The radiant bells of the Holy Empire of Arcania tolled across the empire, their echoes carrying a strange weight. In the grand plaza, thousands of citizens, priests, knights, and nobles bowed their heads as the Holy Pope, Lucius Serapheal, completed his divine address.
"The Goddess Aria has chosen her herald…" Lucius declared, his voice solemn yet resounding like thunder in the air. Then, slowly, he turned toward one figure seated amongst the rulers of nations—King Augustus Nova of the Clover Kingdom.
Gasps and whispers rippled like wildfire. "Did he say… the Clover King?" "Impossible, could their kingdom hold such a chosen one?" The murmur of speculation rose, but the Pope lifted his hand.
"Now is the time to unite and stand against the coming evil," Lucius spoke, his words heavy with conviction. He raised his staff high, golden light bursting from its tip. "All hail Goddess Aria!"
The people joined in, their voices overlapping in a tide of desperate faith. "All hail Goddess Aria!"
Once the chants faded, the rulers of kingdoms and empires were ushered inside the marble halls of the Holy Cathedral. They entered the Sacred Round Chamber, a place reserved only for rulers and the highest of clergy. A vast round table lay in the center, lined with gilded chairs where the kings and emperors took their seats.
At the head sat Lucius, calm, his eyes closed in prayer. The air was tense. Finally, a voice broke the silence.
"Your Excellency Pope," one king said, his tone heavy, "what do you mean by prophecy? Was this disaster foreseen? If so… why were we not warned?"
Murmurs broke out instantly, other rulers leaning forward.
"Yes! Why were we kept in the dark?"
"Our people died like insects—!"
"You claim to speak for the Goddess, then why let such tragedy unfold?"
The chamber erupted like a marketplace of angry voices.
Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the noise. Archbishop Desmond Herman stepped forward, his crimson robes swaying. His eyes were like steel.
"Silence."
The word carried such weight that even kings lowered their voices. Desmond continued coldly, "Preserve the dignity of the crowns you wear. You dishonor yourselves before the Goddess with this bickering."
The room grew still. Even the proud emperors dared not meet his gaze. Finally, Desmond turned, bowing slightly. "Your Excellency, you may speak."
Lucius opened his eyes and began.
"In our sacred scriptures, it was foretold. Twelve Harbingers of Death—demonic angels cast from the skies—fell upon the earth nearly two thousand years ago. Where they landed, twelve abyssal holes swallowed them, sealing their existence. Many saints, paladins, and priests tried to enter… none returned. The places themselves vanished from records."
The rulers leaned in, faces grim.
"Those visions," Lucius continued, "were warnings from the Goddess. A select few chosen seers were shown glimpses of humanity's end—devastation at the hands of these twelve. For centuries, we doubted, believed it a minor prophecy… until now. The first signs have awakened. The dungeons are their shadows, their heralding gates. This is not coincidence. This is inevitability."
The King of Leaf, Raphael Midgar, slammed his fist against the table.
"Then tell us, Pope—how are we to face such monsters? My knights and mages barely withstand a dungeon lord. Against these twelve… we are nothing!"
Lucius did not waver. "You are right, King Raphael. Alone, humanity cannot stand. But the Goddess has not abandoned us. In the same scriptures, it is written: a lone warrior will rise, blessed with abundance by the gods. His strength will pierce despair itself. He shall be humanity's shield, humanity's sword."
Gasps spread among the rulers.
"This chaos," Lucius said firmly, "is but the beginning. Gates will appear more frequently. Kingdoms will fall if left divided. Until a permanent alliance is forged, the Holy Paladins of Arcania will be stationed in every kingdom and empire. They will protect civilians, close the gates, and act without discrimination of borders or titles. This is the will of Goddess Aria."
The rulers exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, one by one, they nodded in reluctant agreement.
"Good," Lucius said softly. "Then this council is dismissed. Go, tend to your people. The Archbishops and I will see to the deployment of paladins."
The kings and emperors rose, bowing slightly before leaving. The chamber emptied, save for a single figure—King Augustus Nova.
As he reached the door, a voice called, "Your Majesty." It was Desmond Herman, barring his path. "The Pope wishes to speak with you privately."
Augustus hesitated but returned, approaching Lucius. The Pope gestured to a chair beside him. "Sit."
Augustus obeyed, though unease flickered in his eyes. Lucius leaned closer, his voice lowering.
"Augustus Nova, I will not veil my words. The herald chosen by Goddess Aria resides in your kingdom. He is the one destined to stand against the Harbingers."
The king's eyes widened. "In… Clover? Who?"
Lucius pulled a sealed scroll from his robes, placing it in Augustus's trembling hands. The king unrolled it, reading the name inscribed in holy ink:
Roman Crowell – The Warherald.
Augustus's breath caught. His thoughts reeled. The Crowells… the Dukes of Presia… Jacob's son? The youngest? He stared in disbelief. "This… this is impossible. He is but nineteen…"
"It is truth," Lucius said firmly. "The Goddess herself marked him. I want you to contact him discreetly and send him to Arcania. Do not speak of this to anyone—not even your council. For your kingdom's safety, and for humanity's survival."
Augustus bowed his head, his mind heavy with shock and doubt. "As you command."
Meanwhile, far away in the Presia Dukedom, sunlight broke through the clouds. Roman stirred awake in his bed after eight days of unconsciousness.
His vision cleared slowly. Beside him, he saw the children—Sara, Martha, and their friend—sleeping soundly. Even Selena had dozed off beside them, exhaustion etched on her face.
Roman quietly rose, his body still aching, and moved to the window. The sight outside froze him.
The lands bore scars of battle—broken streets, shattered homes, and smoke rising faintly in the distance. Corpses had been buried, but the silence itself was heavy, suffocating.
Roman clenched his fists. All this destruction… and it was only the beginning.