Feeling of forebodding

Drip… drip…Shadows stretched across the great hall, swallowing every corner until it resembled a nightmare made flesh. The air was heavy, suffocating, filled with dust and silence.

The throne room of the Hagen tribe was unlike the grand halls of human empires. Shadows clung to its obsidian walls, torches burning with blue flames that hissed instead of crackled. the ceiling stretched high into darkness, lost to sight. 
A trembling voice shattered the stillness.

“Y-Your Highness… we tried to capture Princess Ninsula. We planted spies, we devised plans… but it was all useless. We overlooked her sworn guardian—the Naze family vow for royal family . We believed he had disappeared after so long without showing himself, but… it was our mistake. He appeared at the precise moment and… his strength is overwhelming. Even Prince Kaelith could not stand against him.”

Beads of sweat rolled down the hagen tribe commander’s forehead, dripping onto the cold stone floor as he bowed deeply.

On the throne ahead sat a figure that seemed the very embodiment of darkness itself, Lord Zerath.Draped in flowing dark robes threaded with crimson sigils.When his eyes opened, they gleamed unnaturally—white pupils surrounded by rings of black, their glow sharp against his pale, deathlike face. His long black hair fell like a river of shadow down to his waist. 

 His features were sharp—handsome in a way that unsettled rather than soothed, like a blade polished to perfection.

His hand rested loosely on the armrest, fingers tapping once, twice, as though keeping time with some silent rhythm of thought.

“that royal slave of princess” he murmured, voice smooth as silk yet edged with steel. “As expected.”
One of his generals, armored in jagged plates, lowered his head more. 
Zerath’s lips curved—not into anger, but into a cold smile.

“ We waited so long… for her to leave that gilded cage. And you wasted it.” His lips curled into a devilish smirk, eyes narrowing with cruel delight. “I had hoped to end this peacefully, but it seems the king owan has chosen his destruction. she is still the key. So i have to claim her ”

The blue torches flickered as though answering his vow.

The commander’s blood ran cold.
Suddenly—bang! The hall doors slammed open. A soldier stumbled inside, bowing frantically with a sealed letter clutched in his hands.

“Your Highness! A message… from the King of Lorian!”

Zerath’s pale eyes narrowed.............. 

Kingdom of Lorian

“Your Highness,” the royal messenger bowed, his voice steady but edged with steel, “we have sent warning to the Hagen tribe. If they dare to make another attempt against Princess Ninsula or our kingdom, we shall not forgive it. Let them be aware.”
The king, seated upon his throne, smiled faintly and gave a slow nod. Rising from his seat, he descended the dais with a quiet strength.

“Good,” he said, voice low. “They must know… that we will not bend.”

But halfway down the steps, his hand shot to his temple. His breath faltered.

“Your Highness!” Cried the old advisor, rushing forward to steady him. The king swayed, his gaze clouded, his face pale.

The old man’s voice shook, full of fear. “Is something wrong? Please, say something—your health, is it failing? Should i call imperial doctor? ”
King Owan exhaled, forcing a faint smile as he waved him off.

“It’s nothing. Do not worry yourself.” But his eyes… his eyes were distant, gazing into some unseen horizon. “Lately… I have been plagued by unease. A heaviness I cannot name. As though something is stirring—something terrible, waiting just beyond the veil.”

The advisor’s heart sank at his words. He was not the only one shaken—every elder present felt the weight of the king’s voice. For King Owan was not merely their ruler. He was the pillar of Lorian, a man revered for his kindness, his wisdom, and the love he poured into his people. When he spoke, his words carried the gravity of fate itself.

And so, as he walked away, his back straight but his steps slow, a silent fear spread among those who watched.

The emperor stood by the tall arched window, the last rays of the setting sun draping the room in hues of gold and crimson. His gaze lingered on the kingdom sprawled beneath him, the vast land passed down to him as an heirloom. Yet, despite its beauty, his chest was restless, weighed down by thoughts too heavy for the splendor outside. Slowly, he exhaled and placed one hand firmly on the window sill.

“It’s your days to rest,” 

he said at last, his voice steady but gentle. “You’ve worked tirelessly all year. Go back to your Naze family—take three days as a holiday.”

Behind him, a tall figure bowed low, his hand pressed against his heart. Midnight hair slipped over his pale cheeks, veiling part of his face as his head remained lowered. Those dim, violet eyes lingered on the marble floor, calm yet carrying a silent storm. He was the Princess’s guardian, and today, as always, even the gift of freedom weighed heavily on him.
Memories clawed at the edges of his mind—the boy he once was, sitting alone in the streets, mocked and beaten by those stronger, until one person had appeared… the one who had saved him from that abyss.

“Your Highness,” his voice cut through the silence, sharp as ice yet respectful, “these holidays hold nothing for me. Even if you were to grant them, I would rather continue my duty.”

The emperor turned from the window. His steps echoed softly as he approached, and then, with warmth that contrasted the other’s cold resolve, he placed a steady hand upon the guardian’s shoulder, urging him to straighten.

“It’s all right,” he said with a faint smile. “Three days will not undo what you’ve built. I’ll double the guard around the Princess, and your grandfather is still here as well. In just three days, what could possibly happen?”

The young man lifted his gaze at last. For a fleeting moment, silence stretched between them—one of unspoken loyalty, duty, and something more fragile buried beneath. His lips parted, but no words came, only the faintest nod as he accepted the command.