The royal courtyard was heavy with dread. Crimson clouds swirled above the capital, muting the sun, and nobles whispered in unease. Reports of villages collapsing, mana storms tearing farmland, and black veins appearing in the eyes of both commoners and lords had driven them to desperation.
At the courtyard's heart, the Absolute King sat unmoving, armored in black and silver. His expression was cold, sharp as a drawn blade. While the nobles trembled, he radiated calm authority, his presence alone silencing the fearful murmurs.
The gates opened. The Grand Priest entered in white and gold, leaning on his staff. Though age had bent his shoulders, his voice carried with iron clarity.
"What you fear is no plague. It is the Black Eye."
Shock rippled through the nobles. The King did not stir.
The priest's gaze swept the crowd. "The Black Eye is no curse, but a covenant. The Old Gods forged it when they saw that Earth was weak — too fragile to endure the storms of Hell. Each time demons clash, their mana shakes creation. Were there no restraint, this world would crumble into dust. And so the Eye of Heaven turned black, binding itself to mankind. When Hell trembles, the Black Eye awakens."
Gasps filled the courtyard, but the King's eyes narrowed in quiet calculation.
The Grand Priest lifted his staff, voice deepening. "It possesses men to anchor the weight of Hell's mana. The weak collapse. The fortunate recover in agony. But some… endure. They retain the Eye's power, and to them it is no burden, but a weapon. Those chosen will hear the Old Tongue, whispering in their minds, twisting them between protector and monster."
Nobles recoiled, some clutching their robes, others whispering in fear.
The King leaned forward at last, his voice sharp but steady. "So the gods chose humanity as their shield. And in doing so, they handed power into mortal hands. Power that could fracture empires."
The Grand Priest bowed his head. "Yes, Majesty. Even here, within your court, the Eye may awaken."
A hush fell — until a scream split the silence.
A noblewoman at the back stumbled, her eyes webbing with black veins. She began muttering in the Old Tongue, her voice ancient and broken. Guards rushed to seize her, but her cries echoed through the courtyard, chilling the blood of those present.
The nobles panicked. Some stepped back, others demanded she be struck down.
But the King remained still, his gaze fixed on her, unshaken. His voice cut through the chaos like steel.
"So it begins."
And in that moment, it was clear — the King did not fear the Black Eye. He would master it, as he mastered all things.