Within the great spiral of a near infinite expanse of realities, there exists a world called Jord. Upon this infant world is the great kingdom of Avalon. Once a mighty empire with power and influence that stretched out into the greater multiverse itself. All that power was now lost after both the Phantom Kings wars, the civil war led by a shadow half of the now queen and finally their near extinction as they were almost devoured by the gaping maw that was the realm of shadow.

Where there should have been peace after the near death of realities

Itself they find that the drums of war beat even louder as their warring neighbors turn to them for allies or enemies. Either the Ocean Lords to the west or the Lunar Empire to the north or the divided Sol Empire to the east and the many petty states in between.

In times like this, fear and paranoia is at its highest and that was quite evident with over one hundred massive battleships and aircraft carriers guarding all parts of the continent's borders, like snarling hounds to show the other kingdoms that their strength and might was still to be reckoned with.

Upon one of the largest Avalonian battleships, a man stood on the cold and empty deck. He was a short and stocky fellow with a unruly beard that was now losing its black luster and greying. His wild mane stood in stark contrast with his neatly kept admiral's uniform.

Admiral York sighed as he took in a lung full of the cold midnight air, his ears soothed by the tranquil sounds of the Atlatunas ocean around him. The only land that he could see to the north was a thin land bridge many had taken to calling it the Serpents Way. It was the only connection between the landmasses of Avalon in the south with the Lunar empire in the north.

It was the very reason why he was here, the Lunar empire battleships and their military bases on their side of the Serpent Ways were very visible to him, he could even hear them. This place was one of the largest powderkegs that was yet to be lit and he knew that it would be set alight soon.

With the coming celebrations to commemorate two years since the cataclysm that had birthed Jord, everyone was positive that the Lunar Empire and the Ocean Lords would try and do something to force Avalon's hand in their conflict. Perhaps it was just paranoia from the collective trauma that everyone experienced, but York wasn't ready to risk it.

" I am too old for this" the Admiral grumbled, as he reached his hand into his coat's inner pocket and he pulled out a bottle of whisky.

As he unscrewed the bottle top, he looked to the skies where that alien moon hang. It burned with an unnatural silver hue within the void, and even after two years of looking at it, he was not yet used to it. He had heard that people back home called it the burning pearl, he preferred the Lunar empire's name for it, the Dragon's Eye.

He raised his bottle in cheers to the celestial object, saying. "To four hundred damn years of service and yet I might die before ever seeing my damn farm in Tyrean."

The whisky burned his throat with such a scorching intensity that he almost coughed it back out. He had always heard that alcohol from the Greylands was strong, but this was much stronger than he had ever imagined it to be.

That didn't stop him from chugging down some more of the spirit. He was about to down another gulp when he noticed two stars in the heavens that burned brighter than most, the more he looked the brighter and closer that they got.

If he had drunk more of the Greylands whisky, he would have assumed it to be some Mizihimo, those spirits of old from the immaterial Shade performing their mischief in the Night sky.

But he wasn't that drunk, he quickly placed his bottle down and he rushed off the deck and into the ships control room which was in a panic as the two blazing projectiles got closer.

" Give me a status!? " he demanded.

"They are not energy bursts or even meteorites. Our scanners have picked up an oval shape and what appears to have artificial propulsion behind all that fire. These are flying vessels of some kind!" his lead technician responded in a panic.

"Are they Lunar Empire?" Admiral York demanded.

"Can't be, we have contacted them and they are just as much in a panic as we are," his vice admiral replied.

" Then hail them to stop!"

"Sir, we are trying to hail them, but we are not getting anything back!" the technician responded.

Admiral York cursed out, he turned to the lead artillery commander who sat next to the technician and he gave his order.

"Ready our guns, and shoot them out of the air!"

Everyone moved in perfect unison with the reaction time born only from years of actual experience by those who had fought in the Wars of Fire and the Phantom Kings incursions.

The battleship's thirty meter long guns came to life near instantly, their fifty ton bodies moving into place at a faster pace than expected as they rose in unison and aimed at the projectiles.

An ear shattering sound followed as the first of the artillery guns fired its shot. Great green beams of energy shot forward with an intensity and speed that created air vacuums in their wake.

The multiple beams of energy coloured the night sky in a green glow that from hundreds of kilometers away looked like a new neon green sun rising over the horizon.

But the objects were fast enough to be shot down. They bobbed and weaved around every shot with impossible precision. Their speed kept increasing with every passing second until they had passed over every battleship and into the Greylands of north Avalon.

"What in Leza's name is that thing ...?" Admiral York could not believe his eyes as he watched the objects vanish into his homeland.

"What do we do now?" someone asked.

Admiral York turned to the nearest communications officer and he ordered, " Call the mainland, the parameter has been breached..."

××One Month Earlier××

He saw the shadows of twisted and bent things, their cold grasping hands pinned him down and tore out parts of him with a mocking glee. Try as he might to escape this mental hell, Christian Ddraig, the prince of this realm was trapped within the deep waters of the subconscious.

He would have remained wrapped within both his blankets and mind had the first rays of the rising sun not passed through his window and struck his eyes. The slight irritation forced his eyes open as the young prince was wrenched back to the living world.

He groaned in irritation as his body still felt weak from his sleep, but his mind forced his shaky legs to stand up straight and though his eyes were halfway closed and all that he saw was a blur, he staggered to his bathing room and to his sink.

He opened the tap and splashed a cold handful of water all over his face washing away the hooks of the sleepiness that still fogged his mind.

He looked into the mirror where a young man with a wet face looked back at him. His striking golden eyes and his tangled mess of light blue hair marked him as a human with fae blood.

The truest sign of this were the large yellow moth like wings with green dots that reminded him of a peacocks feathers. The wings were attached to his back and Chris could feel their slow flapping movements as they pulled on extra muscles and nerves that lay there.

"You look like a young pup, oh princeling," Chris said as he took in the face which still retained the boyish shape of his teenage self.

Though it could be asked if a nineteen year old was really that far off from a teenager. If you asked Chris, it was a big fat yes, he was a fully grown man now, as far as he was concerned of course.

He focused on the wings and though they were his birthright as one with fae blood, they never felt natural on him. He took in a deep breath as he focused on the muscles in his back and he visualized the wings retreating into his back.

In reality, he dispersed them into nothingness as all fae and fae born could do. Where once there had been wings, his back was completely normal, though two strips of yellow pigmentation remained on his shoulder blades where the wings should have been.

He groaned as he stretched his limbs, shaking off the last cobwebs of sleepiness that hung on to him. He put on a red and blue uniform befitting his rank as a prince.

The last thing he took was a blue crystal ring with the engravings of dragons etched into it, he placed it upon his right finger. This ring was a symbol of his status as blood of the royal house.

The last thing that he took was his longsword, Lucius-Aurora as he had named it. Its hilt, a gold and red masterpiece while the blade was a shimmering light blue which almost looked like burned with a blue flame.

The sword had been a gift by his father after his previous one had been damaged. It was some kind of copy or variant of his mother's blade, or so his father had said. Chris had never cared enough to follow up on what that meant.

He stepped into the long corridor of the royal palace that was now being illuminated both by the artificial lights and the soft natural rays of the rising morning sun.

The corridor's sides were covered in all manner of paintings, tapestries and statues. They depicted ancient battles thousands of years old, like one which depicted a great battle and at its center was his grandfather standing over the defeated corpse of Agaleon, the dread dragon. A moment in time showing that great battle in the shadow cities which had seen the end of the Age of Shadows.

Another portrait drew his attention above all. It was rather large and held together by snow white wooden frames that was intricately and expertly carved to appear like interlocking thorny roses.

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The portrait showed a man and a woman standing side by side. Both appeared to be in their mid fifties, though in truth they were far more ancient. They wore vibrant gold and red royal clothing with two golden crowns resting upon their heads.

The man had a scar across his forehead from some past battle, his hair and his bushy beard were a honey brown, though it was now turning white in some areas. He was depicted with a commanding aura about him.

The woman looked down from the portrait with mischievous smile upon her face, like she knew something which the viewer did not. A far more different expression from her counterpart.

She had two golden eyes similar to his own, her hair was also a light shade of blue and behind her were a similar pair of giant moth like wings, very much similar to Chris's own.

At the bottom of the portrait was written "In loving memory of King Charlemagne and Queen Nuith. Founders and heroes of Avalon, their sacrifice shall never be forgotten".

"Good morning Grandma, Grandpa," he said to them, just like he did every morning.

He sometimes wished that the portraits could speak back to him, but alas no such thing was possible and he knew that he had no choice but to continue upon his merry way, lest someone think him mad for standing there talking to inanimate objects.

As he walked down the corridor, Chris finally saw the attendants of his home entering their morning shift. They looked just as morning worn as he was, though that drowsiness vanished as soon as they saw and they tipped their heads downwards in curtsey, saying.

"Good morning, my prince", " A lovely morning, your highness" and

"How truly good to see you my lord".

Chris nervously returned their greetings, he never got used to how people treated him. He was sure that some would kiss the very ground he walked on if he so much as implied it, a thought that deeply disturbed him.

He walked further until he had reached his destination. At the end of the corridor were massive golden doors with the engraving of a Dragon at the center. Its great wings were outstretched and a shield with a lion within it hovered above the dragons head, held by male and female figure standing upon the beast's wings and facing each other.

This was one of the most important places in Avalon, The center of Administrative Power across the entire kingdom, its throne room and his destination.

Standing by the doors were ten knights clad from head to two in gleaming gold and red plate armor. These few men and women who stood here were amongst the greatest of warriors in the whole of Avalon. The Vortiguard, the warriors chosen not just to guard the royal palace, but the King and Queen themselves.

Their leader stood in contrast of the rest of them. He was a giant of a man, dressed in a gold and white armor that looked far too different from the velvet and gold of the Vortiguard.

His great helm covered the whole of his face and it made him appear more inhuman. In his right hand was a solid bronze spear and in his left hand was a bronze tower shield with dents from battles past.

This behemoth of a man was Hector Mychana. He was no simple knight or even Vortiguard, He was among that few of warriors who had been elevated to the rank of Paladin.

A rank worthy of Hector, a man who was just as imposing in real life as in his stories people shared about him, and here he bowed with respect to Chris as did his fellow Vortiguard.

Chris struggled to keep himself from shaking in excitement or letting them see his red blushing face from the embarrassment and joy of meeting his heroes. Even though he saw them every day guarding the most important people to him and the realm, it was still a magical experience to him and he could never get used to it.

"A good morning, your grace," the voices from the Vortiguard were firm and respectful and to his embarrassment, Chris felt his cheeks get tighter and hotter.

He straightened his posture and he brought his right fist upon his chest in salute as he responded with "A good morning to you as well, Lord Paladin Mychana. Lords and Ladies of the Vortiguard."

" At ease young knight," Hector responded with a heavy chuckle.

"Are they in yet?" Chris asked.

"Same as always. These dark days require your parents attention more than ever, a heavy burden that the crown brings," Hector replied.

"These are dark days indeed, and I thank you for your diligence within them" Chris said as saluted them once more.

The Vortiguard saluted in return and Chris walked past them and to the golden doors. The massive doors creaked open as if by some invisible hands and Chris walked through it and into the the throne room.

The throne room of Avalon stood at the center of the palace. Its walls were enchanted to appear like A living galaxy, Chris could see stars with planets circling them and black holes that soon devoured said stars.

Within the room were three hundred chairs carved out of beautiful light brown wood. One hundred and fifty of the chairs were set to the right and another one hundred and fifty to the left in an oval shape.

At the far end of the throne room was an elevated marble platform with two thrones upon it. These thrones were made from living elder trees which through arcane means had twisted and bent into the shape of thrones. Upon them were sat the two mighty sovereigns whose presence almost had a divine weight to it.

"...Leza be good,I am late" he thought nervously as he quietly tiptoed to the right side and he sat himself down on a chair.

Thankfully all the chairs weren't completely filled up yet. Only around ninety people sat amongst those chairs. These men and women were important parliamentarians, ministers and high ranking military officers.

Many of these men and women were grey of hair and Chris felt more tiny as he thought about how more ancient and experienced these people were.

Upon the right throne sat Chris's father, Roland Ddraig. The king looked like an older version of him, though he had a beard. His armor was a glorious gold and purple plate with the engraving of a gold dragon on his chest and two red crystal stars on his shoulders.

Resting by his throne was Durandal, one of the seven divine weapons of Avalon. The scabbard it rested in was scarlet red with green roses etched across it. The hilt of the blade was made of silver, cast into the shape of a eagle's head with the hilt made into its outstretched wings.

Upon the left throne sat his mother Natalia. Whereas his father's face almost appeared playful or amused, his mother had a coldness to her, a mask of the queen, far different from the woman who had raised him.

Her hair was black as night and her eyes were a piercing stormy grey, unlike him, his father, and his siblings who gained their golden eyes from their mixed fae and human blood through their grandmother.

Her blade, Excalibur rested by her throne in all of its glory. Its hilt was a spotless gold and its scabbard was a plain blue unlike the decorative scabbard of its counterpart, Durandal. But Chris knew that should the sword be drawn from its scabbard, its great light would draw even more attention than Durandal itself.

"Prince Christian, how very good of you to join us," his mother called out to him and Chris almost winced as her voice boomed across the throne room.

"Now, now dear. Please don't mock the lad. He is only thirty minutes off," his father said in his defense.

"He should have been here thirty minutes before we even started."

" I am not even the crown heir, why should I bother with this? " he thought in annoyance, though he would never dare utter this out.

"Come now Natalia, he has only come late today. I am sure that Christian shall be with us on time from now on," his father pleaded with his mother before turning his attention to Chris "Is that not right, Christian?"

" Yes, yes I will. That I promise " he radiated sincerity.

"See, nothing to raise a fuss about," His mother only nodded at the kings words, though Chris doubted that she meant it.

His father apparently did, as he turned to the left hand side of the chairs and he called out "Now First Minister Mithrose, tell us of your reports."

From amongst the left seaters arose a figure. He was like a man, with brown skin, ears that were shaped like a blade, two black horns upon his head, scarlet red hair crowned his hair and over his lip with a thick moustache.

His eyes were pitch black with only his pupils visible within those onyx orbs, for they burned like flaming embers. These physical features that the man bore were common amongst the elves of Avalon.

This Mithrose was an old elf indeed, his clothing was the biggest give away. It was an old style with a top hat which was slightly too big for him, forcing him to constantly shift it to stop it from tipping over his eyes.

" Yes, the food stockpiles within the entire Dunara province have risen past the acceptable line since the implementation of the Winston Initiative," the old elf said as he awkwardly tipped his hat.

"That is good to hear" the king said

"If I may speak your grace, there is more than what our most honourable First Minister has said" declared one if the ministers.

She was neither man or elf, her skin was a light shade of blue with green pigmentation lines ran across his body in extravagant and intricate manners resembling more tattoos than anything that would occur naturally, but such was the body type of all fae. Her lips and her fingernails were a deep shade of black and behind those lips Chris could see a green forked tongue.

Her hair was an unruly black mess while her eyes were a completely yellow orbs. To the sides of her neck were a set of gills which were only recognizable by the deep shade of blue upon them and upon his back were two pairs of wings, similar to his own. This woman was a pure fae, not a half breed like himself.

"Oh off with you, stupid old bat, do you not have troops to deal with this" Mithrose snapped at the fae woman

"I do, but I think it best to inform the crown. Or would you rather that i told no one about the Night Terror's running amuck across Anabia."

" There are small pockets of surviving Night Terrors everywhere, what does it matter that some warband is pissing upon your particular section of sand."

"How noble of you our dear First Minister!" she snapped at him and Mithrose's face twisted into a visage of pure rage.

"There it is, you grasping viper.."

" ENOUGH! " King Roland's voice echoed out as a burst of flames erupted around him with such intensity that he was like star within the room which Chris could not even look upon, least his retina burn.

The flames died down and Chris could finally raise his eyes once and look upon his father. Only the smoke flying off of him was enough to tell you that this man had became a pillar of flame.

"Provincial Minister Abeth, while it is good that you care to bring this up to us, do not do your duty all for the desire to tear down and replace your First Minister. Same to you Mithrose, duty comes before ambition or petty rivalries," King Roland spoke with a colder and even more calm voice.

"Forgive my temper, your grace," the First Minister apologized.

"I am sorry as well" the Provincial Minister said.

"Now, tell us about these Night Terrors?" his mother asked the provincial minister who sent a smug expression to Mithrose who gnashed his teeth in rage.

" So much for them putting duty first, " Chris thought.

"There have been many a Night Terror attack across the whole of Anabia. They have not just been reports of hundreds, but also reports of a Shadow Lord being sighted amongst them." at the mention of the word Shadow Lord, multiple whispers of concern.

"Impossible, the last Shadow Lord died when I... " Natalia began to speak but she paused as Chris for the briefest of moments remembered a very different shade of his mother "....I mean when she led her rebellion."

" That is why I would like to have one of the Paladins to come to Anabia to see on if it is true?" The provincial minister asked.

"Impossible, all of the Paladins are at the borders to deal with the potential antagonism from the Lunar empire and Ocean Lord states. Their stay there is too important to chase rumors from some drunk pissing in the sand." Mithrose interjected, his face drawn into a constant sneer.

"Fine, what of princess Ishtar or Joan?" she asked and Chris could not help but feel insulted.

He might have been younger than Ishtar, but he was older than his twin Joan and this provincial minister did not even dare mention him. It was truthfully the most insulting thing that he had ever heard.

"They are also at important border posts. Though maybe an Argentum..." his mother began to answer and Chris's irritation which had boiled to anger sent him from his chair and straight upon his feet.

"I will go!" he nervously yelled as his palms became wet from sweat.

"Absolutely not." Natalia responded, almost flabbergasted.

"Why not, I am a Knight with an entire year of service and the prince, representing the crown. If Ishtar and Joan can be considered, then so can I."

"Because you have only been a Knight for a year and they have had more than that. Roland, tell him!?"

Roland ran his hand across his beard as he dove deep in thought before responding " Maybe this could a good training experience for the boy. Its just a confirmation mission, he would be going into a fight or anything."

"But..." she tried to respond but she paused as she saw a look on Roland's face that she answered with a look of her own.

His parents' facial expressions spoke a language without words but an understanding of each other built from years of friendship, camaraderie from their time as knights, parenthood and marriage.

Finally, after two minutes of silence, the two seemed to agree on something, signified by the both of them nodding their heads.

"We have decided" his mother didn't sound or look happy. In fact she looked like she had been forced to suck on a sour lemon, which was strangely a good sign.

She paused before saying their agreement, in fact she seemed to fight it, but alas she was forced to let those golden words past her lips, " You may go."

Chris had to stop himself fro leaping into the air and pumping his fist into the air, though this excitement ended by the next words that left his mothers mouth.

"But first we need to go through the discussions for the next revisions within the brand-new version of the bill of income tax."