THE FALL OF LIGHT (The Kingdom in Tears)

(When a king falls, even the stars mourn)

The sky over Emberlyis darkened as if it too grieved. The once radiant capital city was shrouded in sorrow. The mighty gates of the kingdom opened slowly, not with the thunder of triumph, but the whisper of loss. The sound of hooves against the stone road echoed like a funeral drumbeat as the armies of the South returned—not with glory, but with grief.

At the head of the long, battered procession, the Royal Banner drooped low. Behind it, on a golden carriage draped in white cloth and crimson roses, lay the lifeless body of King Raiku Arkus, his sword resting by his side—the same blade that once pierced through waves of darkness, now still in eternal silence.

As the people saw the carriage roll into the heart of the kingdom, a cry erupted across the city—raw, guttural, endless.

Chiefs and council elders, seasoned warriors and proud captains, all dropped to their knees. They tore their royal garments and tossed dust upon their heads. Some wept in silence; others screamed in anguish. Even the hardest hearts could not stop their tears.

Within the palace walls, chaos erupted when the news reached the royal family.

The Queen, Kaen Arkus, collapsed the moment the words reached her ears.
“No… my king… no… this cannot be…” she sobbed, clutching her chest as her maids held her tightly. Her face, once the epitome of grace and serenity, was now painted with rivers of sorrow.

In the next chamber, Princess Arya, young and spirited, let out a piercing scream.
“Lies!” she shouted, shoving aside anyone who tried to stop her. “This is a lie! My father is the strongest! He promised me he’d come back!”
But no one could answer. Even the guards wept as they knelt.

And then came Prince Renji Arkus.

The moment he saw the carriage and the still body of his father, time seemed to freeze around him.
“No…” he whispered.
He broke into a run, stumbling through the crowd. “NOOOO!” he screamed. “COME BACK!!! FATHER!!!”

Falling to his knees beside the carriage, he gripped the cold hand of the king. “You said… you said you'd return… You promised, Father…”
His cries cut through every soul in Emberlyis. Mages wept. Warriors bowed in silence. Citizens clutched their children, mourning their protector.

A royal mass burial was arranged—like no ceremony the world had ever seen. Every nation under the Southern Banner gathered. From the snowy hills of Wyndara to the sea-blessed cities of Kalesh, they came in thousands. Every home lit a candle. Every temple echoed his name.

At the heart of the Royal Grounds, a massive white tomb of silverstone and dragonfire crystal was built. The sword of the king, now glowing faintly with the sealed power of Drakther, was placed beside his body.

The priest of the Light Order raised his staff high and spoke:

“Here lies King Raiku Arkus,
The Flame of Emberlyis,
Son of Great Light,
Guardian of the South,
Whose courage became legend,
Whose sacrifice became salvation.
May his spirit soar with the stars,
And may his will burn eternally in our hearts.”

As his body was lowered into the tomb, thunder rolled across the skies.
Rain fell—not as a storm, but as tears from the heavens.

And in the farthest corner of the mourning crowd, a boy stood alone.
His fists clenched.
His eyes red with pain.
His name—Renji Arkus.

His heart—shattered.
His resolve—unshakable.

“I’ll become strong, Father…
Stronger than anyone…
And I will avenge you.”