After the soldiers returned to their kingdoms and funerals were held to honor the comrades who had fallen in battle, smoke still rose into the sky—an eternal witness to the price of war.
But the world did not grant them long to grieve… for only a day later, the banners of the kingdoms were raised, not to declare another war, but for a historic gathering that would decide the fate of all.
In the heart of Arcadia, the royal capital of the Eastern Kingdom of Belhath, upon the sacred grounds of Azuma, the gates of the Grand Hall were opened.
Towering pillars stretched toward the heavens, carved with ancient sigils, while torches along the walls burned with cold blue flames, casting long shadows upon the white marble floor.
The kings took their seats one by one, upon thrones crafted to reflect the might of their realms. Behind them stood their guardians like looming phantoms, each radiating a different aura of majesty.
The King of Belhath (East) sat upon the throne of Arcadia, alone, with no guardian behind him… the place of Oungan remained empty, his absence echoing in the hall like an unhealed wound.
The King of Atlantis (North), ruler of the royal capital Mjolnirs, the Corrupted Sea, sat upon his throne while behind him stood Poseidon, imposing, his hand gripping his trident.
The King of Shambhala (South), sovereign of Otopara, desert of ruin and eternal sands, sat in solemn dignity, while behind him stood Krohan, like a mythic beast ready to strike.
Krohan:
His long black hair, streaked with gray, fell like the mane of a wild beast, amplifying his ferocity.
His face was stern, his jaw strong, his eyes sharp enough to pierce the soul.
His massive muscular body was covered in ancient tattoos that told tales of countless battles.
He wore loose dark trousers adorned with woven hides, and around his waist a massive bone belt crowned with the skull of a strange creature.
A necklace of fangs and bones hung upon his chest, while his hands and feet—like claws—were wrapped tightly in worn bandages, marked with scars of endless wars.
The King of Nivalor (West), sovereign of Mag Mell, the land of forgotten bliss, sat firm, while behind him stood Semifel, his gaze cold as steel.
The King of Calionis (Southeast), lord of the Lost Golden Land, sat upon his throne with no guardian behind him. Once, Odin had stood there… now the empty place spoke of a fate unknown.
The King of Utgard (Holy Capital Ktygaria), master of the sacred snowy plains, sat upon an icy throne, with Erlik standing behind him—his aura as frigid as a storm.
Erlik:
A tall, perfectly built man with sharp, severe features.
His light blue hair flowed neatly back, giving him an icy touch.
His dark eyes gleamed with a merciless chill.
He wore a mix of white and black: a tight, sharp-cut shirt beneath a long black coat that trailed like a shadow.
Black tattoos spiraled around his neck and arms, while simple metal earrings adorned him without diminishing his cold regality.
Silence reigned.
All the kings now sat in their places, and every guardian loomed in their shadow.
But three thrones seemed to speak louder than the rest: the absence of Oungan… the absence of Hades… and the absence of Odin.
The King of Belhath raised his head, his voice deep and solemn, like the toll of a great bell:
"We have all paid a heavy price… our men have fallen, our heroes sacrificed, and the enemy still lurks in the shadows. The cries of war have not yet been silenced. I have lost that rascal Oungan… and though our relationship was not always good, I still considered him as though he were my own son."
Memories stirred as his voice echoed:
King of Belhath:
"Go, and bring me their heads, boy!"
Oungan:
"Don't command me, you wrinkled fossil! I am no servant of yours… I serve the people!"
The royal guards raised their blades toward Oungan.
Oungan:
"Lower your blades, you wretches, before I split you along with this old man!"
King of Belhath:
"Stand down! … Oungan, I hope you will let go of past grudges."
Oungan (as he turned to leave):
"To hell with you, old man!"
The King of Nivalor answered, his voice sharp yet measured:
"Yes… we have lost dear brothers. None of us foresaw Oungan's fall, nor the death of Hades, nor Odin's betrayal. But this war has taught us one thing: our strength alone, each within his kingdom, will never be enough."
The King of Shambhala struck his staff against the ground:
"We have seen the demon legions, how they swarm like a raging flood. If each kingdom continues to fight alone, one by one we will be erased. We need a single force… a single shield."
The King of Calionis lowered his head, then slowly raised his gaze:
"But how? Shall we merge our armies? Shall we dissolve our borders? That is but a distant dream… our kingdoms are steeped in blood against one another."
Then Erlik stepped forward, standing behind the throne of Utgard, his voice cold as ice:
"We need not erase borders… but build a new generation that does not care for them. A generation that belongs not to a single kingdom, but to the whole world. Knights and mages, born from every land… trained in one place."
Silence fell for a moment, until Poseidon raised his trident high, his voice crashing like waves:
"An academy… yes, an academy to gather all talents from the six kingdoms. There, they shall train, learn magic and knighthood, and unite as an unbreakable force. Their creed shall be one: to protect this world, no matter the cost."
The kings looked into each other's eyes and found in them the hope they had long forgotten.
The King of Utgard spoke, his tone glacial:
"A citadel shall be built, belonging to no kingdom alone… a place where the son of a farmer may stand beside the heir of a noble, and both learn to raise a single blade against the darkness."
The King of Shambhala smiled, for the first time since the council began:
"And the academy shall be more than a place of training… it shall be a home of unity, a symbol of a new age."
The King of Nivalor added:
"But we must choose wisely who shall govern it… for power in reckless hands destroys more than it builds."
The King of Belhath raised his hand, his voice echoing through the hall like thunder:
"Then let it be declared: from this night forth… we begin the foundation of the Grand Academy of Knights and Mages. Let it be the cornerstone of a new era—an era that shall not repeat the mistakes of the past!"
And in that moment, none of them knew… that this academy would become the stage for the greatest of heroics, the darkest of betrayals, and the fiercest of battles the world had ever known.
Scene: Throne of Shadows in the Demon Kingdom
Lucifer returned to the land of demons, his steps heavy as if carrying the weight of hell itself. And in his hand… the body of Asmodeus, the king, robbed of his head.
He entered the throne hall and cast the corpse at Morlok's feet. The hall trembled, and all fell silent like stone statues.
Lucifer (angrily, sharply):
"Look closely, Morlok… Hades is the one who severed your son's head. And I am the only one who snatched his body from the jaws of war."
Morlok's eyes trembled for a moment, but the old one held himself firm. He gazed long at his slain son, then lifted his head toward Lucifer, his voice rasping as though it came from a grave:
"You were a rival to Asmodeus before, and now you return his body to me… perhaps this is the will of hell. After him, the throne shall be yours… I name you king of the Demon Kingdom."
Murmurs spread through the hall, and all eyes turned toward Lucifer. Then Ashura rose, massive-bodied, striking his chest.
Ashura (laughing madly):
"Hahaha! I accept the old man's decree! Lucifer, I will accept you as king! But I have conditions—and you know them!"
Lucifer (smiling):
"Fine!"
But Varuna, his eyes full of contempt, stepped forward slowly, sneering.
Varuna (mocking):
"King? What farce is this? Asmodeus was your son, Morlok, and now you pass the throne to this wretch?!"
Lucifer did not let him finish.
He stretched out his hand, and from his fingers burst a black flame that pierced Varuna's stomach like a spear.
A piercing scream tore through the hall as Varuna collapsed, vomiting blood, writhing, before falling dead.
Lucifer stepped forward two paces, his eyes blazing like the embers of hell, his voice roaring like a flood:
"…Who else objects?!"
Ashura, spreading his six arms and with his three faces speaking at once:
"Good. At least you must be this mad to be my leader!"
A suffocating silence followed.
One by one, the commanders bowed, each declaring their loyalty in hushed voices, until the hall resounded with cries of allegiance:
"Long live King Lucifer!"
"Long live the new Lord of Hell!"
Lucifer sat upon the throne, the blood still fresh upon his hands, a devilish smile etched across his face… the smile of a king born from betrayal and blood.---؟