None of the ministers dared raise an objection. Since the death of Queen Hilda, no one else could rightfully claim the throne but Lucifer. His presence alone commanded the chamber, like a storm contained in human form.
An elderly minister rose to his feet — a bent old man with a mane of snowy-white beard tumbling down to his chest. His voice carried the weight of ages as he faced Lucifer with grave solemnity.
"My king," he began, his tone measured yet heavy, "I hope you are aware that the Crown of Life has been destroyed."
Lucifer leaned back, his dark eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Yes. What of it?"
The minister's beard quivered as he spoke. "For centuries, the Crown of Life has been our strength, our shield against ruin. But now that it is gone, we stand weakened — easy prey for the hungering kingdoms around us."
A slow, cunning smile curved Lucifer's lips. "Do not fret. I have a plan."
And with that, the council was dismissed.
When the chamber cleared, Lucifer turned to his ever-loyal advisor. "Where must I go next?" he asked with a sigh that sounded more like a command than a question.
"To the Royal Chamber," Morvain replied, his voice sharp and unwavering.
"Dammit". Lucifer cursed.
The Royal Chamber stood as a fortress and a palace both — a dwelling reserved for the bloodline of kings. Wrought of iron and adorned with veins of gold, its walls gleamed with stern majesty. Even in its silence, the place exuded wealth and dominion.
---
Meanwhile, far beyond Sylvan Reach, three weary travelers pressed onward. Leofric, Edith, and little Olivia had set their course for Pyrrhathis Dominion, the nearest stronghold of civilization. Their road ended at Emberhold, the capital of the Dominion.
Emberhold was a city of fire and stone. Its walls, carved from volcanic rock, rose jagged and defiant against the sky. The streets shimmered with the glow of forges and furnaces that never slept, their embers painting the night in hues of molten red. The air was thick with the ringing of anvils, the hiss of steam, and the scent of iron and ash. Despite its harshness, Emberhold pulsed with life — merchants shouting in the markets, smiths hammering their craft, and guards patrolling with spears that gleamed like tongues of flame. It was a city hardened by fire, yet alive with promise.
Before they could step beyond its great gates, an old man barred their way.
He was wiry and weathered, his skin tanned by decades of labor near molten flame. His hair, once black, was streaked silver, tied back loosely with a leather cord. His hands bore the calluses and scars of a thousand swords, blackened by soot yet steady as steel. His eyes, though dimmed with age, still glimmered with the sharpness of molten iron — a forger's eyes, always searching, always weighing.
Clearing his throat, he rasped, "You're strangers here, aren't you?"
Leofric stepped forward, masking his unease. "Yes. We just arrived. Is there somewhere we might pass the night?"
The old man studied them with a thin smile. "You look like a couple… with a child."
"That's correct," Leofric answered without hesitation. It was safer to weave a lie than to reveal a truth that could damn them.
The forger's gaze lingered on Olivia. His eyes softened, then sharpened again with quiet wonder. "This child… she is special," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, with a sudden smile, he beckoned. "Come with me. I'll give you shelter."
Though mistrust hung heavy in their hearts, they followed him in silence.
The man's home stood at the edge of a wide clearing. The house itself was small, its timber walls darkened with smoke and years of use. Yet the land it sat upon stretched broad and untamed, with space enough for smithy, stables, and open earth. A forge hissed quietly at the far side of the yard, its coals still glowing faintly, while tools and half-shaped blades rested on wooden racks.
"Welcome to my abode," the old man said, pushing the creaking door open. "Strangers, you are free to rest here for now. Leave at dawn if you wish. But…" his voice deepened, "I would advise you to stay awhile. This land is woven with mysteries and power. You would be wise not to wander blindly."
Edith, weary yet curious, finally spoke. "Mysteries and power? What do you mean?" She shifted Olivia in her arms, the child still asleep against her chest.
"You will learn in time," the man said cryptically. "For now, go inside. I must speak with your husband."
She glanced at Leofric, who gave a silent nod of assent. With reluctant steps, Edith carried Olivia into the dim interior of the house, leaving Leofric outside with the stranger.
"What is it you wish to discuss, old man?" Leofric asked impatiently, his hand resting protectively on the hilt of his sword. He would not allow harm to come to Edith or Olivia.
The forger bristled. "My name is Eldric, not 'old man.'" His eyes grew distant as he gazed at the starless sky, then returned to Leofric with measured intent. "Work with me. I am a forger by trade. I craft blades such as the one you carry — and other weapons besides." He nodded toward Leofric's sword.
The sword was long and slender, its steel darkened by years of battle. Along its blade ran faint etchings, half-worn, as if they once bore runes of power.
"I'll give you my answer tomorrow," Leofric said at last. "It is late."
"Very well. Take your time," Eldric replied. "If you choose to work with me, you and your family will have a place here."
Leofric inclined his head. "I've heard you." He turned toward the door, but before stepping inside, he looked back. "Old man… thank you. For tonight."
"I told you, I'm not old, fool," Eldric scoffed, waving him off.
Yet when Leofric's figure vanished into the house, Eldric's smirk faded. His gaze grew heavy, his voice dropping to a whisper only the night could hear.
"There is … something rare about that little girl."
Lucifer and Morvain entered the royal chamber in silence.
The hall was wide and solemn, its tall pillars rising like watchful sentinels. Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering faintly against stone polished smooth by centuries of rule. The air was heavy, as if it carried the weight of all the blood and secrets this place had ever held.
The royal family was gathered in the center of the chamber, their faces pale with unease. Regent Queen Seraphina sat rigid on her seat, her silver hair framing a face drawn by grief yet firm with dignity. Beside her stood her youngest son, Prince Darius, his hand clinging to the hilt of a dagger though his knuckles trembled. Princess Amara lingered nearby, her veil hiding most of her expression, but her eyes revealed fear she could not conceal. The Queen's brother, Lord Valen, kept his stance tall and defiant, while Lady Mirabel, a distant cousin, clasped a rosary in trembling fingers as if prayer alone could shield her from what was to come.
Lucifer stepped forward, his dark presence pulling the breath out of the room. His voice broke the silence with cutting boldness.
"What if I killed her?"
The words struck like a curse. A ripple of horror passed across their faces, their complexions draining white as the oppressive force radiating from him pressed down upon them.
Lucifer smirked, his tone sharp with cruelty. "I didn't even kill her. She killed herself."
Lord Valen's voice cut through the fear. "She would never have taken her own life if you had not rebelled against her… against the throne… and against the Crown of Life!"
His defiance lasted no longer than a heartbeat. In the very next moment, his body crumpled, lifeless, to the floor. A scream broke from Lady Mirabel's throat, and the others staggered back in terror.
Lucifer's laughter thundered through the hall, echoing off the stone walls, mocking their fear. "Who else has something to say?" he asked, his eyes sweeping across them with contempt.
No one answered. Silence swallowed the chamber, thick and suffocating.
Lucifer turned as though to leave. "Then I shall take my leave—"
Regent Queen Seraphina's voice cut through, trembling but resolute. "You are not my son."
He stopped. Slowly, he turned back, each step towards her landing like a heavy drumbeat. His shadow stretched long across the stone floor as he closed the distance. He leaned down, his eyes black with malice.
"Oh really?" His whisper dripped with mockery. "I will only spare you because you are my mother."
His laughter tore through the hall once more, vibrating in every corner, following him and Morvain as they left. Long after they were gone, the family sat frozen, haunted by the sound that clung to the air like smoke after a fire. That night ended in nightmare, Lucifer's laughter still echoing in their ears.
---
In Another Empire
Far away, in the fiery lands of Emberhold, the empire of Drakthar Dominion thrived under the rule of a young tyrant, King Kaelen Veynar. Handsome, with sharp features and a cold gleam in his eyes, he sat upon a throne carved from black stone that glistened like cooled lava. His presence alone commanded silence.
His ministers stood before him, heads bowed — all except one.
Minister Garrick Halvon, a man swollen with arrogance, puffed out his chest and spoke louder than all the others. "Now that the Crown has been destroyed, this is our chance! We cannot let it slip away a second time. And now, with one of the crystals hidden within our lands, the moment is ours!" He smiled as if the victory was already his, glancing about as though daring the others to challenge him.
"What do you think, my lord?" he asked boldly.
King Kaelen raised his head slightly, his lips curling into a thin, dangerous smile. "You are right, Garrick."
The minister grinned in triumph.
"Then you shall lead the expedition," Kaelen continued, his voice smooth and sharp as a blade, "to find the Fire Crystal."
"An honor, my king." Garrick bowed, his smirk returning.
Kaelen's tone hardened, each word heavy as stone. "But if you fail… you will repay with your head."
The minister's smile faltered, fear sliding across his face.
"You have seven days," the tyrant declared.
Then he rose from the throne, every step commanding the hall, his cloak sweeping the ground like shadowed fire. "This meeting is over."
The ministers bowed as one, silent and fearful, while Garrick's confidence shriveled beneath the weight of his own pride.