“Are you sure about this, my king?” A voice echoed through the vast throne room, which despite its confidence, carried with it a tinge of uncertainty. Said voice belonged to a young man of barely twenty-five summers, clad in plate armor etched with curious blue lines.

He was tall and lean, yet his body rippled with hardened muscle. His short black hair blew gently in the soft breeze that streamed through the open windows. In short, his appearance was nothing unique compared to the other soldiers in the Franken military, if not for the strange crescent moon-shaped birthmark on his cheek along with his glowing golden eyes.

His name was Edwin Rosses, Chief Guardian of the Golden Templar, the highest order of knights within the Franken Kingdom. He looked up at the massive throne before him, where an armored figure sat.

Despite its lean and wiry build, the figure practically radiated power. Anyone who looked at it would instantly feel a sense of respect.

“You are a wise man, Sir Edwin. Do you truly believe I would jest about matters as serious as this?” A deep, masculine voice rumbled, hitting Edwin’s ears like crashing boulders. The voice’s owner slowly shifted atop its throne, the flames of the torches filling the hall with a vibrant orange.

“As the leader of this potential expedition… I simply worry for the sake of our kingdom. Traveling sailors arriving at our docks have never heard of an ‘Isle of the Blessed’. I do not believe it is worth spending so much time, effort, and money on this naïve quest for something that might not even exist…” The knight was cut off as the figure suddenly rose from the throne, reaching up with massive hands to remove its menacing helmet.

With a single motion, the figure wrenched the helmet from its head and tossed it aside, the huge piece of crimson metal hitting the ground with a dull clang. The figure’s face was rather handsome despite his advanced age, sporting a long, curled mustache and bushy beard with bright blue eyes that had somewhat dulled over the years.

The figure was King Gracchus, ruler of the Franken Kingdom and the man to whom Edwin was appointed as his personal bodyguard, the man to whom Edwin owned his life to, the man whom raised Edwin as his own son.

Not that Gracchus needed a bodyguard, to which the massive sword strapped to his back attested to, the sheath visibly crackling with a strange, purple energy.

The country that one day became the Franken Kingdom was initially a loose collection of tribes that despite living in the same territory, tended to their own matters with established borders.

It was under the leadership of the first Franken king, Frederick, from which the kingdom was established.

Previous leaders of the kingdom tended to lean towards diplomacy to resolve problems with foreign kingdoms.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Born into a peasant family and rising through the ranks of the military at a young age, the ambitious Gracchus earned the respect of his soldiers and peers, leading the young general to stage a military coup to seize power from the previous King Reinhardt.

With the loyalty of his men, Gracchus set to work reworking the entire kingdom, establishing the Gryphon dynasty with him at the helm. His son, Hector, was supposed to have inherited the throne after his passing.

The crown prince was found dead in his room the previous night, his throat ripped open by a dagger.

Heartbroken and utterly furious at the death of his only son and heir, Gracchus had sent out thousands of troops to find the assassin, even though he knew in his heart it was hopeless. The assassin could have been anywhere by now.

The king knew his time was growing short, and now that his only child was dead, he knew his death would spell the end of the newly-established Gryphon dynasty.

This was not to be.

Travelers that had come from overseas had spoken of a legendary island country, an “Isle of the Blessed” that was wealthy in everything from fertile land to freshwater supplies, as well as being so isolated that fear of foreign invasion was almost nonexistent.

Despite his advisors telling him this was utter nonsense, that the royal geographers had never heard of such a thing, Gracchus’s ailing mind was filled with only one thought.

Adopt a new heir and reestablish his dynasty on this Isle of the Blessed so that his legacy may live on.

Sir Edwin was the epitome of a royal heir. Born into the noble house of Frostrite as the son of the Archknight Francis, he proved himself a capable commander at a young age, much like Gracchus himself. After a distinguished career serving in the Franken military as a mechanized infantry commander, he was eventually promoted to general, supported and loved by both the public and his troops.

After witnessing his many feats, including winning a brilliant strategical victory at the Battle of Pilus, Gracchus knew Edwin was the perfect heir. He would revive the Franken kingdom.

Thus, it fell on his shoulders to populate the Isle of the Blessed and reestablish the kingdom there.

“This kingdom will collapse after my death, Edwin. Do not dare question me on this expedition. Do you hear me?” Edwin flinched at the sudden anger in his king’s voice.

His voice softening somewhat, Gracchus brought a hand to his face before sighing heavily and sitting back on his throne with a metallic thump. “I am sorry Edwin. With the current chaos going on over the question of my successor, the political meetings have gotten unbearable to attend.” Many people were prepared to vie for the throne after Gracchus’s inevitable death, forming multiple alliances and making preparations for civil war.

“You leave tomorrow Edwin. I have already arranged preparations. Your boat and fellow settlers will be awaiting you at the dock by 8:00 AM sharp.” The king said, Edwin knowing by his tone that his decision was final.

“But your highness, my position as the Chief Guardian…” Gracchus waved a hand dismissively. “Do not worry about your previous positions. You are now the leader of the new Franken Kingdom that is to be established on this ‘Isle of the Blessed’. The Golden Templar will cease to exist after my death.” The king said.

Edwin nodded, struggling to blink back his tears as he truly realized the gravity of his situation.

The king was relying on him to carry on his legacy.

He had to do it.

“Yes, my king… I will make you proud to call me your adopted son.” Edwin said with finality, giving his king one last salute before marching out of the room, his stance rigid.

Gracchus sighed as he held out a hand, his armored fingers glowing with red light as the tossed-aside helmet returned to his grip in a flash of light.

He returned to brooding, a myriad of thoughts running through his head.

If Edwin’s expedition succeeded, he could rest in peace knowing his dynasty-and thus his legacy- would live on even if his kingdom was destroyed.

If it was done all in vain, Gracchus knew his legacy would die with him.

He had faith in Edwin. His adopted son and most renowned pupil would never fail him.

As the sun set over the city of Summerstar, the king did not even bother with closing the curtains.

He simply leaned back and waited, even as the darkness consumed him, leaving only two glowing red silts in the shadowy room.