was Lord Vosgar. 'I strongly encourage you to re-evaluate your loyalty, my friend.' Jaran's words echoed in his ears. The armor clinked, the horses snorted, and the lords were finally gone.

'You are my advisor,' 'What advice do you offer in this?' Archlich whispered sitting nervously on his throne. 'My mind fumbles, my king. The situation is dire indeed.' Vizier said. 'There must be a way to convince them, gold, lands, something.' Archlich said. At that moment Visier experienced an upsetting disturbance in the ground beneath his feet. His look stuck upon the detailed stone floor beneath his feet. 'Impossible!' 'It... stirs.' Vizier yelled in shock.

Archlich's eyes widened as the huge stone wheel embedded into the floor beneath his throne began to rotate. 'What is this weird-looking machine?' Archlich asked. 'The Wheel of Death,' Vizier explained. 'Legend whispers that it only stirs when the delicate balance of power among the kingdoms is disrupted.' 'Will it ever stop?' Archlich asked. 'Only when there's war and the spilled blood is enough,' Vizier replied. Panic suddenly rushed through Archlich as visions of his death and the crumbling of his empire danced before his clouded eyes. Visier watched Archlich's torture. He had predicted this moment.

Part 2

In the heart of a huge and very old continent, where five powerful kingdoms fight for control, lay a mysterious area, a place of superstition. At the very heart of it is a hidden valley known as the Witchwood. This world was said to be the home of witches. Old stories spoke of powerful sorceresses who dwell within its dark depths.

One messenger arrived at the gates of the Witchwood, a young squire from the court of Lord Regent. The gate walls were decorated with detailed runes and glowing crystals. 'Welcome, brave squire,' The Grandmaster of the witches greeted. 'What brings you to our secret place?' he said. 'Greetings,' the squire announced. 'I am here for my Lord Regent, who tries to hire your best talent.'

The squire, tired from his travels, was greeted with warmth and hospitality. The Grandmaster welcomed the squire into his presence and offered him a seat at his table. As the squire settled into his chair, the Grandmaster looked at him. 'So tell me, young lad, why have you come to my humble home once more?' he asked.

'My lord Regent, he has taken a new, interesting approach to conflict. He recognizes the important power of magic.' 'Instead of collecting huge legions, he extends his gold to hire magicians.' the squire explained. 'Our kingdom faces war. We require help to defeat the enemy. We can employ all you can spare.'

The Grandmaster thought carefully about the squire's request for a moment. 'Indeed, the future of kingdoms hangs in the balance,' he carefully thought. 'I think I have exactly what you're looking for. But let me tell you a story first.' Seated carefully before the Grandmaster, the squire listened eagerly to his story.

'During the rule of the late king now passed, a young name Anya was brought to my presence.' I approached the girl. 'What is your name, child?' I asked. No answer from her side. I examined her. 'Frail, but further testing is important. Subject her to the trials.' I instructed. 'She got on the training grounds that only the very unusual witches can last through. The trials that waited for her were as deadly as they were unforgiving. Her body was pushed to its physical limits, her mind tortured by images that tried to break her sanity.' the Grandmaster continued. 'She went beyond all our expectations.' The squire's brow grooved in curiosity. 'How so?' The squire asked.

'She released a strong power that froze the whole training area.' the Grandmaster remembered. 'It was like time stood still,' 'A thick layer of ice enveloped everything in its path.' The freezing effect extended to other trainees.' As the story reached its exciting part the squire couldn't help but ask, 'What happened next?'

'If we had not been fast in our response, they would have surely died,' the Grandmaster said with a sad expression. 'Their bodies were encased in ice, their life force quickly fading. We had to act quickly, using powerful magic to melt their frozen bodies and restore their important functions.' 'She could prove useful for us,' the squire said. The Grandmaster leaned forward, his voice taking on a tone. 'She is a little too powerful for the likes of us,' he said carefully. 'I sense she is not from our world. Her unknown origin fills me with worry.'

In the next room, a quiet conversation unfolded among three puzzling witches. 'We cannot keep her here,' whispered one of the witches. Behind them, Anya, the subject of their whispered group discussions, stood silently. 'I heard Lord Regent has offered a good price for her,' hissed another witch. 'We should get rid of her immediately'

While the capital held the title of the most important big city, the kingdom of Regent was as good evidence of the fact that beauty could grow beyond the busy streets of the central hub. In the heart of his beautiful palace, decorated with detailed carvings and shimmering gold, sat lord Regent upon his throne. The palace was good evidence of his wealth and power, its walls decorated with fabrics and its floor inlaid with valuable gems.

As the gates of the palace creaked open, a figure of young energy stepped into the grand room. 'My lord, I have got together a group of the most skilled witches as you commended.' The young squire's face lit up with pride. 'And what of the costs?' Regent asked. 'I was able to do a bargain,' the squire replied with a twinkle in his eye.

'We will station them at the heart of our forces, where their spells will provide us with a clear advantage. They will fight for us.' he said. Regent nodded in agreement. 'You did a great job,' he said. 'One more thing my lord. I was able to secure a really powerful mage.' 'I am informed that her powers are impressively strong.' Squire said. Regent eyes narrowed. 'And where is she now?' Regent asked. 'On her way' Squire responded. 'You have made sure of her loyalty to our cause?' Regent pressed. 'I have, my lord.'

There was a famous road that connected all roads to the heart of Regent's kingdom. An old-fashioned tavern decorated with weathered wood and lamps laid in the middle. Anya found herself seated alone at the table. It was her first time traveling beyond the familiar confines of her home. She was neither confused nor afraid. Instead, she was filled with a sense of excitement and wonder.

A whispered conversation unfolded between the bartender and his wife. Curiosity grips him as he looks at the alone woman seated at the table. 'What should I get her?' the bartender asks, his voice quiet. 'I have no idea,' his wife whispers. 'She seems mute.' The bartender leans closer, his voice barely able to be heard. 'Is she a witch?' 'Maybe.' the wife said. The bartender's eyes widen in surprise. 'I've never seen a witch in here before.' But Anya was not the only surprise to the bartender.

Suddenly tavern doors creaked open. All eyes turned towards the entrance, drawn like moths to a flame by the figure that came out. As it stepped inside, the tavern fell silent, all eyes drawn to its presence. The figure's hood hid its face. With a hunting walk, it moved towards Anya's table. Anya's knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip on the handle of her long, wooden staff. 'Can I get you something?' asked the bartender shyly. 'Fuck off,' the figure growled. The bartender quickly retreated to the safety of the counter.

As the figure looked upon the table, it saw a mage seated on the opposite side. A woman, covered in a flowing white gown. Slowly, the figure slowly moved forward, its heavy paws padding softly on the stone floor. It lowered itself into the chair across from Anya, its huge head just above the table. A long silence hung between them. The figure's nose flared as it inhaled the woman's scent. It leaned forward. 'Don't be afraid, little witch,' it hissed. 'I'm not here to hurt you...'

'Hey, buddy,' One stranger yelled, 'I think you're the one who needs to fuck off.' Figure's attention moved to the unexpected interruption, focusing intensely on the stranger. Silence surrounded the tavern, thick and terrible before a cruel smile spread across its face. With a fast and violent movement, the figure sheds its coat, showing a truly shocking and terrible sight. Sharp claws stuck out from its monster-like hands, teeth rough and razor-sharp, and glowing eyes.

With an angry growl, the beast sent the stranger crashing to the ground. Anya wasting no time threw a blast of ice pieces at the beast, but her spells shattered harmlessly against its thick hide. With lightning speed, she struck the ground with her staff, freezing it beneath the beast's feet. It roared in frustration his nostrils flaring like the breath of a fire-breathing monster. Grabbing the opportunity, Anya turned and escaped from the tavern.

'You let her escape,' said Vosgar, his voice like thunder in the storm. 'Bringing them alive isn't my specialty, brother,' Beast answered back. 'I'm not your brother,' Vosgar hissed. 'We're from the same mother, ain't we?' Beast said. 'We don't need magicians,' 'All we need is to turn.' it continued, 'Turn into animals?' Vosgar whispered. 'Animals win wars, brother' Beast argued. 'No,' Vosgar said.

Vosgar clan, not weak human beings, but a strong race of wild animals, born for the only purpose of fighting war. The Vosgars possessed the very best strength. Their bodies were improved, their claws sharp as knives and their fangs capable of tearing through flesh with ease. Their numbers had been reducing for centuries, and their once-mighty kingdom was on the edge of destruction.

Lord Vosgar had created an amazing and interesting garden that served as a safe place for living animals. Within its green and beautiful walls, creatures great and small roamed freely, their voices mixing in a pleasing harmony. In the middle of the green and beautiful blooms, Vosgar and his wife dug into the depths of their hearts, sharing their innermost careful thinking.

'Love. What are your thoughts on this worsening conflict?' Vosgar said. His wife, famous for her extreme wisdom and quiet personality, responded with a playful faintly shine in her eyes. 'My dear husband, I am but a simple woman. How could I understand the details of war?' she said. 'My brother believes we should turn violent and destroy our enemies.', Vosgar said.

Wife's personality changed. Her smile faded. 'My loved,' 'you know all too well the horrors we tolerated the last time we gave in to our gut feelings. The destruction, the violence and death, the loss of life, a path we promised never to tread again.' she said. Vosgar's look flickered with unease. 'But in our present form, we are weak,' he sadly complained. 'It is exactly in our weakness that our true strength lies.' she said. 'I suppose you're right.' Vosgar said.

'Beast is back!' A voice boomed as Beast entered the guard's building, his huge presence filled the space. 'Welcome back brother!' 'His drink is on me!' a guard offered. Raising the drinking cup Beast nodded, a hint of a gentle smile gracing his features. 'Glad you're back' the guard who served him said. 'How are things between you and Lord Vosgar?' the guard said. Beast's face hardened, his eyes with a hint of annoyance. 'My brother and I are none of your fucking business,' it growled.

Part 3

In the world of sovereigns, there lay a kingdom where Aethon ruled. His seat was decorated with fancy and comfortable cushions and silken drapes. Aethon, a man of desire with shockingly bold dreams settled into a comfortable chair, his look fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace. Beside him, his trusted right hand sat on the edge of his seat. 'My trusted Right Hand,' Aethon looked at him, 'inform me of the state of our armed forces.'

A sad expression settled upon the Right Hand's face. 'Your beauty. Where shall I begin?' 'Our financial reserves have been exhausted, and we lack the gold to recruit added soldiers.' 'Those who remain are fit for combat but their numbers are low.' he said. A frown creased Aethon's brow. 'Should we send out a very simple force, we risk giving up our rightful claim on the spoils of war,' Aethon thought carefully about it out loud.

The Right Hand cleared his throat, offering a possibly unusual solution. 'Might I suggest the employment of paid soldiers?' he said. 'Mercenaries?' Aethon's eyes narrowed. 'But they are known for their dangerous nature and unpredictability.' he said. 'But if the enemy witnesses the size of our forces, they will likely give up without resorting to violence.' Right Hand argued.

At that moment the castle doors swung open. Aethon's loved daughter entered with a glowing smile, her presence lighting the room. 'Greetings, Father,' she said. 'I bring news of great joy.' 'The arrangements for my upcoming wedding are moving forward quickly.' Aethon and the Right Hand shared a knowing look. 'May I ask, my lady,' 'as to the projected cost of this grand affair?' Right Hand carefully asked.

'It will be the most beautiful and fancy wedding these kingdoms have ever seen,' 'Are you not filled with excitement, my lords?' she said. 'Indeed, my dearest daughter,' Aethon replied. 'You may retire now and focus on the preparations.' With a beautiful bow, the Princess left, leaving Aethon and the Right Hand alone in thoughtful silence. 'Your Beauty,' the Right Hand began, 'how will we cover the huge costs of both the wedding and the paid soldiers?'

'My considered Right Hand,' Aethon's voice dripped with confidence, 'We will delay payment until victory ' he said. 'A brilliant plan.' Right Hand added. Aethon went into more detail, 'Once our legions grab and take control of the capital, we will generously reward them with the huge fortune collected from the capital.' Aethon said. 'Your thinking of the future is unlike any other thing in the world,' the Right Hand said.

Blacksmiths worked hard day and night, forming weapons and armor. Heavy footsteps thunder as guardsmen march in groups, their armor loudly ringing against their bodies. The squires mounted their horses and ran off, their mission to gather mercenaries. As they searched high and low, they met an assorted crew. Some were bow-and-arrow hunters, others had some skill at holding swords. The squires, themselves tired and underpaid, knew that these men were not the ideal soldiers, but they were the best that Aethon could offer.

'Guards,' Princess called. 'Yes, my Lady,' the guard responded with a respectful bow. 'I need your help in a matter of great importance,' she said. 'My wedding is fast approaching, and I would be honored if some of you would lend your support in the preparations.' 'But my lady,' the guard protested, 'we are involved in preparing for a war.' 'We cannot spare the soldiers needed for such a job.' Princess's expression hardened. 'I was not asking for your opinion,' 'I only informed you of my command.' she said with a cold authority.

Not unknown to Aethon, his nearby kingdom was also secretly preparing for the coming conflict. Lied down in the middle of green and beautiful hills, the Kingdom of Atheria. Its mountains guard its borders. This was a rich kingdom, ruled by Arlic the Second. With his horse dismounted, Ethan approached Alric. 'Father,' he said. 'I have just returned from the capital with... troubling news.' Ethan began. Alric, weak and still, listened intently as Ethan unwrapped the terrible news. 'The bastard has declared war against us.' Ethan's look remained stuck upon the ground as he spoke.

'I ask your permission to prepare our army for what is to come.' Ethan said. A deep silence hung over the room as each member of the household wrestled with war news. Alric's health crumbled, making him not move and voiceless. His chief advisor, a smart man with silvered hair approached. 'I cannot help but question the wisdom of starting this conflict from the bastard's side.' the chief advisor spoke. 'Why would he now invite unnecessary risk?' he said.

Ethan's face remained unemotional. 'They must have some sort of hidden plan but I have complete faith in our forces. ' Ethan said. The chief advisor nodded slowly. With a sad expression, he whispered, 'Alric's health is reducing. As his only daughter's husband, the mantle now falls upon your shoulders. May caution guide you, Lord Ethan, for the battlefield is a dangerous place, where even the best-laid plans can go wrong.'

In the rich-looking spaces of the royal palace, a conversation unfolded between a humble maid, and Princess, the loved wife of Ethan. 'My lady,' Maid began, 'I have heard whispers of lord Ethan's departure for the war.' 'But my lady, why?' she asked. 'It is a matter of honor. He must go and fight for what is right.' Princess replied. 'Lord Ethan is brave,' 'He would not wait to lay down his very life for you.' said the maid.

Ethan a famous figure, and a young leader whose thinking ability fought against his age. He had united the broken-up lands of Atheria before. Ethan's legions were not composed of mere foot soldiers. Instead, he searched for the most skilled knights from every corner. Knights from distant lands went to his flag, eager to fight next to a commander who valued their abilities. As Ethan's army grew, so too did its reputation. Word spread throughout Atheria of the strong force that was being got together under the young Ethan's command.

In the grand hall of Atheria Warriors and knights got together beneath the ceiling. The doors opened, telling about a procession of an armored figure. At their head strode the mighty Ethan. Behind him came his elite guards. One by one, the warriors took their places in the hall, their weapons at the ready. The knights were covered in shining mail, their flags moving unsteadily above them. 'We ride for war!' Ethan's voice echoed through the hall. The knights' heads moved up and down.

Knights put on their protective metal and other coverings, their swords shining. Ethan surveyed his troops. 'Remember, my brothers,' he said, his voice carrying the weight of huge numbers of fights, 'we fight not only for His Majesty but for our homeland.' A very loud cheer from the knights, their voices shaking the very foundations of the castle. As the large gates creaked open, a very loud roar filled the air. The knights, covered in shiny armor on mighty horses, suddenly rushed forward. The ground shook beneath their hooves as they thundered across the open field, their knives leveled and their flags moved in the wind. The war, long expected had finally begun.

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Part 4

As the sun sets, casting long shadows across the walls of the capital, whispers weave their way through the quiet streets. Stories of an upcoming invasion leave the people scared. They speak of a huge army, led by the Regent, marching unstoppably towards the capital. The once-peaceful capital braces itself for war. The city's walls were once a symbol of peace and richness but are now used as defense. The young ruler searched for the advice of his most trusted.

'We cannot survive the attack of four kingdoms at once.' said Vizier. 'Three,' All eyes turned towards the speaker. Jaran's thin lips curled into a knowing smile. 'Lord Vosgor will match up with the winner. We must come out winning.' Jaran's words started a flicker of hope within Archlich. He was fueled 'Victory has not only been figured out by the size of one's army but by strategy.' Jaran said.

'Go on.' Archlich said. 'I was once a formidable warrior, feared by my enemies,' 'But pride clouded my judgment, and it was my undoing.' Archlich's eyes widened as Jaran retold his story. Jaran's voice was a sweet-sounding whisper 'Yet, through the loyalty of my followers, I was spared nothingness. They took my broken body to a forbidden land, where I met a sorceress of very unusual power. With her necromantic abilities, she filled me with a curse never dying, changing me into Jaran the Undead.'

'We can create an army of the undead,' Archlich yelled. 'But my king, forbidden magic is dangerous. It ruins the user and endangers the lands.' Vizier said. 'We have no other choice. The backstabbers have left us with no option.' Archlich's words sent shakes down Vizier's spine. 'I'm tired of doing nothing. We must fight fire with fire.' Archlich then got up from his chair and moved to where Jaran was standing. He raised his hand and put it on Jaran's shoulder. 'Jaran might be our only hope. Do not disappoint me, Jaran.'

'I will not let you down,' 'I will hold this forbidden magic with extreme caution, and I will use it for defense only.' Jaran promised. 'So be it. We have no choice but to use this double-edged sword.' said Archlich. Vizier who had been standing at the back of the room. 'My king, we have access to the big wealth your father collected over the years. We can use it to fund our military efforts.' he said. 'What use does gold have if we're going to lose this war?' 'Invest it all in our military.' Archlich instructed.

Archlich called for a big increase in the size of his standing army, as well as the purchase of new weapons and equipment. To fund the expansion he tapped into the capital's reserves, which have been piled up over many years of cautious and wise management. The reserves were now guessed to be worth over a billion coins.

The inflow of new recruits injected a rush of energy into Archlich's forces. The ranks, once thinned by the horrors of war, began to swell with strength. Young and old, seasoned people who served in the military and eager newbies, stood shoulder to shoulder. The capital's streets were flooded with huge large groups of soldiers. Their numbers stretched as far as the eye could see. As the legions marched with very loud tread, the people of the capital paused in amazement.

'With so many more soldiers joining the ranks, we now have a never-ending supply of toilets to clean,' The poor man sadly complained. 'Well, at least it's better than dying in a foolish war,' his friend made him feel better. Their conversation was interrupted by the serious voice of a guard. 'Hey, you two,' he barked at a pair of them who had been scrubbing the porcelain. 'I have a special assignment for you.' the guard said.

They followed the guard. The guard brought the poor men to a military grave, poor men's faces etched with confusion. As poor men swapped looks, a shovel was thrust into their hands by the stern-looking guard. 'Start digging,' the guard commanded. The men waited, their hearts pounding. 'What are we digging?' asked the taller of the two. 'An army.' the guard responded.

Deep beneath the busy streets of the capital lay a maze-like recess, a hidden world known only to the brave Commander Jaran. This maze-like network of tunnels and rooms had remained undisturbed for centuries, its secrets hidden from the eyes of ordinary people. Jaran had long kept a very old ancient being locked in this prison. The creature possessed unknown power. For years, Jaran had fed and cared for it.

'Commander is here!'. The guards shouted. 'How fares the dragon?' Jaran asked. The guard, his voice shaking with fear and nervousness, paused in his response, 'My apologies, Commander, but she seems... unwell.' the guard said. With measured long steps, Jaran made his way to the heart of the cave, where a mighty dragon lay prisoner, its chains mixed up around the stubborn stone.

Jaran an unbeatable spirit had always come out successful in every conflict he had fought in the past. However, the standing near and threatening war presented a different challenge that needed more than mere physical abilities. Jaran had figured out a perfect plan. He approached the dying dragon. As he gently touched its scaled hide, the dragon stirred and looked into Jaran's eyes. It let out a faint groan. 'I bring news of great disappointment.' As Jaran spoke, a cover of darkness seemed to lower upon the cave. The dragon's eyes flickered weakly.

'Forgive me,' Jaran whispered. The dragon's eyes open, a tiny amount of understanding in their depths. It nodded its huge head as if giving its permission. Jaran carefully drew a shiny blade from its sword holder. The blade's polished surface caught the faint glow of lamps. With a shaking hand, Jaran lifted the blade and with one fast movement, the knife pierced the very old dragon's flesh, starting a scream that echoed through the cave's recesses.

Jaran suddenly moved back in horror as life slowly escaped from the dragon. 'Bring her in.' Guards shouted. The cave's entrance was a very wide mouth, with rough and sharp edges. As the sorcerer stepped inside, the darkness surrounded her like a blanket. An old and bad-smelling odor filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of rot. With each step, the sorcerer moved downward deeper into the tunnels.

Part 5

As the first rays of the sun began to set armies from five kingdoms came together upon the gates of the capital. Thousands of soldiers prepared for what promised to be a tough fight. From the west, the mighty large armies of the Regent and Ethan marched in. To the east, the wandering groups of the Aethon gathered. From the north, the hardened warriors of the Vosgar clans moved downward from the mountains.

Aethon's group stood with swords and spears in front. Regent's spellcasters occupied the center, and bringing up the rear was Vosgar's army. The capital was now officially under attack. As the four armies drew closer, the capital defenders watched with fear and nervousness from behind their walls. The once-hurrying city was now a ghost town, its residents hidden within the city holes. Archlich stood on top of the protecting walls, his look stuck upon the huge army that encircled his stronghold. Large numbers of enemy warriors stretched as far as the eye could see.

A single rider became visible. Decorated with a white flag. The rider approached the gate, 'I carry a message from my lord Regent,' he declared in a voice that reflected across the battlefield. 'Surrender now, and he will spare your life.' turning his horse and riding back towards his ranks. Vizier shook his head in feelings that there was no hope. 'Fifteen thousand men, at least,' he whispered.

The enemy stood totally still outside the stone walls. They awaited Archlich's surrender but there was no sign of it. 'We're wasting time,' Aethon said with frustration. 'He rather dies than surrender.' 'Shall we make the first move then?' Regent said. The commanders raised their flags signaling the beginning ceremony of war. With a very loud roar, the massive army suddenly rushed forward.

Archlich's archers were positioned at the walls, their arrows capable of piercing the thickest armor from far away. He ordered them to rain down arrows on any advancing group and so they did. The castle was built of old stone and strengthened with powerful material. Archlich's engineers had figured out very intelligent traps and blockings to interfere with the enemy's progress. Mighty object-throwing machines freed a blast of giant rocks.

With each passing hour, the enemy's unstoppable attack grew in strength, testing the limits of the defenders. Defenders fought back strongly. They held firm throwing giant rocks from the protecting walls, crushing any attackers who risked to travel close. The loud sound of arrows filled the air, and the unstoppable thud of enemy soldiers' boots shook the ground as they marched upon the fort.

Enemy catapults threw fireballs towards the castle walls. Each fireball was filled with destructive power. As they flew through the air, trails of burning flame were left behind them. Upon hit, the balls exploded with an earth-shattering force, reducing sections of the castle to rubble. 'My king,' yelled Vizier, 'We must take cover.' The once-mighty castle of Archlich had crumbled under the explosions. The once-stubborn walls now stood full of wide holes.

The second wave, an even larger and more unstoppable force, now approached the wide holes. 'It appears that the conflict will end before it has truly begun. We hugely overestimated this whelp's ability to mount a defense.' announced Ethan. 'Only a little shadow of the threat we expected.' 'After all, my troops have carried the biggest part of the fighting.' Aethon said. 'I in a carefully planned way sent them in front hoping many would die,' 'I can't afford to pay them all. Their deaths will save me a fortune.' he joked.

The lords enjoyed their supposed victory. It seemed they had defeated Archlich, securing their control over the capital. However, the joy was short-lived. As their cheers lessened, their looks lifted skyward. As the smoke cleared and the ring of swords lessened, a huge shadow originated upon the battlefield, its fiery breath lighting the night sky. Its scales shined and sparkled, and its claws dripped. Its eyes burned with an unholy fire.

The enemy soldiers caught off guard, were unable to move. Their faces turned into a scene of panic. Their weapons seemed pointless. The dragon circled overhead. With each very loud roar, it freed a huge amount of flames, burning everything in its path. Dragon's fiery breath lit the sky like a thousand bright suns. Screams filled the air as soldiers burst into flames, their bodies destroyed in an instant. The lords watched in shock as men were destroyed before their very eyes. Jaran sat like a bird on top of the dragon. He flew through the air, 'drem yol lok,' he whispered.

The spellcasters responded with magical songs, calling for bolts of lightning, twisting and flowing swirls of ice. High on top of the huge protecting walls, stood Archlich. 'This is the most exciting sight I have ever seen,' he said happily. As the enemy soldiers marched through they found themselves in a terrible situation. Their numbers were reducing, their mood was low. Little did they know that their troubles were far from over, for an even greater threat waited.

By the gates, a cortege of heavily loaded wagons came to a halt. 'We have a package to deliver.' The poor man said. Two guards approached the carts. A strong-smelling stink of rot filled the atmosphere, setting their teeth on edge. 'Are these... dead bodies?' guards asked. 'Yes,' replied the poor man. 'We removed them from graves one by one.' he said. 'Leave them here,' commanded the guard. Sirens yelled through the air, the gates began to swing open. With an unnatural rumbling, an army of the undead came out from the gates. Their bodies were destroyed, stripped of all clothing, driven by an unstoppable thirst for destruction.

Anya released powerful spells freezing the undead army and shattering them into pieces. Yet for everyone she destroyed, two more came out. She released an extremely large blast of magical arrows at them her spellcasting abilities echoing through the battlefield. Others joined her song, disrupting the undead army with their combined power. Fireballs danced across the battlefield. Blood stained the ground, mixing with the powder left over after burning.

The lords' grip on the war seemed to weaken. The tides of war were slowly turning against them. With every fallen soldier, the circle of four armies grew smaller, their escape route reducing to the edge of nothingness. Vosgor's eyes shined with cold calculation. He had heard stories of Jaran's abilities, but the sight before him went past his wildest nightmares.

'We can't hold it much longer,' Aethon said with concern, 'We must retreat.' 'No.' Ethan said pointing towards Vosgar, positioned at the rear of the battlefield. 'Vosgar has betrayed us,' said Ethan. 'Dragon has only been attacking the front armies. Vosgar isn't with us.' Vosgar's army had skillfully positioned itself to encircle now three armies, effectively cutting off their escape routes. The three lords were unaware of the Vosgar threat until it was too late.

'Surrender now, and I will spare your life.' Archlich shouted. His look met Regent's across the battlefield. Regent remained silent. The dragon vomited forward huge amounts of fire, burning whole military units after it had left. The undead army charged forward, their bodies impervious to pain and fear. Regent had seen huge numbers of fights in his long life and knew that there could be victory in defeat but this wasn't one of them.

'We have no other choice but to surrender,' Aethon cried. 'I cannot lose this war,' Ethan said 'I will be mocked in the eyes of Atheria.' 'Please,' Atheon whispered, his voice barely a plea. 'Let us live. I have no desire for death.' With a heavy heart, Regent finally raised his hand, signaling surrender.

Part 6

Guards marched through the streets, their voices booming with the announcement of victory. 'Gather poor people! Spread the word that the young king has won the war. All these lands are now under one rule!' The sound of their boots thundered through the streets, along with the very happy cheers of the crowds that had gathered to see their victory. People young and old lined the sidewalks, waving flags and showering the guards with lots of confetti and flowers.

After a lengthy and bloody attack, the capital lay in ruins. As the dust settled, the bodies of the fallen lay thrown in ugly heaps, piled high like monuments to the horrors of war. The faces of the dead were half-blackened in expressions of extreme pain. Some had been pierced by arrows, their bodies still holding the shafts that had ended their lives. Others had been hacked to pieces their limbs and torsos cut off.

The war was a red-hot container testing the limits of both Archlich and his followers. It formed unbreakable new bonds. Archlich now a symbol of hope and renewal sat upon the decorated throne. 'My brave warriors,' he boomed, 'We come out from this war, stronger and more united. Let this victory serve as good evidence of our toughness and resilience.' The warriors roar their approval, their voices shaking the hall.

Vizier the advisor sought the king's permission to bring in the captured. 'Should we bring them in, my king?' he said. Archlich nodded. The guards escorted a group of chained prisoners into the King's presence. 'The war is at an end, and you have failed, my lords' rising from the throne Archlich announced. As Archlich approached, he paused to watch. His look was penetrating as if he could penetrate the very souls of the prisoners.

He paced around them. 'I wonder whose very intelligent mind planned this coup?' he said, his look on Aethon. 'Are you responsible, Lord Aethon?' Aethon shook his head distancing himself from any involvement. 'Perhaps it was Lord Alric's high-reaching son-in-law?' Archlich suggested, his look changing towards Ethan. 'What does it matter now?' Ethan said.

Turning to Regent, Archlich leaned forward and stared at him. 'It was you, Lord Regent, wasn't it?' Archlich's voice was a low, rough whisper. 'You planned to forcefully take me and announce yourself king.' Regent's face paled. His body shook. 'My Liege,' he talked unclearly, 'I beg for mercy. I... I did not mean to betray you.' Regent fell to Archlich's knees, his hands held together in prayer. 'Please, have mercy' he pleaded.

'Nay, lord Regent I should thank you. This unfortunate turn of events has filled me with happiness.' Archlich cruelly suddenly said. 'Happiness, my Liege?' Regent asked with fear in his face. 'Aye,' Archlich responded. He walked slowly back to his throne. 'I must admit I enjoyed all of this. My only regret is I didn't get enough of it.'

Aethon, overloaded with shame and guilt, tried to get permission to attend his daughter's upcoming wedding. 'It is a matter of extreme importance, King' he begged. 'Your daughter's joy shall not be contaminated by your stupidity, Lord Aethon.' A wave of laughter swept through the hall. Archlich then turned to Vosgar 'You made a vise decision, lord Vosgar,' 'I only did what was necessary,' Vosgar replied.

'We have spent too long plotting. Enough talk, let's celebrate.' Archlich declared. The grand hall was lit up by the torches and decorated with fabrics. Groups of people gathered, their expressions radiating with happiness and pride. 'My king Archlich,' One rich man said, his voice ringing with respect, 'your stubborn spirit and brave heart have led us to a beautiful victory. May your name forever be written in the records of history.'

'My king,' another rich man spoke, 'your wisdom and brilliance have confused our enemies. 'We offer our emotional congratulations on this very important occasion.' The cheering strengthened. Archlich's name echoed through the grand hall. His eyes sparkled. Young squires and ladies-in-waiting alike looked at Archlich with deep love.

From the grand hall, the sound of partying filled the air. The laughter of people, the clinking of glasses, and the melodies of musicians. The prison cells were filled with loud sounds. Anya found herself confined within a small, isolated cell with cold, damp walls. A figure approached Anya's cell. Anya, her head bowed, her eyes fixed intently on the cold, stone floor. 'I believe we have not met,' figure began. Anya's head lifted a little. 'You possess abilities that go way past the understanding of ordinary people,' the figure continued. 'I can set you free, given certain conditions are met.'

In the corner of the yard, two men stood apart, their voices quiet. The full-of-life atmosphere surrounding them seemed to fade away as they started at a private exchange. 'We must address the bad after-effects of war.' The first guard's look turned to the undead soldiers. 'What will become of them?' he asked. 'I am uncertain,' the second guard replied thoughtfully. 'The sorceress who raised them did not invest much effort in the process. I fear they may become unstable.'

As the partiers danced and sang, a creaking sound grew stronger. A huge, iron-covered wheel was grinding and scraping against the stone. Archlich didn't notice the disturbance immediately. There was too much noise. 'My king, look,' Vizier encouraged. 'Wheel of Death, it seems to be rotating still' 'That means not enough blood has been spilled.' he said. Archlich's confusion was obvious. 'But we have defeated our enemies,' he said. 'Who else remains to fight?'

The party was finally over. The great hall, once filled with the laughter and cheers of proud people, now stood empty. The long tables were bare, save for a few stray fancy cups and platters of untouched food. The next day in the private room of King Archlich, a meeting of great importance was happening. Famous and important figures were before him: Archlich himself, Jaran, Lord Vosgar, and Vizier. 'My friends,' Archlich looked at them, 'I have called upon you to look for your wisdom. While the war we saw has stopped, the wheel of death hasn't stopped rolling.'

'The wheel of death?' Vosgar asked, his brow grooved. Vizier stepped forward, 'The wheel describes a possible future event, war, and death. The wheel demands the shedding of blood.' his voice carrying a serious undertone. 'I have identified a good destination for our future fight.' Archlich said. 'The Forbidden Lands.'

'Isn't it forbidden to tread in those territories?' Vosgar asked. 'Indeed,' Archlich admitted, 'but our conditions demand an exception.' 'We lack knowledge of these lands. We may be walking into a trap.' Vosgar protested. 'It is a risk we must take,' 'The results of ignoring the threat created by Queen Sisira could be extremely terrible.' Archlich argued. 'Queen Sisira?' Vosgar said.

'She searched for a safe place after her defeat at the hands of my father. Intelligence suggests Sisira has returned to the Forbidden Lands, collecting an army to attack us.' 'We have a strong force, a dragon, an undead army, and huge numbers of soldiers. I am confident in our victory.' Archlich said. 'But why?' Vosgar asked. Archlich paused before answering. 'We must face this threat head-on. We cannot allow Queen Siria to challenge our rule.'

In the halls after the meeting, a quiet conversation unfolded. 'You have lost your mind,' Vosgor spoke in a low voice. 'Do you truly believe stepping into the forbidden Lands is wise?' he said. Vizier remained silent. 'Even the greatest armies feared that place. We will never return,' Vosgar warned. 'I was not the one who counseled the King to travel there.' Vizier said. 'Let me guess. It was Jaran. I'm afraid he won't be able to bring back from the dead this time,'

Lord Aethon made his return to his lands. His brave knights and loyal guards hailed their lord with impressive cries of joy and relief. As Lord Aethon dismounted his horse, his loved daughter eagerly hugged him. Tears of happiness shined in her eyes as she yelled, 'My dearest Father! I have been filled with constant worry for your safety.' Lord Aethon gently touched his daughter's hair, replying with a comforting voice, 'Fear not, my child. King himself has kindly promised to support your upcoming marriage.' Princess's eyes sparkled with both surprise and joy. 'That is beautiful news, father!'

At the campfires, King Archlich and Jaran began a serious walk through the military camp. The beat of drums was mixed with the quiet talk of soldiers preparing for the difficult war ahead. They went through the sprawling tents, Archlich's look sweeping over the faces of his loyal knights. 'I will lead our forces myself this time' Archlich announced.

'You think I can ride that dragon of yours, Jaran?' Archlich said. 'King's well-being is of most importance. Such a trip would expose you to unnecessary risk.' Jaran said. Archlich thought carefully about it for a moment before asking, 'Inform me of our army's readiness.' 'Our legions have collected in their entirety,' Jaran reported. 'Their abilities and mood are at their high point.' Archlich nodded.

'We should be aware of unexpected things within these forbidden lands,' Jaran warned. 'Are there any traces of people within its borders?' Archlich asked. 'Once, there was,' Jaran replied sadly. 'However, the unforgiving elements have forced them to give in to the attraction of strong curses.' Jaran said. 'Then their unavoidable future must be sealed,' 'I cannot lose this war, Jaran. We must recruit all fighting men from all of the five kingdoms.' Archlich mumbled. 'We can double the number of undead.' Jaran suggested. 'Triple their numbers if needs be' Archlich responded. 'I will spare nothing. I will gather the strongest army the world has ever seen.'

Across the five kingdoms, the call went out. Kings and queens alike called for their finest warriors. The horn call has resonated through villages and towns. The great army was not formed from a single kingdom but from the combined might of all five. The job of putting together such a huge force was not to be underestimated. Months of constant effort were needed.

Word of preparations for war spread like wildfire throughout the lands. The treacherous lords eagerly swore loyalty to the Archlich, who welcomed them into the ranks of his impressively strong army. Prisoner soldiers were freed from their chains. The capital's army swelled to never-before-seen proportions, doubling in size as undead soldiers rose from the dead. These warriors would now march side by side with the living.

High above the capital, a mighty dragon flew beautifully. The dragon would serve as the lead of the archlich's army. In the middle of the noise confusion and preparation, Anya, a tired and wounded mage from a previous conflict, stood ready to face one more fight. Her body was scarred, and her spirit beat.

As the king entered the open space where the army gathered a hush fell over the crowd. He was covered in ceremonial golden robes, and his crown was decorated with jewels. With a serious expression, the king climbed up the steps to a grand podium. His look swept across the grouped-together army. As he prepared to address them, his voice boomed forward, his words carrying a promise.

'I stand before you, my loyal army. For the hour has come when we start on a glorious war, a war that will forever etch our names in the records of history as the greatest warriors of all time.' he continued. 'Our enemies are strong. But fear not, my warriors. For we are the chosen ones, the elite of our kingdom.' The soldiers, tired but excited from their hard-fought victory, raised their swords and shields high, waving them in the air. The king raised his own sword in salute. 'Together, we will win the world. They will bow before us.'