On a frigid night in the hallowed halls of Reldret’s sacred church, Zathar, the grand pontiff, sat before the sanctified scepter in the holy scepter chamber, a vertical pillar of divine power that used to belong to the only prophet sent by the divine gods in this continent long time ago. His eyes, closed in reverent contemplation, sought a message from the prophetic consciousness, one of his private tasks as the grand priest of the most important church in the continent, he rarely sees anything of importance in those visions. But this night, an ominous disturbance shattered the tranquil silence.

A chilling vision, a harbinger of doom, seized Zathar’s mind. Terror, cold and absolute, gripped his soul. He erupted from the chamber, a whirlwind of urgency. “Summon the high priests,” he commanded his assistant, his voice a thunderclap in the still night. “Immediately. This is an order.”

Thirty minutes later, the high priests, a conclave of the devout, assembled in the meeting room. Zathar, a specter of dread, awaited them. His assistant, a silent shadow, excused himself, leaving the grand pontiff and his subordinates alone with the impending darkness.

“Your Highness, I trust that your summons at this ungodly hour signifies a matter of utmost urgency,” a priest intoned, his voice dripping with veiled respect.

“Indeed,” Zathar replied while calmly eyeing the priest who talked before looking at the other priests, his tone grave. “I appreciate your prompt attendance, but as Tollus and the rest of you well think, this is a matter that brooks no delay.”

“Then, what is it, Master?” another priest demanded, his impatience barely concealed.

“An hour ago, I received a vision from the scepter, one so rare and portentous that it demands our immediate attention,” Zathar explained, his voice low and ominous.

“As we all know, such visions are exceedingly rare, and for you to convene us at this late hour, it must even be a vision of the highest order,” another priest interjected, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and dread.

“As we have so astutely observed, King Norman III’s health is failing, and his demise is imminent,” Zathar continued, his voice growing darker.

“Yes, and Prince Ernest is to supplant him, ascending the throne and thereby regulating all inter-kingdom relations,” intoned Tollus.

“A routine succession, but what makes this peculiar, nay, aberrant, is the impending alteration of the royal bloodline,” Zathar declared, his voice thick with portent.

A low murmur, a ripple of unease, swept through the assembly as the priests, unprepared for such a revelation, exchanged furtive glances.

“Your Highness, while I harbor unwavering faith in our revered prophet, I cannot help but question the wisdom of this decision. The Blackstone family has reigned over Reldret for nine unbroken generations! Prince Ernest, though perhaps not the most promising heir, will surely mature into the role with sufficient experience,” ventured an intense-eyed priest, Malvein.

“Malvein, I assure you, this is not the crux of the matter. The occasional replacement of the ruling family is a commonplace occurrence, contingent upon various factors that our enlightened prophet, guided by the celestial powers, deems essential. Of course, the paramount consideration is the potency of the bloodline of this new sovereign. And, for the first time in our history, this sovereign shall be a queen,” Zathar revealed, his voice imbued with a somber gravity.

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A palpable dread settled over the assembly as Zathar uttered the chilling words, “The newly anointed queen is a demonic hybrid girl.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room, each high priest’s gaze fixed upon the Grandmaster, their faces etched with fear and disbelief.

“Your Highness, did you say… a demonic hybrid?” Tollus stammered, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes wide with horror.

“Indeed,” Zathar confirmed, his tone grave. “She possesses the most potent bloodline, the most formidable power in the realm.”

“Master, forgive my audacity, but for a hybrid to wield such immense power, recognized even by the Prophet, it implies a dangerously potent demonic lineage. You know what I mean,” another priest, Albert, ventured cautiously.

Malvein, incensed, retorted, “What are you insinuating, Albert? The gods would never lie. To doubt their judgment is utterly blasphemous!” A cacophony of voices erupted, the priests’ fear and confusion boiling over.

Zathar raised a silencing hand. “Silence! Malvein, there is no need for such vitriol. The accursed Crimson Mother who was vanquished by the hands of the great God’s divine son, was denied the chance to even birth her offspring here in Plistura continent. Therefore, rest assured.”

“I apologize, Master. I allowed my temper to flare when I believed Albert was spouting nonsense,” Malvein confessed, then he fixed his gaze on Albert. “No need for apologies, Malvein. The gravity of this revelation is indeed overwhelming,” Albert replied.

“So, what is the plan, Your Highness?” Tollus inquired, his voice laced with anticipation.

“Firstly, we must acquire the girl discreetly, avoiding any undue attention. Panic and loss of faith will ensue if the populace learns of her existence. We must maintain composure. Furthermore, she cannot be the prophesied one. I saw her, she exhibits no signs of extraordinarily dangerous power and even she doesn’t know about her peculiarity, we would have undoubtedly heard of her otherwise," Zathar mused, stroking his gray beard.

“Wise words, Master. I concur. She cannot be the one. There have been no manifestations of any Crimson son in our world, indicating they were never born in our continent.” Malvein asserted.

“Precisely. The girl resides in Vidin, though her exact location remains unknown. The most prudent, safe and quiet course of action, I believe, is to inform King Walt Haveron, the ruler of the Vidin Kingdom. He possesses the knowledge and resources to locate her without causing a stir,” Zathar concluded.

“Master Zathar, I have an acquaintance in Vidin who may be of assistance if I have a clearer description of the girl,” Malvein offered.

“Certainly, Malvein. She is a mere adolescent, no older than fifteen, of Caucasian pale descent. Her hair is a striking crimson, short in length. Her eyes, an unusual shade of blue, possess elongated cat-like pupils, reminiscent of a demon of course. Her physique is slender, her height approximately five and a half feet. She bears no overt demonic traits, such as horns or claws. However, upon closer inspection, one may discern subtle, small upper fangs,” Zathar explained.

“Thank you, Master. I shall do what I can,” Malvein replied.

“Very well. Does anyone else have any suggestions or objections regarding our future course of action?” Zathar inquired, his gaze sweeping across the assembly.

“Your Highness, I have a simple query,” Tollus interjected.

“Proceed, Tollus,” Zathar replied.

“Thank you. What of Prince Ernest’s situation? How shall we proceed?” Tollus inquired.

“He, no, not he alone, no one outside this room except king Walt Haveron shall be privy to this matter until we have ascertained the full extent of this girl’s power. King Norman Blackstone still draws breath, thus the status quo shall remain unchanged, even if she were to appear before us this very instant, understood?” Zathar clarified.

“Understood,” Tollus confirmed along with every present priest.

“Any further suggestions?” Zathar asked, a heavy silence settling over the room, signifying unanimous consent.

“Then it is settled. I shall dispatch a messenger via the teleportation circle to Vidin tomorrow morning, bearing tidings for King Walt Haveron,” Zathar declared, rising to his feet.

“May the gods grant us favor,” he concluded.