After this, Altherion spoke again.
"There is one more thing I wanted to discuss," he said, his deep voice echoing through the marble hall. "It was also mentioned in the reports — about Iskareth village. The light that reached the sky. The dead bodies of the villagers. And about those Torkes."
The grand court fell into silence. The wordIskareth carried a chill that none wished to speak of aloud. Every person in the royal hall — generals, knights, wizards, and scribes — turned their attention to the high throne where King Altherion sat, his face cold yet questioning. The golden insignia of the sun glimmered faintly behind him, casting long shadows on the walls.
Sir Toren Kael stepped forward. His armor, though polished, still carried faint marks from recent travel. Dust from distant lands clung to his cloak. He bowed deeply before the king.
"My lord," he began, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed exhaustion. "I was the one who visited Iskareth."
"Speak," Altherion commanded.
Toren raised his head. "Nobody was alive to tell the tale there. The entire village was massacred. When we arrived, the air smelled of ash and blood. Even the wind felt… cursed." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "The house from which the light came out belonged to an old farmer named Aegon Greymire. He lived with his grandson. Aegon was found dead inside, yet he was in a zombie-like state. After research, it was discovered that he died and somehow came back to life."
A murmur rippled through the court. Wizards exchanged uneasy glances. Even the usually stoic General Vaeron shifted in his seat.
Altherion leaned forward slightly. "And this was confirmed?"
"Yes, my lord," Toren replied gravely. "Our healers verified it. His body bore the signs of death, yet his veins still carried traces of lingering magic — a kind that none of our scholars could identify."
"And what of the boy?" Altherion asked.
Toren's gaze dropped. "The only person missing from the village was Aegon's grandson. But we don't know anything about him. He wasn't enrolled in any school, nor registered under any census records. It's as if he never existed. There are no records, no trail."
The king's brow furrowed. "And what about the spell? What was that light that tore the sky apart?"
"The spell that could send such light is unknown to us, my lord," Toren admitted. "None of our scholars or even the court wizards recognize it. The magic circle left behind was… unlike anything recorded in our ancient texts. Its symbols shifted when seen from different angles, as if alive."
Whispers filled the chamber now. Court mages looked toward each other, shaking their heads. Finally, Archmage Seraphel Dawnweaver stood. His robes shimmered faintly with traces of divine light.
"The knight speaks truth, my king," Seraphel said solemnly. "We examined the remnants of the energy at Iskareth. It was no spell of light nor darkness known to man. It felt ancient — older than the royal archives, older than the first wars of creation."
Another wizard, Lady Nyvarelle, added, "The circle's markings defied translation. Our divination spells couldn't decipher it. It's as though the magic refused to be understood."
Altherion sat back, his expression hardening. "So even the most learned among you have no idea what this is?"
No one answered. The silence that followed was heavy — the kind that made the air itself seem to tighten.
Finally, the king's voice broke through. "And at least do we know how the Torkes arrived there?"
Toren's jaw clenched. "No, my lord. We have no idea about that either. There was only one person who survived long enough to speak who had been outside the village during the massacre. But even he had no memory of how the Torkes came. All he recalled was that they appeared after the light reached the sky."
Altherion's eyes darkened. "So the light came first."
"Yes, my lord," Toren confirmed. "Moments after that, the ground split, the sky turned red, and creatures began to emerge from the forest and the fields — Torkes, dozens of them. By the time our scouts arrived, nothing was left but ashes and corpses."
The court fell utterly still.
Altherion stood, his cloak flowing behind him. His voice thundered across the marble hall. "How is this possible that we have no single clue about such a massive incident? Not a single explanation?" His hand slammed against the armrest of the throne, the sound echoing sharply. "This is… truly disappointing."
The words carried more weight than a shout. Every general and knight lowered their gaze.
Vaeron Draketooth, the Flame General, rose from his seat. His armor gleamed faintly, and his crimson cape flared behind him as he stepped forward. "This is our failure, my lord," he said firmly. "But I assure you — we will uncover the truth behind Iskareth. I will personally lead the investigation if need be. We will not let you down."
The king looked at him for a long moment, then exhaled. "See that you don't," he said quietly, but the warning in his tone was unmistakable.
Seraphel stepped forward again, his voice calm but urgent. "My king, if I may — this magic we witnessed… it may be tied to the same dark energies surrounding the vampire resurgence. The similarities in the magical residue are too close to ignore."
The entire court turned toward him.
"What are you suggesting?" Altherion asked.
"That these incidents are not isolated," Seraphel said. "The ritual circles found at the vampire sites and the light at Iskareth — they may share a common source. Something ancient is awakening, something powerful enough to defy both light and shadow. Perhaps even the laws of life and death."
For a moment, no one breathed.
Lady Nyvarelle whispered, "You mean to say… the same force connects them all?"
"I cannot be sure," Seraphel admitted, "but I fear it may be so. The old farmer, Aegon — if he truly returned from death, and his grandson vanished right after the sky tore open, then whatever happened there wasn't random. It was deliberate."
Altherion's eyes narrowed. "Deliberate?"
"Yes, my lord. A ritual that required sacrifice — perhaps blood, perhaps soul. The light that reached the heavens might not have been a blessing at all, but a beacon."
The court buzzed again with whispers — half disbelief, half fear.
Altherion raised his hand, silencing everyone. "Then we are dealing with something far more dangerous than we imagined."
He turned back toward Toren. "And the surviving villager — where is he now?"
"In custody, my lord," Toren replied. "But he's… not well. He speaks in riddles, mutters about a 'voice in the light,' and sometimes screams through the night. Our healers can't calm him."
"Have Seraphel's healers tend to him," Altherion ordered. "And I want everything he says recorded, every word."
"Yes, my lord."
The king's expression softened for a fleeting moment, then hardened again. "And this grandson of Aegon — have you any leads at all?"
"None, my lord," Toren said, lowering his head. "It's as though he vanished into thin air."
Altherion clenched his jaw. "Find him."
The hall went completely silent.
"I don't care how far he has run or what shadows he hides behind," the king continued, his tone filled with command. "Find this Aegon's grandchild. I want him alive. I want to know what exactly happened in that village. Because whatever it was — it was something sinister. And if that boy survived it, then he knows the truth."
Toren bowed deeply. "It will be done, my lord."
The tension in the hall was thick enough to taste. Even the torches seemed to flicker nervously.
The king rose from his throne. The sound of his footsteps echoed as he descended the dais. "Handle this with utmost care," he said, his gaze sweeping across the court. "I don't want any more deaths of my citizens. Protect Aldoria with everything you have. If there's even a whisper of this darkness spreading, crush it before it grows."
The generals and knights all stood, fists over their hearts. "Yes, my lord!" they said in unison.
Altherion turned to Seraphel one last time. "You may continue your research on the vampire. A royal knight will accompany you for protection. Do not let anything happen to the specimen — or to you."
Seraphel bowed. "As you command, my king."
With that, Altherion adjusted his golden cloak, the sigil of the Radiant Crown gleaming on his shoulder. He gave one last stern look at his court — a look that carried both power and warning — before turning away.
The heavy doors of the throne room opened, sunlight spilling in briefly before closing again behind him. The moment they did, the tension in the room seemed to exhale at once.
Vaeron turned to his aides immediately. "Dispatch our fastest riders," he ordered. "Two knights will head to Iskareth. Search every home, every field. I want any clue, no matter how small, about Aegon's grandson."
The knights saluted and rushed out.
"General Oric," Vaeron called next, pointing toward a tall man with dark braids. "You'll accompany Lady Nyvarelle to the site of the first vampire ritual. Secure the perimeter, and ensure no trace of corruption remains."
"Yes, sir," Oric replied.
Then Vaeron turned to Seraphel, his fiery eyes meeting the calm radiance of the archmage. "As for the second location — where the Ironwolf Corps fell — I'll go there myself. And you're coming with me, Seraphel. We'll see for ourselves what kind of magic we're truly facing."
Seraphel gave a slow nod. "Then we must leave before dusk. The veil between light and shadow is thinnest at that hour."
Vaeron smirked faintly. "I don't care how thin the veil is — if something dares to hide behind it, I'll burn it down."
The two men locked eyes — the Flame General and the Oracle of Light. One forged by fire, the other blessed by dawn. Together, they would step into the dark mystery that awaited beyond the royal walls.
And so, as orders were carried out and banners prepared, Aldoria's might began to move once more — unaware that the true shadow had already awakened somewhere far beyond their reach.
That day marked the beginning of the search — for truth, for answers, and for a boy whose name none yet knew… but whose destiny was already bound to the fate of the kingdom itself.