Everyone had already gathered when Derrick ambled his way to the bailey. His leg looked fine on the outside, but the slightest blunder or exertion racked him with pain. He gritted his teeth and shifted his weight to his other leg.

Malakai summoned the entire court to the bailey no longer than half an hour ago. No one knew why, but it seemed like everyone had their own guesses. He was one of the last to arrive.

The archmage told him to come on time, but he had hesitated while in the vacant chamber. All kinds of thoughts muddled his mind. He wanted to help Kiano – somehow, anyhow – but even if he bent over backwards, he still couldn’t.

That was when Artam approached him. He didn’t even notice that he was there until the pretty guy cleared his throat and made his existence known.

“Looks like you’re still hurting.”

He didn’t respond. But Artam kept sticking to him and made his intentions known right away.

“Hey, uhm, there’s actually something I need to tell you.”

“I’m not a big fan of talking…”

“Same here,” Artam said, then kept going without missing a beat. “But I know why we’re all here. Don’t you wanna know?”

Derrick reluctantly glimpsed at him out of the corner of his eye. Artam did pique his interest this time.

“Spill the beans already.”

“We’re all here because of you.”

“I already know that.”

Artam closed in: “Malakai has chosen you as his successor.”

“But I failed the contest.”

“You were chosen because you made it out alive, because you’re the last one standing. But that’s not true, is it?”

Derrick smirked unbeknownst to himself upon hearing the last sentence.

“What? Are you gonna rat me out or something?”

“No, I’m not. Where’s the fun in that? And what I just told you is the official reason you were chosen, not the actual reason.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Malakai picked you ‘cause the Queen spared you, because you, in fact, didn’t survive, did you?”

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Derrick frowned, unable to comprehend.

“This is why Malakai wanted to speak to you. He wanted to know why she didn’t take your life.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“I don’t have a point. I’m just saying, be careful from now on. Don’t go around and talk about that friend of yours.”

“And what do you gain from that?”

Artam shrugged. He didn’t utter a single word after this. There was something secretive about him – something that told Derrick that the other was not someone he wanted to get involved with.

He just couldn’t figure this Artam guy out. What were his intentions? Did he simply not care, or was he putting on an act?

He shook the dire thoughts off and shifted his entire attention to the milling crowd instead. Malakai was supposed to be here several minutes ago, and his lengthy absence made the entire court antsy.

From what he could discern from the chaotic wittering, Malakai was as regular as clockwork; it wasn’t like him to tell people to gather and not show up on the dot. His absence kept people on their toes. Even the cool air felt chillier than usual.

Something was in the pipeline, everyone could feel it.

It was not long after these thoughts crossed his mind that a gripping clamour broke out. Everyone jerked up, and sheer silence fell upon the rabble. The strange clamour grew louder in no time and more discernible.

“OPEN THE GATE! OPEN THE GATE!”

He met Artam’s hooded eyes, just as baffled as his own, as they exchanged looks without knowing why. But they were not the only ones who did that. Everyone had become numb with fear.

The guards raised the portcullis. Derrick, despite his searing leg, scrabbled his way through the crowd to see what the commotion was about. Artam was right on his heels. Before he even made it to the front of the crowd, he felt how the people he shoved aside turned as cold as ice.

He almost lost his footing. No words could capture the macabre, gut-wrenching sight before him. Artam caught up to him in the nick of time and supported him.

Arigir was soaked in blood. His cloak was ripped all over, and deep wounds riddled his whole body.

The wizard could hardly stand straight. He was dragging an equally wounded horse, with the collapsed Forquin dangling on either side of it. When the knights saw the crippling sight, they shouted at the crowd to back away and make way for the injured.

As the court dispersed unwillingly, a fraction of the royal knights dashed to the main entrance while the rest attended to the wizards. Arigir collapsed on the firm ground. His penetrating voice reverberated throughout Belzcakir and stunned everyone into silence – even the knights shouting at the crowd to stay away broke off and listened.

A chilling fear was all that was left in the wake of his heartbreaking voice, which was fraught with as much tenderness as grief. Everyone held their breaths like one entity and listened to the distraught mage.

“The beasts of Lordôm have slain Sirahael, the first of his name! Mark my words: they are no longer hiding in the shadows! The seal is broken! The beasts are on their way to take our heads and our kingdom!”

Derrick wheezed as he forgot to breathe for several seconds. Artam nudged him. He followed the boy’s gaze to the crowd, which split into two and looked in one direction. It was Malakai coming through the chaotic mass.

Arigir broke down upon his noble arrival and clung to his ruby cape. Derrick dropped his head as he recalled his time in Lordôm and how he had succumbed to his fears and cried in the dark as the fahltyrs closed in from all sides. He knew what Arigir had witnessed, he knew exactly what it felt like to be hunted like prey.

Malakai must know too, he thought, for the great lord crouched and let Arigir weep until his tears dried up and an ounce of his grief eased. That was when Malakai finally stood up and broke the brooding silence. His voice resonated throughout the castle and sent shivers up everyone’s spines.

“WAR! In the name of the Almighty, I declare the word of the King! WAR! Long live Gartâr! Long live Mahgrad! LONG LIVE THE KINGDOM!”