Other than his shattered pride and bruised spirit, Vichtor remained mostly unscathed.
image [https://i.imgur.com/chZfxAw.png]
With a weary sigh, he lifted his backpack, the weight of his bag—and his journey—felt heavier than usual.
His gaze shifted to the dagger that rested on the ground beside him, an old companion that had seen many battles.
The dark-red blade stirred, trembling violently, before spinning once—its razor-sharp point, now, aiming for Vichtor's head.
It didn’t stop with a mere reposition—as if it had an engine—it continued to prepare its launch.
Then, in a blur of motion, the knife shot forward with terrifying speed, a flash of silver hurtling towards him.
But it did not strike.
No, the blade halted mere inches from his nose, suspended in the thick, suffocating air.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as the knife hovered before him, as though awaiting permission.
With an exhale, he reached out in one swift, practiced motion, grasping the handle and tossing it carelessly into his empty bag.
It was Vichtor’s silent call that brought the blade back in his possession.
After he equipped the backpack, he began his usual walk-of-shame back home. With his head bowed in quiet resignation, he trudged through the so-called "wild and untamed" forest—though in truth, it was little more than a forgotten path of parched earth. The once-proud grass that lined its edges had withered into brittle, sun-scorched strands, crumbling underfoot like ancient parchment.
The air hung heavy with the scent of dry soil and defeat, while above, the merciless sun reigned unchallenged—for now.
"The dusk is settling
Hues of violet, green and gold
Mother is waiting"
----------------------------------------
Castle Renova, the undying heart of the Kingdom that mainly lodged the human race—not just Vichtor—stood as an awe-inspiring monument to power, splendor, and history.
image [https://i.imgur.com/eQS9o08.png]
A bastion of royalty—an enduring symbol of power and grandeur. Its towering walls, sculpted from white gold and veined with streaks of sapphire tears, shimmered under the sun, reflecting a brilliance that seemed almost celestial. These formidable barriers, both beautiful and unyielding, stood as a silent testament to the kingdom’s enduring might.
The main gates, carved from obsidian jade, loomed like the threshold to an ancient legend. Two gargoyles flanked their sides, grim sentinels with hollow eyes that seemed to watch all who dared approach.
They were once living nightmares, monstrous entities whose existence defied nature itself. Long ago, they had terrorized these realms, their obsidian claws raking through the lands, their fanged maws thirsting for destruction.
The air itself had trembled beneath the weight of their unholy presence, dreading most of warriors to speak their names only in hushed whispers. Despite this brutal display of power, their reign of terror met an abrupt but fitting end.
It was Aetherion—a wandering golem of enigmatic origins—who delivered their final reckoning. With powers beyond mortal comprehension, he subdued the beasts and bound them in their coffins of eternal stone. Now, their petrified forms loomed at Renova’s gates, frozen in grotesque agony, their twisted figures serving as both a warning and a monument to the kingdom’s triumph over the darkness.
Each gargoyle was accompanied by a sentinel clad in pristine silver armor, its surface enchanted by the combined mastery of mages and alchemists. The metal gleamed with an almost ethereal radiance, runes faintly pulsing along the engraved plates, reinforcing both the soldier’s resilience and the sheer authority they commanded.
These two warriors stood as the unwavering gatekeepers, their presence as imposing as the petrified horrors at their sides!
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A total of eight elite guards maintained a constant vigil, ensuring that no force—mortal or otherwise—would breach the palace gates unnoticed. With only two entrances carved into its formidable walls.
Duty was divided with unwavering precision—four guardians standing watch beneath the sun’s golden gaze, while four others took their post beneath the cold embrace of the moon.
Together, they formed an unyielding line of defense!
Should the vigilant guards permit passage, one would step onto an immaculately designed pathway of polished stone bricks, each piece laid with purpose, guiding visitors toward the castle’s heart. But Renova was more than just its regal keep; it was a kingdom within a kingdom. Rising on either side of the grand avenue stood an array of structures—manor houses, barracks, libraries, and halls of governance—all forming a vibrant tableau of wealth and history.
Above them all, countless spires and towers float toward the heavens, each one an ambitious tribute to the kingdom’s aspirations. Yet, for all their might and majesty, they fell woefully short of piercing the sky. Though they failed to reach the divine, they exuded an undeniable aura of chivalry—proud and unyielding, like the knights who swore their oaths beneath these shadows.
But today, the palace itself was not the center of attention, nor was its King—a man whose piercing blue eyes and flowing white hair effortlessly mirrored the very gems that adorned his grand citadel. No, not this time.
Instead, all eyes were drawn to what lay beyond the grand window—a sight that could steal the breath of even the most seasoned nobles.
The Garden.
I will spare you the vivid imagery of flower beds overflowing with color, weaving a fragrant tapestry around the ancient, elegant fountains that were often visited by winged creatures—majestic and mischievous alike—imagery of eternal grace captured under the warm embrace of the setting sun.
And instead, I will draw your gaze to the garden’s greatest treasure, standing proudly at its very heart—a cherry tree.
Its beauty was unmatched, a living masterpiece that captivated all who beheld it. The cherry tree was the pride of the palace, a symbol of serenity amidst the chaos of his reign. Whenever the weight of the crown grew too heavy and stress knocked at the royal door, his majesty would retreat to this sanctuary, breathing fresh air in its calming presence.
Unfortunately, this time, the serenity of the garden was shattered.
The culprit? The cherry tree itself. Its once-stable trunk trembled violently, its branches thrashing wildly as though struck by the force of an overgrown ram. Yet there was no enemy in sight, no battle cry to herald an assault, and not even the faintest breath of wind to explain the chaos. No, it was not an intruder or nature’s wrath that caused the disturbance. It was something far more profound.
It was Renewal…
image [https://i.imgur.com/SZ75QTr.png]
A hidden ability, a spell so deeply entwined with the fabric of his being that it was known only to its user, the King of Prospera, and another King this adventurer had once befriended—bound by a shared history.
This ability, ancient and untamable, activated of its own accord.
No entity; witches, alchemists, the King himself or even its own user, could summon, control, or quell its force.
The tree trembled once more, its branches quivering as its flowers fell in a slow, deliberate dance—each one drifting through the air with an eerie sense of purpose.
As the petals floated and twirled, they began to gather in the air, shifting with a strange, orchestrated grace. One by one, they locked into place, forming the outlines of something more—a figure, ethereal and faint.
Eventually, the petals settled, and the form became undeniable—a man.
Tall and imposing, he towered with the presence of one who commanded respect without speaking a word. His frame was sculpted, muscles honed through years of rigorous training, each vein a testament to his relentless pursuit of strength. He had molded his body with care, striving to resemble the heroes who filled the pages of ancient scripts—those the youngsters look up to.
Despite his youthful appearance, his gray hair betrayed him—a silent marker of time’s passage.
His amber eyes would burn with the fiery passion of life itself, a blazing intensity that once pierced through the very fabric of existence…
A beautiful scene, yes.
But there lingered a chilling sense of dread, for this figure was no mere apparition or dream.
No…
It was Alexisz himself.
He stood motionless, his amber eyes only half-open, awaiting the process’ completion. A profound sense of powerlessness consumed him, the weight of his existence pressing down on his very being. He was a creature of rebirth, yet in this moment, he felt the loss of something vital.
Renewal was his hidden weapon, an ability taht was barely triggered twice since it had first awakened.
The first time, it had surged through him when he was struck down in the streets of Tokyo. A fatal blow, a knife to his heart, yet instead of succumbing to death, it brought him to this world.
The second time, however, was a moment of hesitation, a mistake he would not speak of. It was his own fault—his carelessness in battle.
Both deaths were denied by this very tree that revived him now.
But now?
This time...
It was the overwhelming, crushing force of a power far beyond anything he had faced before that brought him to this garden.
"Summer blooms again
Flowers of life sprout anew
Resuscitation..."
His body, now fully reconstructed, began moving with a singular focus.
He strode forward with purpose, each step steady and determined as he made his way toward the royal chamber.
There was no time to lose.
The King had to be informed at once.
The balance of the world had just been shattered!
image [https://i.imgur.com/En118Nd.png]