Move Along Without Getting in My Way

"Lordhair," Solve said, her voice gentle yet filled with seriousness. "I need to tell you something. This may be difficult for you, but you must know it."

Lordhair noticed the expression on Solve’s face and tilted his head slightly. "I'm listening, Solve. No matter what, I will always heed your words."

Solve took a few steps forward, gazing momentarily at the center of the room as she gathered her thoughts. Then, turning back, she focused on Lordhair’s soul. "Nira spoke to us. She explained certain things so we could understand you, your punishments, and the meaning of this entire cycle."

Lordhair remained silent for a moment before looking at her with curiosity. "What did Nira say? And what does it mean for me?"

Solve swallowed heavily before finally speaking. "Nira spoke of the gods' plans for your fate. They do not see you as an ordinary person, Lordhair. In their eyes, you are a being capable of changing the fate of this world. That is why they impose these punishments on you; they are testing your will, pushing you to your limits."

Solve's voice trembled for a moment, but she continued. "Vermithor and I have been searching for a way to save you. But Nira said this is our trial. That we must accept your fate as it is… and that it is part of a greater, universal order."

As Lordhair listened to Solve’s words, he turned inward for a brief moment. The pains of the prison, the hallucinations he had seen, and the nightmares of his mother resurfaced in his mind. Yet, being beside Solve eased the weight of it all, even if only slightly. Looking into her eyes, he spoke softly, "Perhaps Nira is right, but my will is to overcome this suffering. Even if I cannot break the chains of this order, I can change how they define me."

Seeing Lordhair’s determination, Solve smiled faintly. She stepped closer, reaching out once again and touching him gently. "No matter what we face, I will always be by your side, Lordhair. The order of this world, fate, or the gods' plans—our bond goes beyond all of it."

Lordhair felt the sincerity in Solve’s words and bowed his head in silent gratitude. This moment was not just an explanation or an exchange of information; it was a deepening of their love and devotion to each other. No matter how difficult it was, Solve once again proved that she would stand by Lordhair’s side.

As Solve and Lordhair spoke within the enchanting atmosphere of the ballroom, they felt their love for one another. Solve did everything she could to ease Lordhair’s pain and support him. However, at that very moment of peace, the air in the room changed. The lights suddenly went out, the warmth disappeared, replaced by a sharp coldness. The pressure in the air grew so intense that Solve struggled to breathe.

Lordhair paused for a moment, holding his forehead as a voice from the depths of his mind echoed sharply and chillingly:

"It’s time to return to your cell, Lordhair."

Solve immediately noticed Lordhair’s reaction and rushed to him. "Lordhair, what’s happening?" she asked, but received no response.

At that moment, a dark portal tore open in the center of the ballroom. The immense energy radiating from within nearly consumed the room’s magical ambiance. Solve’s eyes widened in shock as she focused on the portal.

From within, black chains emerged, racing toward Lordhair. Each chain wrapped around his soul, pulling him back. Lordhair turned his gaze to Solve, his expression a mix of helplessness and resolve.

Solve attempted to counter the chains with her magic, but they were creations of divine power—stopping them was impossible.

"No!" she screamed, running toward him. As the chains coiled tighter around his soul, Solve desperately reached out to touch him. But the chains were relentless, pulling Lordhair swiftly toward the dark portal.

Lordhair looked at Solve one last time and whispered, "I will return, Solve."

The chains tightened even further, yanking Lordhair into the dark portal. It swallowed him completely before closing in silence. When the darkness in the ballroom dissipated, Solve could only fall to her knees, staring into the emptiness.

"I know," she whispered.

Lordhair found himself once again surrounded by familiar cold and darkness. The weight of the chains pressed against him as he realized he had returned to his prison cell. The oppressive energy around him once more reminded him of the eerie silence of the Divine Prison. Rising in frustration, he looked around and, with a voice trembling with defiance, called out to the gods:

"Why? Why have you dragged me back here? Why didn’t you let me go?!"

The silence was brief before a sharp, cold, and mocking voice echoed from every corner of the cell:

"Did you think this was a hotel, Lordhair? You are in prison. Did you believe you could wander the universe like a traveler?"

Lordhair felt the chilling weight of the chains but smirked, raising his head slightly. His voice carried a mocking tone. "Does the Almighty God have nothing better to do than torment me? Are you really that bored?"

The air grew heavier. The god’s voice echoed once more, now laced with amusement. "So, you’ve finally realized what this is, Lordhair. And now, you dare to mock me? I will deal with you personally."

Lordhair met these words with a cold smirk. Looking up, he replied, "If you fear how a pawn becomes a king, then keep trying to stop me. But I will break these chains. You will never break me."

This defiance only fueled the god’s rage. Lordhair braced himself for an even harsher punishment, yet he refused to let his resolve waver.

"But you’re lucky, Lordhair," the god finally spoke again. "I won’t be here for a while."

Lordhair raised his head, narrowing his eyes. It seemed like a temporary relief, but he could sense there was more to the statement. The god did not let the silence linger.

"In my absence, Attila will deal with you. I’m not sure you’ll enjoy his methods.

The moment these words were spoken, the entire atmosphere of the prison shifted. As the god’s presence slowly faded, it was replaced by a dark, overwhelming aura.

Lordhair pulled at his chains, straightening himself, his expression hardened in preparation for the challenge ahead.

Jorah was walking through the silent corridors of the palace. His eyes bore the weight of years, yet they still carried an expression of determination. His destination was "Ephesus," where the strategic affairs of the kingdom were discussed. It was the place where Mask, as the chief strategist, showcased his intellect—the very heart where the kingdom's most complex plans took shape.

When Jorah arrived at Ephesus, he found Mask studying the kingdom’s map spread out on a table. Upon noticing his father’s presence, Mask straightened up immediately. "Welcome, father," he said, his voice confident yet filled with the respect he held for Jorah.

Jorah sat beside his son, glancing at the chessboard on the table, and smiled slightly. "I’ve missed chess. Beyond strategy discussions, it’s a great tool to challenge the mind." Mask immediately accepted his father’s offer, setting up the board before they began their game.

As the pieces moved across the board, Jorah spoke to his son: "Mask, leadership is shaped not only by intelligence but also by willpower. Sometimes, listening to the heart is more effective than even the strongest strategies. A confident leader earns the trust of others. Remember, leadership is not just about making the right moves—it’s about knowing when to take risks."

Mask contemplated his father's words before making his next move. With a faint smile, he replied, "You are right, father. But sometimes, taking risks requires courage beyond even the most intricate strategies. You used to tell me this often when I was a child, do you remember?"

His words stirred a memory in Jorah’s mind—young Mask standing before him, gripping a wooden sword. They were in the palace courtyard, engaged in sword training. Every swing was a lesson in tactics and courage. Mask’s determination and eagerness to learn had always impressed Jorah. A nostalgic smile formed on his lips.

As the warmth of that memory faded, Jorah moved a chess piece, delivering the winning move. Mask, recognizing his father's skill once again, smiled. "Father, you always won when I was a child. But now, let’s move on to swords. Perhaps this time, I might have the upper hand," he said, and the two of them proceeded to the training grounds.

Jorah and Mask began their sword practice in the courtyard. Mask’s graceful and swift movements reflected the teachings his father had instilled in him over the years. Jorah, on the other hand, calmly responded to his son’s attacks. Throughout the training, Jorah continued imparting lessons on leadership: "In both battle and life, what matters is not how fast you are, but how resilient. Endurance is the strongest weapon in leadership."

Mask, inspired by his father's words, made one final strike before pausing. Both were out of breath, but a warm smile lingered on their faces. "Father," Mask said, "you trained me like this when I was a child. No matter what, your lessons and patience have made me the person I am today."

Jorah looked at his son and spoke: "Mask, you have always been a good leader. But remember, leadership is also about learning to trust others. Strategies gain strength through the bonds between people. That is why standing here with you today fills me with pride."

After their training, Mask sat in a quiet corner of the courtyard, lost in thought. His father’s lessons on leadership had become more frequent, especially in recent years. Taking a deep breath, he began to question the reasons behind this: Of course, my father has always trained and advised us. But why is he still pressing leadership lessons on me at the age of 22? Thorn, my older brother, is 24. If a successor is being considered... could this create a rift between us? Thorn seems more suited for leadership—or at least, he should be.

As these thoughts swirled in Mask’s mind, he decided to ask his father directly. He stood up and approached Jorah, his voice hesitant yet filled with curiosity. "Father, I need to ask you something. Are you considering me for the throne?"

Jorah noticed the uncertainty in his son’s eyes. With a gentle smile, he placed a reassuring hand on Mask’s shoulder and spoke: "Mask, it’s natural for you to question this. But yes, I am considering you. Thorn is a powerful warrior. But leadership is not built on strength alone—it requires a mind that thinks strategically. I am growing old, my son. One day, the person who sits on this throne must govern the kingdom wisely. And for that, we need a successor capable of making the right decisions. That successor is you."

Mask was momentarily frozen by his father's words. The turmoil within him was replaced by a deeper understanding. "Father, have you told Thorn this? Have you had this conversation with him?" he asked.

Jorah lowered his head slightly before responding. "Thorn’s strength and loyalty are invaluable to this kingdom. But leadership demands strategic thinking. You were born a strategist, Mask. Choosing you is not merely a preference—it is a necessity."

"Mask," Jorah said, his voice firm and resolute. "You will be king. The future of this kingdom will be entrusted to your hands. And after you, Lordhair will ascend the throne. I believe that the idealistic reforms I never had the courage to undertake will be accomplished by the two of you. Thorn will be your sword. You are the new generation that will reshape this kingdom."

Mask hesitated for a moment upon hearing his father’s words. The doubt in his heart was replaced by a profound sense of responsibility. Taking a step back, he knelt and lowered his head to show his loyalty. His voice carried both confidence and deep respect: "As you command, Your Majesty. It is an honor."

As this solemn vow was exchanged, Jorah smiled faintly, seeing the determination in his son’s eyes. However, at that very moment, a soldier standing silently in the shadows of the courtyard had overheard their conversation. His expression was a mix of surprise and conflicting emotions. Taking slow steps backward, he melted into the darkness, retreating unnoticed.

Just then, the air in the room subtly shifted, and a faint magical energy was felt. Mask noticed the change and looked up. Suddenly, a red hawk materialized and gracefully glided into the room, landing on Mask’s shoulder.

The hawk, created by Lady Aria’s magic, spoke instantly, its voice calm yet authoritative: "I am Queen Aria. I invite you to the Shadow Realm. Be my guest. We shall discuss the details face to face, should you choose to grace my kingdom."

As Mask and Jorah listened carefully to the hawk’s words, its magical energy slowly dissipated. Having delivered its message, the hawk flapped its wings, dissolving into a brilliant light.

Following this unexpected summons, Jorah took a deep breath and turned to Mask, his brows furrowed in contemplation. He spoke in a serious tone: "This invitation may be risky, Mask. Whatever Lady Aria’s intentions, such a call is always fraught with danger. However, we must go to the Shadow Realm. Sometimes, taking risks is just as important as making the right strategic moves."

Mask, recognizing his father’s concern, responded decisively:

"Father, you don’t need to come to the Shadow Realm. At this moment, it is more important for you to remain here and oversee the kingdom. I can go with a group of soldiers. This way, it would be safer for the kingdom, and we could progress in negotiations with Lady Aria more swiftly."

Jorah listened to his son’s reasoning carefully. Mask’s confidence and maturity showed how resolute he was in this decision. Nodding slightly, Jorah spoke calmly: "You are right, Mask. You seem ready for this journey. I will remain here to protect the kingdom. But never forget—the invitation to the Shadow Realm may not be as straightforward as it seems."

Mask lowered his head in acknowledgment and replied firmly, "Do not worry, Father. This mission is an honor. I will do what is best for the future of the kingdom."

With his decision made, Mask began preparations. He selected an elite group of soldiers from Ephesus, gathered the necessary supplies, and meticulously reviewed his plans for the journey ahead.

Marc and Mythos: Journey to the Realm of Shadows

Marc ignored the freezing winds and the dark ruins of ice as he moved forward through the northern wastelands. Beside him, Slaw and Mythos followed in silence. This journey to the Realm of Shadows was not just a tactical maneuver—it was destined to be one of fate's greatest moves.

As Marc advanced with determination, he suddenly halted and turned to look at Mythos. His voice echoed with conviction and a deep sense of purpose:

"It is time for you to break free from these frozen ruins, Mythos. In the war that will shape the fate of the Cyberthrone era, I want you to fight alongside Silhou and me."

Mythos lowered his head slightly, listening to the words of the friend he had known for so long. Memories of victories won and strategies devised flashed before his eyes. Yet, he also felt the weight of age and wondered if he could still bear the burden of war. With a faint smile, he replied:

"We've been friends for a long time, Marc. But I believe we are getting old. Perhaps the warriors of this era should be younger than us."

Understanding Mythos' hesitation, Marc took a step closer. His gaze locked onto his friend's, and he spoke in a calmer tone:

"We won’t be fighting on the battlefield unless absolutely necessary, Mythos. Your role will be in strategy. Without your intelligence, winning this war will be impossible. Will you help us on this journey?"

Mythos remained silent for a moment before slowly nodding. There was both acceptance and trust in his eyes. With a faint smile, he simply said,

"Alright."

The echoes of the impending great war were resonating throughout the land. Sides were slowly beginning to form.

As the cold northern winds cut against Marc’s face, he continued his march through icy paths. Mythos was beside him, silent but ever thoughtful.

Suddenly, Marc noticed movement on the horizon. In the distance, a group of people appeared. As he observed carefully, he saw a young leader standing at the forefront. The group moved in a disciplined and controlled manner. But at that moment, the young leader shouted sharply:
"Who are you? Do not come any closer!"

Marc hesitated, then turned to Mythos and the soldiers beside him, signaling them to remain calm. In a low voice, he said,

"Stay alert. We will proceed carefully. It seems their leader has noticed us and perceives a threat."

Mythos leaned slightly toward Marc, a small smirk on his lips.
"I believe this journey will be more interesting than we expected," he whispered.

Marc rolled his eyes at Mythos' remark but couldn't suppress a slight smile. He slowly halted the group and addressed the young leader with a composed yet firm voice:

 "We are not enemies. Our intentions are peaceful."

Marc’s composed demeanor and unwavering confidence began to have an effect on the cautious young leader. However, Marc could feel that he had captured Mask’s full attention—this leader was no ordinary figure.

As Marc and Mythos advanced cautiously, the young leader's resolute voice echoed once more:

"State your names! Where are you headed, and what is your purpose?"

Marc responded without hesitation, his voice as steady and clear as ever:

"I told you—we mean no harm. We are heading to the Realm of Shadows. I am Marc, and this is Mythos."

The moment Mask heard the name Mythos, his entire body tensed. That name stirred something deep inside him—an uncontrollable fury and the weight of the past. Yet, maintaining the composure expected of a leader, he kept his expression unreadable. His eyes remained fixed on Marc and Mythos as he spoke in a controlled yet authoritative tone:

"Move along without getting in my way."

Marc noted Mask’s cold and sharp demeanor, but he sensed the emotions the young leader was trying to conceal. While Mythos remained silent at Marc’s side, he keenly observed the hardness in Mask’s gaze. To avoid further conflict, Marc gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and continued on with Mythos.

Mask and his soldiers set forth once more, their steps filled with determination, carried by the cold winds of the north.

Their journey led them through treacherous mountain paths and eerie, silent valleys of ice. With every step, Mask considered the crimson hawk conjured by Lady Aria's magic and the dangers lurking in the Lake Kingdom. However, as they neared the region, the landscape began to change. The frozen rocks and barren land gave way to flourishing vegetation. The air, though still cool, carried a subtle warmth. It felt as if the land itself was writing the first lines of an ancient tale.

Upon reaching the borders of the Lake Kingdom, the presence of magic became palpable. The Realm of the Lake was a majestic kingdom surrounded by deep blue waters, where light and nature intertwined through sorcery. The very air seemed to hum with magical energy. The surfaces of the vast lakes rippled endlessly, as if alive, shifting with the arcane currents surrounding them. Towering white spires adorned the kingdom's entrance, their crystalline structures reaching for the heavens, reflecting the power and elegance of its people.

As Mask and his soldiers advanced towards the kingdom’s heart, they observed how magic was woven seamlessly into everyday life. Even an ordinary villager could control floating orbs of light in the sky, shaping water with a mere gesture of their hands. Farmers used magic to accelerate crop growth, while even young children played freely with spells. Every detail of the city was infused with an enchanting aesthetic—street lamps glowed with embedded luminous stones, eternally casting their magical light.

At the heart of the kingdom, the bustling marketplace brimmed with arcane wonders. Floating fruit stalls, self-pouring waterfalls, and elegantly sculpted magical statues adorned the area. In every corner, one could feel that magic was not merely an art—it was the very essence of life.

Just then, a gentle wave of light enveloped them, and a group of sorceresses materialized a few steps away. Their elegant robes shimmered with enchantments, and their presence radiated authority. One of them, who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward and spoke in a graceful yet commanding tone:

"Welcome, Prince Mask. As the Queen’s hand, I have been sent by Lady Aria to greet you and escort you to her presence."

The sorceress's words drew the gazes of Mask’s soldiers toward him. Mask remained silent for a brief moment, considering both the deep magical aura of this kingdom and the respectful yet firm nature of their welcome. With a slight bow of his head, he responded with determination:
"Thank you for your invitation. I look forward to speaking with Lady Aria."

The sorceresses gracefully acknowledged his response before leading Mask and his soldiers toward Lady Aria’s grand hall.

As they traversed the enchanted paths of the Lake Kingdom, they followed their guides toward an ornate chamber. Towering doors stood at the entrance, their intricate carvings shifting and glowing as if alive with magic. With a mere touch from the sorceresses, the doors parted, revealing a breathtaking sight beyond.

The hall embodied both the elegance and power of the Lake Kingdom. Chandeliers of pure crystal bathed the room in a soft, golden glow, illuminating walls adorned with emerald and gold embroidery. At the center, streams of water, infused with magic, swirled and danced in mesmerizing patterns. At the far end, seated upon an elevated throne, was Lady Aria—her regal poise and commanding presence completing the scene of grandeur.

Mask stepped forward, inclining his head in a respectful bow. His voice, steady and unwavering, echoed through the chamber:

"Lady Aria, thank you for your invitation. It is an honor to stand before you."

Lady Aria studied him in silence for a moment before rising with a graceful motion. Her voice, both gentle and commanding, carried across the hall:

"Prince Mask, I appreciate you accepting my invitation and coming here. This meeting is not just significant for our kingdoms but also for the alliances and friendships that may shape the future."

Mask admired the depth in her words, yet he remained cautious. Lady Aria cast a brief glance at his soldiers before gesturing forward with a welcoming motion.
"Let us create a space for an open discussion. Please, be seated."

And so, within the magnificent palace of the Lake Kingdom, the first steps toward a new alliance were taken. How would fate unfold from here?