Chapter 28 - 𝔐𝔦𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔰

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓱𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓮 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭. 𝓑𝓮𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓾𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼; 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮. 𝓔𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝔀𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓽𝓪𝓹𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮, 𝓹𝓾𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓷 𝓾𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼.

𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓰𝓪𝔃𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓼𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼. 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓶𝓪𝔂 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝓪 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓮, 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶 𝓵𝓾𝓻𝓴𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮.

𝓗𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓪𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓾𝓷𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓫𝔂𝓼𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼. 𝓣𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓮; 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓪 𝓿𝓮𝓲𝓵 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓸𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱. 𝓞𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴.

𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓶, 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮.

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔏𝔲𝔵𝔞𝔫𝔞? 𝔚𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔯?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

┏━━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━━┓

ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯: '𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩.' 𝔅𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔟𝔢 𝔞 𝔪𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔢. ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔞 𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔠𝔱, 𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫. 𝔗𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢; 𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔟𝔶𝔰𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔢𝔵𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔟𝔰𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔶.

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

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-Morning in Domino; Helia Palace; The Royal Assembly Room-

In the grand Royal Assembly Room of Helia Palace, the morning sun streamed through towering stained glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the marble floor. The air was thick with tension, a palpable energy crackling as thirty-five councilors filled the ornate chamber, their voices rising in a chaotic symphony of dissent. At the head of the long, polished table sat the King of Domino, Hades Limonizer Vernoke Domino, his regal presence barely containing the turmoil that swirled around him.

The walls were adorned with rich tapestries depicting the kingdom’s storied past, yet today they bore witness to a different kind of history in the making. The councilors were divided into three factions, each group animatedly gesturing as they made their case for the fate of Princess Luxana.

Group 1 - clamored for immediate action to retrieve the princess, insisting that her absence would plunge Domino into turmoil.

Group 2 - argued for her return without capitulating to the Empire's demands.

Group 3 - shockingly proposed to offer her as a token of allegiance to the Empire.

“PRINCESS LUXANA MUST BE BROUGHT BACK IMMEDIATELY!” shouted a member from Group 1, rising abruptly from his chair. His voice echoed off the stone walls, urgency etched into every line of his face. “HER ABSENCE IN DOMINO WILL CAUSE AN UPROAR IN THE KINGDOM!”

“DO YOU THINK SUBMITTING TO THE EMPIRE IS A PIECE OF CAKE?” countered a member from Group 2, her voice laced with fury as she stood defiantly. She slammed her palm on the table, causing goblets to rattle and eyes to widen. “YOU’D TRADE OUR SOVEREIGNTY FOR A MERE PROMISE?”

“DOES IT MATTER?” another voice from Group 1 interjected, desperation creeping into his tone as he leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. “IF HER POWERS ARE KNOWN TO THE EMPIRE, WE’LL BE BROUGHT DOWN LIKE AN AVALANCHE!”

“HER HIGHNESS’S POWERS HAVE STILL NOT FULLY DEVELOPED!” shouted a member from Group 2, shaking his head vehemently. He paced back and forth behind his chair, his agitation palpable. “WE DON’T NEED TO SUBMIT! RATHER, WE SHOULD FOCUS ON WHO EXACTLY FORGED THAT FAKE ACCORD!”

“THE FAKE ACCORD? WITH WHAT AUDACITY DO YOU CLAIM IT TO BE FAKE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING?” barked a member from Group 3, her eyes flashing with indignation as she rose to her full height. “THE PREVIOUS KING MUST HAVE DEFINITELY SIGNED IT!”

“WHAT PROOF DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO BELIEVE THE ACCORD WAS FAKE?” another member from Group 3 chimed in, arms crossed defiantly as he glared at his opponents.

“WHAT? DO YOU LACK BRAIN CELLS? THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! OUR ENMITY WITH THE EMPIRE IS SO LONG-STANDING THAT SUCH AN ALLIANCE IS UNTHINKABLE!” shouted a member from Group 2, his voice rising above the din.

“ALLIANCE TO THE EMPIRE MIGHT END UP BEING A GOOD THING! WHAT SORT OF DISCOMFORT CUDDLES YOU?” another voice from Group 3 piped up, trying to sway opinions with fervor.

“AND WHAT SORT OF COMFORT SNUGGLES YOU?” mocked a member from Group 2, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed defiantly.

"ENOUGH". The King’s voice sliced through the chaos like a blade through silk. For a moment, silence enveloped the room; all eyes turned toward him. His calm demeanor was unsettling against the backdrop of rising tempers. He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped under his chin as he surveyed his councilors with an intensity that demanded attention.

“Is arguing like five-year-olds what brought you to your current positions?” he asked, his tone smooth yet firm. The councilors shifted uncomfortably in their seats; they could sense that beneath his composed exterior lay a storm brewing—a storm that could change everything.

“We must act wisely,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over each faction as they held their breath. “This is not merely about Princess Luxana; it is about our kingdom's future.”

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-Indoor Training Grounds; Moonlit Edifice; Elmir-

In the heart of the Moonlit Edifice, the Indoor Training Grounds resonated with the sharp, metallic clang of swords meeting in fierce combat. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination, mingling with the faint aroma of oil from the well-maintained blades. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, illuminating the intense expressions of those engaged in their practice.

Cillian stood at the center of the arena, poised and confident. Cillian, slender yet deceptively strong, moved with a fluid grace that belied his thin frame. His white shirt, ruffled at the front and adorned with intricate gold patterns, contrasted sharply against the Commander’s dark armor. The wide cuffs of his shirt flared slightly as he swung his sword, catching the light with each movement. He danced around the arena, his feet barely making a sound on the polished stone floor as he evaded a powerful overhead strike.

As he faced his opponent, the Commander of the Imperial Knight's Faction, Commander Oswin Grimtide.

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Oswin Grimtide was a legendary commander in the annals of Elmir's history. Rising from humble beginnings, his father was a blacksmith known for forging weapons for the very knights Oswin would one day lead. From a young age, he displayed exceptional combat skills and an unwavering loyalty to his kingdom. His agility, strategic prowess, and unique fighting style propelled him through the ranks of the Imperial Knights.

As Commander, Oswin remained grounded, often visiting his father's forge and mentoring young knights. Despite his success, the weight of loss from battles fought for Elmir left physical and emotional scars, shaping him into a thoughtful leader.

Now, as protector and mentor within the Royal Guard, Oswin's presence commanded respect. His dedication to training the next generation, like Cillian, embodied his commitment to the kingdom's future. Oswin Grimtide was more than just a commander; he was a guardian of Elmir's legacy—a legacy forged in fire and tempered by honor.

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Cillian’s movements were fluid and precise. He shifted his weight effortlessly from one foot to the other, a practiced grace evident in every step. He executed a series of rapid strikes, each one punctuated by the sharp clang of metal against metal. With a deft twist of his wrist, he parried an incoming blow, then countered with a swift upward slash that sent his opponent reeling back.

The training grounds were vast, with high ceilings that seemed to stretch into infinity, adorned with banners that fluttered like restless spirits in the cool night air. The stone floor, polished to a sheen, reflected the dim light, creating an almost ethereal glow around Cillian as he moved. His feet danced gracefully, shifting with precision as he parried a blow aimed at his midsection.

“YOU’RE QUICK,” the Commander grunted, sweat glistening on his brow as he lunged forward. Cillian sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blade that sliced through the air where he had just stood.

“AND YOU’RE SLOW!” Cillian shot back, his voice ringing with confidence. He pivoted on his heel and retaliated with a swift thrust aimed at the Commander’s side. The older man parried expertly, their swords clashing again in a shower of sparks.

Around them, fellow trainees watched in awe. The intensity of their duel was palpable; every movement was a calculated risk, every strike a testament to their skill and determination. Cillian’s agility was mesmerizing; he ducked low and rolled to the side, springing back to his feet in one fluid motion that left onlookers breathless.

“IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT?” Cillian taunted as he executed a series of rapid strikes, each one met with equal force from the Commander. The two men were locked in a fierce dance of blades, their movements weaving together like an intricate tapestry of combat. “YOU’LL HAVE TO DO BETTER THAN THAT!” he shouted, his voice ringing with confidence as he sidestepped a thrust aimed at his midsection. He ducked low, narrowly avoiding another strike, then sprang back up with agility that belied his slender frame. Cillian’s footwork was impeccable; he moved like water—fluid yet unyielding—closing the distance between them with each calculated step.

His opponent lunged forward again, a fierce determination etched across their face. The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air as they exchanged blows, each movement fluid and calculated. Cillian ducked low, narrowly avoiding a strike that could have sent him sprawling. He felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, igniting every nerve ending as he countered with a swift upward swing.

“DON'T WORRY, YOU'LL STILL BE LEFT BEHIND EITHER WAY.” came the retort from his opponent, breathless yet defiant as he lunged forward again. The intensity of their duel escalated; Cillian felt the adrenaline coursing through him, sharpening his senses as he deflected another blow and riposted with a swift thrust aimed at his opponent’s shoulder.

The clang of their swords echoed like thunder in the enclosed space, each clash reverberating off the stone walls and filling the air with an electric tension.

Around them, fellow trainees watched in rapt attention, their eyes wide with admiration for Cillian’s skill. The clangs of their swords filled the air like thunderclaps as Cillian danced around his opponent, executing a perfect Oberhau—a downward cut that struck true.

Suddenly, Cillian heard the door creak open behind him as someone entered the training grounds. He didn’t turn to look; distractions had no place in this moment. He focused solely on the duel, every fiber of his being attuned to the rhythm of combat.

With renewed focus, Cillian launched into a series of rapid strikes that forced his opponent back. Each movement was deliberate and precise; he felt every muscle working in harmony as he executed his techniques flawlessly. The clangs grew louder and more frantic until finally—

“EN GARDE!” he shouted triumphantly as he disarmed his opponent with a swift twist of his wrist and stepped back to catch his breath.

The sword clattered to the ground, echoing through the training grounds like a bell tolling victory. Panting slightly but exhilarated. “You know, Commander,” Cillian said with a teasing smirk as he stepped back, sword still poised in hand, “if you keep swinging that sword like it’s a broomstick, I might just have to start charging you for cleaning up the training grounds!”

Oswin raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the audacity of the younger knight. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words, the playful jab leaving him momentarily speechless. The other trainees burst into laughter, the tension of their duel dissipating into the air like mist in the morning sun.

As he extended a hand to help his opponent up, the room erupted into applause. The sound echoed off the stone walls like a triumphant chorus—men clapping and howling for him in admiration. Among them stood Princess Luxana, her bright smile illuminating her face as she joined in the applause.

As the applause began to fade, Cillian felt a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. He slightly lowered his head, his expression neutral yet his eyes remained locked on Luxana’s. He sought confirmation in her gaze, a silent plea for assurance that her cheers were genuine. There was something cold in his demeanor, a shield he wore to protect himself from vulnerability.

In response, Luxana smiled wider, her face radiating warmth as she tilted her head slightly and shut her eyes. It was a gesture that spoke volumes—a silent affirmation that cut through the tension surrounding them. Her sincerity enveloped him like a soft blanket, momentarily easing the weight on his shoulders.

The energy in the training grounds shifted as the applause transformed into a murmur of conversation. Trainees gathered in small clusters, animatedly discussing techniques and sharing tales of their own battles. Cillian’s victory had ignited a spark among them, lifting spirits and fostering camaraderie.

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To be Continued...