In the bright morning light, the great bells of Redmont awakened, their harmonious chimes resonating through the stirring heart of the capital.

The majestic city, bearing a name that spoke of its grandeur, held a place of utmost significance within the kingdom of Roseland. Its people proudly adorned themselves in a breathtaking array of red shades, from the deepest crimson to the brightest scarlet, and their names were often inspired by the rich palette of reddish hues.

For in the land of roses, red was not just a color; it was a way of life. Every corner of the realm seemed touched by the passion and zeal that this symbolic color brought, creating a blend of artistry and tradition that permeated every aspect within its expanse.

Amidst the vibrant atmosphere, the imposing Redmont Castle, a structure that rose proudly amidst the city's embrace. Its towering walls and turrets, all bathed in shades of red, evoked a sense of royalty and authority.

At the castle's entrance, two riders, mounted on noble steeds, approached the towering gates. Dressed in striking shades of purple, their attire stood out against the backdrop of red, signifying their unique identity amid the scene.

Drawing the attention of the vigilant guards positioned atop the castle walls, one of the riders rose his voice, proclaiming with authority,

"The lord of house Crimson has arrived at the King's request!"

Their announcement echoed through the air, demanding recognition.

In response to the proclamation, the massive gates of Redmont Castle began to creak open, revealing the passage into its heart. The riders guided their steeds through the widening entrance, the sounds of hooves echoing in the courtyard beyond.

With steady determination, the riders traversed the castle's grounds, their presence acknowledged by curious glances from castle residents and servants. The castle, a realm within itself, bore witness to their arrival, awaiting the unfolding of events.

Near the entrance leading to the heart of the palace, an elderly man stood, his demeanor a mix of impatience and familiarity.

"Always testing the bounds of time, a trait your father notably lacked."

With a graceful dismount from his steed, the lord of house Crimson approached the entrance. His presence carried an air of nobility, his attire a testament to his lineage's that stood within Roseland.

Adorning his neck, a pendant crafted from precious material gleamed with a rich purple hue. Stepping forward, he addressed the elderly figure, his tone a blend of respect and perhaps a touch of playful annoyance.

"We may share blood, him and I, but our paths are our own. And I intend to forge mine without mirroring my father's. You, of all people, should know this, old man."

As the words hung in the air, the elderly man's face began to soften, a smile slowly appearing. The young lord, mirroring this change, took quick steps toward him and pulled him into a warm hug. Overwhelmed by the moment, the elderly man called out in awe, "Amethyst!"

He then pulled himself back slightly, looking into the eyes of the young lord with a profound sense of nostalgia. He broke the silence by asking, "How many years have passed since last we met?"

The young lord, still holding him at arm's length, replied, "Ten and four years, my dear mentor. It's been far too long."

He then turned his attention to his companion, who had gracefully dismounted and approached them. With a welcoming gesture, the lord introduced him, saying, "This is my friend, Aster."

His loyal companion, Aster, understanding the significance of the moment, bowed in silence as a sign of acknowledgment and reverence.

However, a puzzled expression crossed the elderly man's face as he gently admonished, "Amethyst, my boy, you need not introduce your squires as friends. By the gods, you've always been too trusting, considering everyone a friend since you were but a child. But times have changed, I fear... and the world can be treacherous. It's time to be cautious about who you trust."

His attention shifted to the squire, a directive forming in his words.

"Aster Crimson," he marveled, his voice filled with amazement as he considered the name and the vivid imagery it conjured. "who would have ever thought, the world is coming to a swift change of colors. Very well. Remain here and attend to the horses," he instructed, his gaze gesturing toward a line of men, all holding the reins of the horses, who were also squires.

The loyal companion glanced at them nervously but quickly obeyed, moving to fulfill the instructions he had been given.

Turning back to his mentor, the lord's expression softened. He spoke sincerely, "Aster means more to me than just a friend, He's like family. I trust him with my life. In these uncertain times, as you said, having someone dependable is invaluable."

With conviction, he added, "If I'm to forge my own path, I can't do it alone."

The elderly man nodded in approval, a silent understanding passing between them. With a subtle gesture, he beckoned the lord to follow, his movements imbued with the wisdom of years lived and lessons learned.

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"Come," he urged, his tone gentle yet firm. "His majesty awaits."

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As they traversed the palace corridor, the young lord's journey was met with an unexpected reunion. A voice, both familiar and vibrant, called out his name: "Ameth!"

Turning toward the sound, his eyes met those of a young nobleman, Rhodon, who stood before him. Their ages aligned, and their bond hold the essence of shared experiences.

With a nod of recognition and a warm smile, Ameth acknowledged his presence.

"Greetings, Rhodon," he responded, their camaraderie evident in the way they exchanged pleasantries.

Rhodon's focus shifted to the elderly man as he spoke with determination, "I will accompany him from this point, Auburn."

Ameth, taken aback by this unexpected assertion, exchanged a surprised glance with the elderly man.

Auburn's response carried a cryptic weight, "Just keep in mind the wisdom we discussed regarding the constraints of time."

With that, he withdrew, leaving Rhodon and Ameth to engage in a private conversation, their voices filling the space as they exchanged thoughts in solitude.

Side by side, they walked, their steps echoing the rhythm of a friendship cultivated over time.

"I don't presume it was mere chance that brought you here," Ameth finally asked, a query that hinted at an upcoming event of significance.

Joining his steps with Ameth's, Rhodon's expression took on a more solemn note. His voice carried a weight that matched the gravity of his words.

"We were all summoned, just as yourself," he revealed, "Throughout the country, all the lords of the noble houses have been dispatched. The entire army has mobilized! They say we are about to march into the Verdanes."

Intrigued by Rhodon's revelation, Ameth probed further.

"This makes no sense, " he reflected, "And you have only just arrived. How did you come to learn of this?" he questioned, his curiosity demanding clarity.

"I've been in the capital since yesterday," Rhodon began, "The men and I sought refuge at the local tavern last night. That's where things took an eerie turn."

He leaned in, his voice dropping slightly as if sharing a secret.

"Soldiers from the Royal Army were there, their usual confidence replaced by a frenzied urgency. Saying deranged things..." he added, his tone tinged with both disbelief and apprehension.

"They spoke of the campaign in Verdania coming to a sudden halt, but that's not the strangest part. They started telling these enigmatic stories—of spirits prowling the land, their presence casting shadows of uncertainty. They spoke of patrols that went missing, vanished into thin air as if swallowed by the very darkness they were supposed to dispel."

A shudder coursed through him, a visceral response to the unfolding narrative.

"And then, there emerged tales of impending catastrophe. Ameth, they recounted stories of chariots without steeds, haunting the night in seamless silence. They described arrows descending like a tempest, turning the air into a deadly dance of death. It's as if the very essence of Verdania has been infused with a mystique that defies reason!"

Rhodon's words were abruptly severed by a single motion, his awareness sharpening as they reached their destination and found themselves no longer in solitude.

Before them, the grand doors of the King's audience chambers loomed, flanked by vigilant armored sentries. Positioned before the entrance were a dozen young men, all recognizable nobles hailing from esteemed houses. All of them dressed in shades of Red.

Among the assembled nobles, one leaned casually against the wall, his leg propped up and his right arm resting on the sheath of his sword. Upon spotting Ameth, he swiftly straightened, a mixture of surprise and irritation flickering across his features.

"Ah, what do we have here?" he sneered, addressing Ameth with contempt. "The young Flaming himself, gracing us with his presence, it seems. I had been informed that we were to await the King's audience, but I had not foreseen it was on account of your arrival!"

His words caused a stir, drawing the attention of all present to the unfolding scene.

"Your arrogance remains as boldly evident as ever," he continued, his voice carrying a touch of disdain.

"You hold yourself above the very men standing here!"

His accusations reverberated, igniting a spark of tension that spread among those gathered.

Rhodon, maintaining his position beside Ameth, swiftly stepped in to defend his honor.

"Mind your words, Carmine. We're not amidst the gates of the decrepit suburban hamlet you deem home. The blame is mine to bear. It was I who held back Lord Ameth, a matter that doesn't concern you," he interjected.

Amidst the assembly, the words resonated with an air of honor that seemed to affect everyone present, save for Lord Carmine, who remained unmoved.

"I never envisioned you aligning yourself with such a variegated alliance, Rhodonite of Vermillion," he retorted, a hint of disdain in his tone.

"Truly, your house's preference for a person of mixed color is a disappointing revelation. It appears your hue is swiftly succumbing to decay, a malady that blemishes our nation," he added, his words carrying a scornful edge.

A flush of red swept across Rhodon's face, his impulse to step forward held in check by Ameth's intervention.

"You tread a dangerous path, my lord," Ameth interjected firmly. "I will not tolerate words of disdain aimed at my house or any other. Nor shall I permit you to cast doubt upon the ancestral legitimacy of my nobility, for Crimson has always stood within the spectrum of Red," he stated with unwavering resolve.

Lord Carmine's agitation escalated, prompting him to spring from his position.

"It's purple! Purple, I say!" he exclaimed, his tone edged with frustration.

"You might have deceived the rest, but not me. My vision is unclouded, and I'm not afflicted by color blindness. Your lineage has been subverting the very fabric of our country, ever since your treacherous father usurped a color not rightfully his and abandoned us to deal with the consequences of his reckless actions! And your mother's, well, I won't even delve into that witch!"

In that very moment, as those words hung in the air, tension surged to its peak, and Ameth found himself unable to suppress his emotions any longer. Swiftly, he unsheathed his sword and assumed a defensive stance. Lord Carmine mirrored his actions without hesitation, as if he had foreseen this response all along.

The gathering of nobles transformed into a throng, encircling both combatants, with factions forming in support of each side.

The guards stationed by the doors appeared puzzled, uncertain of how to comprehend the unfolding scenario and the appropriate course of action.

Urging the fighters to engage, the onlookers stirred up the atmosphere. Even Rhodon, held in high esteem, joined in, rallying behind his comrade.

Ameth and his opponent exchanged hateful glances, sharing a strong animosity. Suddenly, the doors to the chambers creaked open, breaking the charged atmosphere.

Emerging from within, the King's cleric, a diminutive figure with an air of respectability, stepped forth. His eyes narrowed, his expression frozen in detachment, betraying no emotion at the spectacle laid out before him. Instead, he brought his fist near his mouth as if to stifle a cough, and declared,

"Lords of house Crimson and house Carmine, the King will see you now."