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Somewhere in the Tupania Empire, isolated among cliffs and shadows, a cave held absolute silence.
In the midst of the gloom, a figure meditated, motionless, absorbing the dense air that slipped through the narrow mouth of the entrance.
The silence was broken by the faint creak of leather and the whispers of footsteps.
A man dressed in black, assassin's garb clinging to his form, entered. He knelt with military precision, bowing his head—shattering the stillness with palpable respect and tension.
"Forgive me…"—his trembling voice cut through the darkness—"but something urgent has occurred."
The figure opened his eyes. The only light reflected within them was golden, intense, like freshly forged blades, incandescent, metallic.
Every movement of the light carved sharp shadows along the cave walls.
In a low, firm, cutting voice, he spoke:
"Proceed."
The envoy shivered; it was as if each syllable thundered within him, vibrating through the floor of the cave.
"They have left the Northern Kingdom…" he said, anxiety marking every word—"The pieces are moving. The knight and the rook… together."
The leader remained still, scrutinizing every detail, every gesture of the man as though a living chessboard stretched beyond the horizon.
A nearly imperceptible smile curved his golden lips.
"Then the game has begun," he murmured, more to himself than to the envoy—"and at last, I will have to return…"
The man swallowed hard before continuing:
"But there is a problem… The dispatched group has returned. I do not know what magic or sorcery was used, but those who had direct contact… their veins betrayed them. Black blood gushed from eyes, ears, nose, and mouth; agonizing, they died."
The leader furrowed his brow, golden eyes fixed on the envoy like sharp blades.
"And the pawn?"
"He is fine… only exhausted."—the voice was low—"He had to abruptly teleport everyone; the strain was immense, but he will soon recover from the rebound."
The leader closed his eyes. Darkness seemed to swallow the chamber, as if the cave itself breathed in unison with him.
The envoy withdrew silently, leaving the cave submerged in shadows, where every detail—each stone, each shaft of light filtering through the entrance—seemed to hold its breath, aware that the game had only just begun.
As the cave sank once more into darkness, the wind carried news that would travel beyond mountains and forests.
Tension did not dissipate, it merely shifted, like an invisible current carrying the seeds of future conflict.
In the Marquisate, among newly built walls and stone towers blackened by time, morning brought no relief.
The sun filtered through heavy clouds, casting pale light upon narrow streets.
Guards patrolled in silence, alert to every sound, every suspicious movement.
In the main hall of the castle, the anxious whispers of the counselors mingled with the wary gazes of nobles, as each tapestry flickered as if sharing in the apprehension that filled the space.
The Marquis paced the room, steps firm upon the stone floor, fingers interlaced behind his back.
The counselors watched him, knowing that each glance of the leader could cut deeper than any blade.
"The Marchioness informed me that we will receive a visitor soon," murmured the Marquis, his voice low, heavy with gravity. "Advise everyone to avoid any form of conflict with those who arrive."
The counselor nodded: "I shall inform them, my Lord."
A heavy silence responded. Even the air seemed to bow beneath the intensity of the warning.
Outside, the Marquisate breathed.
In a corner of the castle, Kael meditated upon a stone, absorbing the stillness and analyzing the surroundings.
Phoebe approached silently, each gesture radiating serenity and composure.
"To come personally…" said Kael, voice calm, firm—"it must be serious."
Phoebe smiled faintly, maintaining impeccable posture:
"Yes. Depending on the outcome of this conversation, the power of the Marquisate may rise… or fall."
Kael turned, alert, muscles tense, senses focused.
"The princes of the North are coming," Phoebe continued, pausing for Kael to absorb the information—"Karna will arrive at any moment. But that is not what I have come to speak about."
She smiled again, and this time her voice dropped, heavy with mystery, pronouncing words that only Kael would understand:
"The paths that hide beneath the same moon… do not always lead to dawn."
The tone seemed to touch something deeper, like an invisible key turning in an ancient lock.
Upon hearing those words, something stirred within Kael—and suddenly, memories surged with full force, vivid, tangible, as if time itself folded around him.
The wind cut through the valley, carrying dust and fragments of stone, as Anhanguçu advanced, ignoring the threat already forming beneath his feet.
Each roar echoed within Kael, reverberating through his chest, stiffening his muscles.
"Primordial Twin Dragons." Kael's voice resounded, firm, cutting the air like a command forged of iron.
The ground shook violently. Deep fissures tore through the earth, and two colossal masses of stone emerged, shaped by Kael's will.
They had no wings, yet their forms coiled through the air with lethal precision.
Their rigid bodies intertwined, closing in on Anhanguçu.
The giant attempted to react, raising his arms, but the first dragon coiled around his legs and torso, squeezing with inexorable force.
Anhanguçu staggered, muscles taut, eyes glowing embers, gasping under the pressure.
Before he could regain balance, the second dragon struck, coiling around his shoulders and neck.
Each movement was crushing, calculated, relentless.
Anhanguçu gasped, pressed by primordial strength, unable to retreat or retaliate.
His guttural roars resonated like trapped thunder, echoing across the valley.
Sweat streamed down his body, pain mingling with shock.
Completely at Kael's mercy, immobilized and entangled by the stone dragons, Anhanguçu faced the young man with burning eyes, full of ancient malice:
"It seems your friend managed to destroy my altar." His voice was deep, resonating with eras of power and ancestral resentment.
Kael stepped closer, expression serene, almost warm, despite the weight of the battle:
"I knew I could count on him. You, however… were abandoned by the Count."
Anhanguçu laughed, hoarse and laden with ancestral authority:
"We were never friends. Our goals merely aligned." His eyes pierced Kael.
"You are strong. In fact, I observed every movement you made. While you fought, you smiled freely… But alas… a tragic end awaits you."
Kael remained calm, voice steady and serene:
"This is the path I chose. I am aware of what awaits me."
Anhanguçu exploded into a deep laugh, reverberating like ancient lightning:
""Ahahahahaha… boy… have you ever truly wondered if all this is your will, or if the will of the gods overrides yours? You speak of paths, yet you abandoned walking long ago. Regrettable."
Kael only smiled, measuring the intensity of the moment:
"I know my limitations, as I know my own body."
Anhanguçu narrowed his eyes, voice hissing and ancient, heavy with ages:
"Listen, brat… The paths that hide beneath the same moon… do not always lead to dawn."
His form began to disintegrate, essence dissipating like ancestral smoke, each fragment carrying centuries of existence.
Before disappearing completely, he murmured, an echo spanning eras:
"If you wish… remember, if you ever choose to walk alone…"
"Kael, are you all right?"—Haron's firm voice cut through the echo of memories.
As if each syllable were an anchor thrown into the depths of time, the world around Kael dissolved.
The roars, the dust, the dragons… all vanished in an instant, as if they had never existed.
His muscles relaxed, and he returned to the present, feeling the cold wind.
Haron stood before him, eyes steady, an anchor to reality.
Kael blinked, still feeling the echo of what he had just lived.
A faint smile appeared on his lips, half ethereal, half conscious:
"I'm fine… I just got lost for a moment. Is there something you needed to tell me?"
Haron shook his head:
"No, just something to discuss with Phoebe."
He took a few steps back, keeping his eyes on Kael, as if to ensure the young man was truly fine.
Phoebe followed silently, her light footsteps echoing through the hall like a whisper of silk, almost floating above the cold floor.
When both had moved away, her voice broke the silence, heavy with mystery and weight:
"Now… the choice is yours."
Kael, still breathing the weight of the memories he had just relived, remained motionless for a few moments, absorbing the stillness left behind.
Then, he rested his hand upon the cold ground.
A subtle wave ran through the earth beneath his fingers, expanding his perception, as if seeking traces of something left behind.
The ground trembled lightly, responding to his will, while he mapped every detail of the environment, every pulse of the Marquisate.
His senses extended beyond concrete and stone, touching something invisible and nearly forgotten.
Kael remained silent, focused, absorbing the moment and preparing for the next step.
The echoes of memories still reverberated in his mind, guiding every gesture, every decision.
Slowly, he rose, determined, and left the Marquisate courtyard, firm steps marking the beginning of his next move.
A week passed.
The morning sun weakly illuminated the Marquisate, filtering through heavy clouds hovering over the walls.
On the twelfth day of the twelfth month, Karna was already crossing the three outer walls, advancing with the confidence of one well acquainted with war and destiny.
From the castle, the Marquis and Marchioness awaited, rigid posture, each movement heavy with authority.
Haron, voice firm yet laden with concern, broke the silence:
"What did you discuss with Kael?" he asked, eyes alert. "He has isolated himself for some time."
Phoebe remained serene, each gesture delicate, each word resonating with nobility and calm, as if her tone could soothe storms:
"I did what I deemed necessary."—she paused, measuring the intensity of the room—"All the survivors of the orphanage have already positioned themselves. Kael… he needs to do the same."
Silence returned, heavy, thick with expectation.
Each present felt the pressure of every second, as if time itself awaited their response.
As Karna approached, firm steps echoing across the courtyard stones, the leaders of the Marquisate prepared silently, ready to align their pieces on the board that stretched before them, aware that each decision could alter the fate awaiting them.