Daemon felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him.
His mind raced, trying to piece everything together, but none of it made sense.
"What the hell is going on?"
Then there was his father's decision to send him away—to hide.
But why?
His father was not a man ruled by fear. If he was telling Daemon to leave, it meant the danger was far greater than he was letting on.
A heavy feeling settled in Daemon's chest. He wasn't just being sent away—he was being removed from whatever was coming next.
Suddenly, a knock echoed through the library, despite the door already being open. In the doorway stood a small figure dressed in a long gown—it was the same servant who had come to fetch Daemon earlier. She bowed deeply before speaking, her voice soft and measured.
"Your Majesty, Lord Cedric has arrived at the estate."
Lord Cedric—the king's younger brother. Though they were brothers, hostility had always lingered between them. Because of this, Daemon had never met Cedric before.
At the mention of his brother's arrival, the King's expression darkened. His gaze drifted past the servant and settled on Daemon, unreadable yet heavy.
"Leave. Now," the King ordered, rising from his chair and striding toward the corridor outside the library.
Daemon wanted to defy his father's order, but he knew better. If the threat was dire enough to unsettle even his father, then there was no room for hesitation.
Without wasting another second, he hurried to his chamber, grabbing only a handful of essentials. The moment his fingers closed around the last item, he was already turning on his heel. As swiftly as he had entered, he was gone.
As he stepped out of his room, he found Veymar already waiting for him. Their eyes met, and with a simple nod, they moved in unison toward the back exit of the estate.
It was Veymar's suggestion to avoid the main entrance, though he hadn't explained why—Daemon didn't bother asking. He simply trusted his mentor's instincts. However, he had a suspicion that it might've had something to do with the arrival of Lord Cedric.
While Daemon and Veymar made their way to the back of the estate, the throne room remained a place of stillness and expectation.
The room was grand but cold. Pearl-white walls were adorned with gold ornaments that gleamed under the harsh light, and golden tiles stretched across the floor, their shine dulled with age. A crimson-red carpet ran from the entrance to the raised throne, an imposing structure carved and gilded, its surface worn by time.
King Aldric sat at the head of the grand chamber, his gaze fixed ahead, his mind elsewhere. The heavy doors groaned open, and with deliberate steps, Lord Cedric entered.
The brothers locked eyes, but the tension between them was palpable. The years of distance and unspoken rivalry weighed heavily in the air.
"Brother!" Lord Cedric called, his voice echoing through the stillness of the throne room. His lips curled upwards, but the smile that followed looked more wicked than genuine.
King Aldric gazed silently at his brother, his mind fully set. His suspicion had been correct.
The silence stretched on for a few moments, as Cedric and the three men who entered with him stared at the King. Finally, King Aldric broke the stillness.
"So it was you," he said, his voice cold. "As expected from someone like you—a failure who would stoop to such lows... Brother." Disgust beamed from his face as he spoke, each word dripping with contempt.
"Was it them who helped you? Is this their way of dealing with me defying their orders?" the King asked, his voice cutting through the tension.
"Oh, brother," Cedric chuckled darkly. "You've given me such an opportunity. I didn't even have to do much—just accept the chance to be next in line." He laughed at the thought of this very throne room one day being his.
Cedric had long harboured a burning desire for what his brother had—his throne, his crown, his wealth, his power. For years, he had lived in Aldric's shadow, and the bitterness and spite had only festered with time. Now, he wanted it all for himself.
The sounds of swords clashing and screams echoed from outside the estate, a battle unfolding just beyond the walls. Lord Cedric had not come alone; he had brought an army with him. While he had entered the estate alone, his forces waited outside, ready to strike at his command.
Now, as the sounds of chaos flooded the throne room, Cedric took a step back, fully aware of his limitations. He was only an Awakened—no match for the King in a direct confrontation. But he wasn't without allies. The three men standing beside him were all Ascended. A grin spread across his face as he took a few more steps back, the men beside him took battle stances, cold intent on their faces.
The King stood, his presence commanding the room. In a flash, a golden sword appeared in his grasp.
The three men before him eyed the weapon warily. Two of them wielded swords, their blades much less impressive in comparison. The smallest among them held a bow, its sleek form ready for a deadly shot.
Each of these weapons were an Artifact—magical item that a person could receive after slaying an enemy. It could take many forms, from armour or weapons to enchanted items or even knowledge scrolls.
While these weapons could be traded, bought, or sold, it required immense wealth to acquire them—something the royal family had in abundance. The golden sword in the King's hand, however, had not been bought but acquired by the King himself—a reward for slaying an Unhallowed Monster all on his own.