"Three out of five rulers have officially agreed to end the fifteen-year-long war!" the voice of the human news reporter echoed from the flickering television, his tone brimming with disbelief and excitement. "The only ones yet to accept the peace proposal are the Veiled Empress of Noctyra and the Anvilheart of Durkharad!"
The words reverberated across the empty apartment like a thunderclap.
For a moment, silence filled the room — the kind that presses against your eardrums, heavy and alive.
Then, sheets rustled sharply.
A young man sat upright on the bed, his breathing calm yet deliberate. His sculpted back caught the pale morning light filtering through the blinds — muscles moving like molten bronze beneath smooth skin. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, fingers running through his slightly disheveled hair as his eyes — sharp, amber, unyielding — turned toward the television.
Without a word, he rose.
The clothes scattered carelessly on the floor were gathered with practiced precision — shirt, vest, trousers, boots — and within seconds, the young man was dressed again. His movements were efficient, almost mechanical, yet there was an air of tension to him, a purpose that went beyond simple urgency.
By the time the news anchor moved on to the next segment, the apartment door had already shut behind him.
The sleek white sedan outside recognized him instantly. With a soft chime, the doors unlocked and the engine hummed to life.
"Destination: Durkharad Royal Citadel," the car's AI announced in a soft female voice as the vehicle began to move — smooth, precise, and self-driving.
Through the tinted windows, the sprawling cityscape of Durkharad gleamed beneath a pale sky.
Skyscrapers of glass and rune-metal rose like frozen thunderbolts, each etched with faintly glowing sigils that pulsed in rhythm with the city's magical grid.
The world outside looked futuristic, yet at its heart — at the very center — stood something ancient reborn.
A castle.
Gigantic, dark-stoned, laced with veins of molten gold — a structure so grand it seemed torn straight from the age of kings and reforged for the modern world. The car's automatic scanners verified the occupant and granted access, the ramp ahead illuminating as it spiraled upward toward the citadel's upper courtyard.
When the car stopped, the door opened automatically.
The young man stepped out, boots meeting the polished obsidian pathway.
His name was Ardyn Kaelor, though most in the kingdom knew him by title rather than name — the Warden of Kazr Anthrum, the Runic Heir of Durkharad.
He didn't waste a second.
Past the grand gates, through arched corridors lined with dwarven statues, he ran — his footsteps echoing sharply against the runic steel floors. His breath came steady but fast, every stride purposeful until, finally, he reached a massive door adorned with two crests — the blazing hammer of Durkharad, and the crescent veil of Noctyra.
Without hesitation, he pushed the doors open.
The hall beyond was vast — curved like an amphitheater, its seats arranged in descending arcs facing a central podium. On either side, dwarves, humans, and vampires sat, their voices a low storm of murmurs and arguments.
At the far end of the hall, upon twin thrones, sat two figures who commanded the air itself.
On the left, a stout but imposing middle-aged dwarf, his beard braided with molten rings of gold and steel — King Brodgan Firemantle, the Anvilheart of Durkharad.
And beside him, her presence like a living shadow draped in silk — Seraphyne D'Valora, the Veiled Empress of Noctyra. Her raven-black hair shimmered with violet undertones, cascading over her shoulders, framing a face that was both divine and dangerous.
The moment Ardyn entered, the noise of the room shifted.
The dwarves were the first to notice — one stood, then another, and soon their deep voices rang together in thunderous reverence.
"ALL HAIL ARDYN KAELOR, WARDEN OF KAZR ANTHRUM!"
The chants rolled like an avalanche through the chamber. Even a few humans joined in, though the vampires merely watched in silence, their crimson eyes flickering with quiet disdain.
Then —
A voice like silk, laced with menace and melody, pierced through the din.
"Silence."
Seraphyne's tone wasn't loud — but it didn't need to be. Her words carried mana, authority, and the kind of danger that commanded instinctive obedience. The hall fell into immediate stillness.
"Hah! Come, son!" Brodgan's booming laughter broke the tension as he waved his massive hand. "I take it you've already heard the news, haven't you?"
Ardyn stepped forward, expression calm. "Yes, I have, Father," he said, bowing slightly before turning toward the Empress. "And I greet Her Majesty, Seraphyne D'Valora."
"...Brat," she muttered under her breath, though the corner of her lips twitched faintly — somewhere between irritation and amusement.
Brodgan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Seraphyne and I are leaning toward agreeing to the peace accord," he said, pride and weariness mixing in his tone. "Perhaps it's time this bloodshed ended."
Ardyn's gaze flickered between them, thoughtful.
"I don't want more blood spilled either," he said slowly. "But this... feels off. Why now? We were the ones most likely to win. If anything, they should be the ones asking for mercy — not peace."
The council stirred at his words, murmurs rising again — some in agreement, others in concern.
Seraphyne raised her hand again. Instantly, silence.
Her crimson eyes narrowed, glinting like rubies beneath the torchlight.
"Whatever the reason," she said softly, her voice smooth as wine, "we'll find out at the summit. Until then, no word of this leaves this hall. Is that understood?"
Her words carried a weight that left no room for argument.
Nods followed, murmurs of agreement, and then — the meeting resumed.
Four hours passed like a storm — debates, reports, accusations, alliances, and plans. When it finally ended, the hall was almost empty, save for the echo of footsteps and the lingering scent of mana.
Ardyn didn't wait for pleasantries.
He moved quickly through the corridors, turning down a familiar passage — toward the Emberhall, the private sanctum of the royal family.
The moment the door opened, the warm scent of roasted meats and aged liquor filled the air. The Emberhall was a marvel — walls of blackstone lined with dwarven carvings, tables piled with delicacies from across the realms, and a massive hearth that burned with eternal flame, casting a gentle amber glow.
Ardyn's stomach growled quietly. Without ceremony, he grabbed a plate and began piling it high with food — seared beef glazed with honey and spice, thick gravy, dwarven bread still steaming from the oven. He poured himself a tall glass of chilled lemonade and sank into a chair, finally allowing the exhaustion of the day to ease from his shoulders.
He barely got two bites in when the door burst open.
The door to the Emberhall swung open with a soft whoosh, letting in a gust of cool air that smelled faintly of dusk and lavender.
Ardyn didn't need to look up. The faint shimmer of mana, the way the air temperature dropped slightly — only one person in Durkharad had that kind of presence.
Still, he tried to ignore it. He stabbed a slice of meat, dipped it into the rich brown gravy, and lifted it to his mouth with perfect calm.
"Wai— wai—" he tried to speak, but his voice came out muffled — half from the food and half from the shock of what came next.
Seraphyne D'Valora — Empress of Noctyra, one of the five rulers of the modern world, and a woman both feared and desired across continents — ran across the room in an uncharacteristically undignified manner and jumped onto his lap.
Ardyn's chair creaked in protest as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into the crook of it. Her silken black hair brushed against his cheek, and her fangs glinted dangerously close to his skin. The scent of her perfume — a dark floral tone mixed with something sharp and ancient — filled his senses.
"L–Let me eat at least, Aunt…" Ardyn muttered between mouthfuls, his words slightly muffled. His expression hovered somewhere between resignation and disbelief.
Seraphyne didn't respond immediately. Her voice, when it finally came, was low and laced with need.
"And what about me, dear nephew?" she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. "I haven't had anything to eat for months. Ever since you locked yourself away to complete that blasted runic engine, I've been… starving."
Her tone was teasing, sultry — but beneath it, there was something primal. A faint tremor of genuine hunger. Vampiric hunger.
Ardyn sighed, glancing down at her. Her crimson eyes were shimmering faintly now, the pupils narrowing to slits. "Uh… sorry, I didn't realize I was starving my aunt too," he said, half-jokingly, and tilted his head to the side slightly. "You can have some right now."
"Oh, my dear nephew…" she purred softly, her lips brushing against his skin. "You always say the sweetest things."
And then — she bit.
The sharp sting of fangs sinking into his flesh made him flinch slightly, though his body remained mostly still. Warmth flooded his neck as her lips pressed against it, her soft hum of satisfaction vibrating faintly through him.
"Ah— ow— slowly…" he mumbled, face scrunching in discomfort, though his tone was more exasperated than angry.
But Seraphyne didn't slow down. Her feeding was passionate, almost desperate, as if every drop of his blood was something she'd craved for years. The room filled with the faint, rhythmic sound of her drinking — and the faint metallic scent of blood mixed with the aroma of roasted meat and wine.
After what felt like a long minute, she pulled back, licking the wound with deliberate tenderness. Her tongue was warm, her touch gentle. The small punctures on his neck sealed instantly, leaving only faint redness behind.
Seraphyne smiled — the kind of smile that could both charm and kill. "Sorry, dear. I got a little carried away."
"Yeah, I could tell," Ardyn muttered, returning to his food as if nothing happened. "Next time, a warning would be nice."
"Next time, hmm?" she teased, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "So you're saying you'll let me again?"
Before Ardyn could reply, a gruff, booming voice cut through the air.
"Get off my kid, you old hag!"
Both Ardyn and Seraphyne turned their heads toward the doorway — where King Brodgan Firemantle stood, massive arms crossed over his broad chest, his golden beard shaking as he spoke.
Seraphyne's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mind your business, Brodgan," she hissed, her tone dripping with venom. "Your son's my nephew."
"And you're a one-thousand-four-hundred-year-old bloodsucker who can't keep her fangs to herself," Brodgan shot back, stomping further into the room, his boots echoing with authority. "You wanna go at it again, woman?"
Ardyn looked between the two of them, a piece of meat halfway to his mouth. He sighed. "...Please don't destroy the Emberhall again."
Seraphyne smirked, rising gracefully from his lap. "Hah. I won't embarrass you in front of your boy," she said mockingly, brushing invisible dust off her dress before settling elegantly in a nearby chair. "Not today, at least."
Brodgan grunted but said nothing more, his glare softening as he approached Ardyn.
"You've made me proud, son," he said, his voice softening into something almost fatherly. He placed a massive, calloused hand on Ardyn's head, ruffling his hair roughly. "You're more of a dwarf than anyone else gunnin' for my throne."
Ardyn smiled faintly. "I'm not doing this for the throne, Dad. It's for you. For our people."
Brodgan's hand lingered on his head for a moment, before he gave a hearty laugh. "Ha! Spoken like a real king."
Across the table, Seraphyne tilted her head, her crimson eyes glinting. "The Runic Engine," she said softly. "You've changed the face of war, Ardyn. You've made it… one-sided."
Ardyn took another bite of meat and replied without looking up. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Perhaps." Seraphyne's voice softened, almost wistful. "Maybe this means we'll finally have peace. More time to spend with you."
"More time?" Brodgan barked a laugh, slamming his mug of ale on the table. "You've had centuries, woman."
Seraphyne shot him a glare that could melt steel.
Ardyn, in the meantime, had finished his plate and drained his cup. He stood, stretching slightly. "You two can keep bickering. I'm leaving for the Isle of Amara tomorrow. Wanted to relax a few days before the summit."
"Hmm… good," Brodgan said approvingly. "Rest'll do you good too, lad."
Seraphyne frowned, rising from her chair. "Leaving already? But we just met after so long…"
"That's true," Ardyn admitted, smiling gently. "But what's a few days to a woman who's seen centuries go by? After the summit, we'll have plenty of free time to enjoy — hopefully."
She didn't answer, but her expression softened — a faint, unreadable smile forming as she watched him walk toward the exit. Brodgan laughed heartily as Ardyn waved at them and left the hall, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded into the hum of the citadel.
Behind him, the Empress stood still, her crimson eyes distant — troubled, but quietly hopeful.
The courtyard was bathed in golden light by the time Ardyn reached it again. The air was cool, the sky streaked with shades of amber and rose. He stepped into his sleek white car once more — it hummed awake like a loyal beast and began its descent from the castle.
The drive took him to the heart of the city — to a building unlike any other. A massive skyscraper of shimmering silver and white quartz, its walls lined with gold inlays that pulsed with arcane energy.
The logo on the gate gleamed proudly in dwarvish script: Kaleon Runetek.
The car stopped in front of a massive gate embedded with runestones that glowed faint blue. A scan enveloped the vehicle, and the massive doors parted with a deep mechanical thrum as the ramp lit up, guiding him inside.
The inner chamber was breathtaking — a cathedral of science and sorcery. At its center stood a gigantic portal ring made of intertwined metals — gold, white steel, and crystal — humming with power.
A dwarf attendant hurried forward, her expression bright and respectful. She bowed deeply.
"Long live Prince Ardyn Kaelon!"
Ardyn smiled warmly. "How's the day, Keisha?" he asked, glancing briefly at her name tag.
"Excellent, Your Majesty," she replied with pride swelling in her chest. "Ever since you took command of Kazr Anthrum, trade and commerce have thrived! We at Runetek Dynamics are eternally grateful."
Ardyn's chest swelled slightly with pride. "Ah… that's great to hear. Set the portal to the Isle of Amara, would you?"
"Immediately, Your Majesty!" Keisha turned to the console, her fingers dancing across glowing runes. The air in the chamber began to vibrate as the portal's core flared with white light.
Ardyn nodded approvingly. "You're doing good work, Keisha. Remember — Our Runes Are Law."
Keisha stood upright, eyes gleaming as she stomped her foot on the metallic floor.
"Kaelon Runes Are Law!" she declared with pride.
The portal roared to life, golden light swirling like a living storm. Ardyn's car moved forward, crossing the threshold — and the world dissolved into brilliance.
The light was blinding at first — a pure, radiant gold that stretched endlessly until it faded into color.
When Ardyn's eyes adjusted, he found himself surrounded by brilliance.
The portal chamber he now stood in was made of pristine marble veined with silver, lined with glowing crystals embedded in the walls. Magic circles pulsed beneath his car, each one shifting gently like ripples on still water.
Before he could even move, a male attendant stepped forward and saluted sharply. "Your Majesty," he said in a deep voice, though his tone was subdued — rehearsed, controlled, as if protocol forbade further speech.
Ardyn simply nodded, his hand brushing against a rune etched into the collar of his shirt. The car's tinted glass partition rose silently, granting him privacy. The air was cooler here, perfumed faintly with salt and the sweet scent of hibiscus carried from the open windows above.
Through the ascending glass lift, the tropical island came into view.
It was breathtaking.
Golden beaches stretched endlessly beneath a sky brushed in watercolor blues. The ocean glimmered like molten sapphire, and modern towers of pale stone and glass rose above the palm trees, their design harmoniously balanced between nature and magic. Distantly, he could hear music — faint, cheerful, accompanied by the rhythm of waves and laughter.
"House Varannor, huh," Ardyn murmured under his breath as the car ascended. "Coin really does rule everything out here."
The lift reached the surface with a soft chime.
Ardyn stepped out, the warm wind immediately tousling his hair. The sunlight was sharp and alive, reflecting off the nearby sea. With a flick of his fingers, he tapped the rune on his collar again — a shimmering glow enveloped his face, twisting his features until his sharp regal appearance faded.
What stood there now was an ordinary man — modestly handsome, a little tired, someone who could disappear into a crowd without notice.
"Perfect," he muttered, adjusting the collar slightly.
He began walking down the smooth stone pathway, leaving the sleek car behind.
The checkpoint ahead was hard to miss — a cluster of armored guards stationed beneath an enormous steel arch lined with sigil scanners. The emblem of the Concordant Order — the island's neutral governing body — gleamed proudly above.
They were known for one thing: complete impartiality. No outside power, no royal house, no empire held sway over them. It was said even gods needed clearance to set foot on Amara without scrutiny.
Ardyn joined the slow-moving line, slipping seamlessly among the tourists, merchants, and locals. The air buzzed with chatter — laughter in half a dozen languages, the faint hum of magic scanners, the rhythmic clicking of boots on stone.
When it was his turn, he stepped forward, calm and still.
A beam of pale light swept across him, scanning his body from head to toe. Runes along the arch shimmered, deciphering his aura.
"Citizen of Durkharad," a mechanical voice declared after a moment, followed by a faint green flash. "Clearance granted."
Ardyn nodded subtly and walked through.
He inhaled deeply as he passed the arch — the salt air filling his lungs, carrying warmth and freedom.
It's been too long since I've been anywhere this peaceful, he thought. Let's see if this island really lives up to its name.
It didn't take long to find what he was looking for.
Down one of the narrow streets lined with beachside shops, Ardyn spotted a small rental kiosk. Old posters flapped lazily in the sea breeze, advertising "SEA RIDES, MOPEDS, AND MAGIC SURFERS." A half-asleep man sat behind the counter, his hat pulled low.
"The yellow one," Ardyn said, pointing at a sleek moped with polished chrome accents and a charm rune carved into its handle. "How much for two days?"
The man didn't even look up. "Fourteen silver serin," he said flatly.
"Eight," Ardyn countered, voice calm but firm.
The man sighed through his nose, pushing his hat back slightly. "You can take the blue one for eight."
"The yellow one," Ardyn repeated, his tone unchanging.
The man's brow twitched. "Tch, listen, you brat—"
Before he could finish, Ardyn placed ten silver coins on the counter, the metal clinking softly against the wood. His gaze met the man's — steady, unwavering.
The shopkeeper stared for a moment before giving a small grunt of defeat. "Fine."
He reached under the counter and retrieved a parchment contract and the moped's key. The contract glowed faintly with runic light.
Ardyn pricked his finger with a small rune-dagger from his pocket, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the paper. The sigils flared, sealing the magical pact instantly.
He accepted the keys, mounted the moped, and revved it gently. The charm engine purred like a satisfied cat.
The wind hit his face the moment he started moving — warm, fragrant, full of life. The island unfolded before him: crystal waters, colorful markets, the laughter of children running past food stalls.
'First time out here,' he thought, smiling faintly. 'Now I know why Aunt Seraphyne likes beaches so much.'
Traffic was slow, and Ardyn didn't mind. He stopped leisurely at a red light, resting one hand casually on the handlebar.
A soft beige luxury SUV rolled up beside him — the kind of car that screamed old money and self-importance.
The window slid down. A handsome man with slick brown hair leaned out, smirking. "Hey," he called, his tone dripping with mock charm. "My lady here wants a ride on that moped of yours. How much for it?"
Ardyn turned his head slightly. His voice was polite but clipped. "It's on rent."
Before the man could reply, the window behind him slid down. A blonde girl peeked out, her eyes bright and curious. "Then… what about a small ride? I'll pay you fifty silver serin!" she said, her tone bubbling with excitement.
Ardyn blinked, a small smile tugging at his lips. What's the worst that could happen? he thought. Might as well unwind a little.
"Sure," he said. "Come on."
The man beside her scowled. "Listen, you NPC," he said sharply, eyes narrowing. "Drive carefully. If she gets hurt, I'll rip your head off."
Ardyn's brow arched slightly. The insult didn't sting — but the arrogance did. He didn't reply, just gestured with a small tilt of his chin.
The back door opened, and the blonde girl stepped out — but for a brief moment, Ardyn saw another face inside. A girl who looked exactly like her, sitting calmly with a book in her hand.
'Twins, huh?' he thought, amused. 'Interesting.'
The blonde climbed onto the moped behind him, excitement radiating from her like sunlight. "Grab onto the back rail," Ardyn instructed lightly. "Or onto me. And enjoy."
The light turned green, and the moped rolled forward.
"Wooohooo!" the girl shouted, her laughter filling the air as the tropical wind whipped through her hair. "This is amazing! I'll give you a hundred if you take me to my hotel!"
"Huh? Which way is it?" Ardyn asked, leaning his head back slightly so she could hear him.
"It's like three kilometers up the coast! The Amaran Veil!" she called, raising her arms into the air as though she were flying.
Ardyn chuckled, steering smoothly as the road curved along the coastline. The ocean glittered beside them, sunlight breaking across the waves like liquid glass.
The Amaran Veil soon came into view — a towering masterpiece of white stone and coral glass, its design somewhere between a palace and a resort. Its entrance shimmered with barriers of light, guarded by armored sentinels and arcane scanners.
Ardyn slowed the moped to a stop at the checkpoint. A mechanical voice greeted him as the scanner swept over.
"Citizen of Durkharad. Reservation: Negative."
Before he could respond, the girl behind him leaned forward, flashing a white card edged with gold filigree. The scanner beeped again.
"Reservation: Positive."
But then, a second scan flickered red. The voice changed tone — sharp, alert.
"Citizen of Elyndor. Facial disguise detected."
Instantly, the guards moved — weapons raised, stances firm.
The girl sighed, tapping her pendant. A faint rune shimmered, and the illusion on her face dissolved.
The guards' expressions shifted immediately from aggression to alarm — then to deep, formal respect. They stepped aside in silence, lowering their weapons.
Ardyn blinked. Royalty, he realized. Of course.
The moped rolled forward again, coming to a stop before the grand entrance.
The girl hopped off, brushing her hair back and grinning. "That was so fun! Thank you so much!" she said brightly. "Wait here, I'll pay you after my friends come!"
She really was beautiful — radiant in a way that didn't belong to commoners. Her movements, her tone, even her confidence all betrayed her upbringing.
Moments later, the beige SUV arrived. The brown-haired man from earlier jumped out immediately, anger written across his face.
He grabbed Ardyn by the collar, glaring up at him. "You lowly dwarf! I said a small ride! How dare you bring her here!"
Ardyn froze for a second — not in fear, but disbelief. Then he stood. Slowly.
The difference in height was… significant. Ardyn towered over him, the shadow he cast long and sharp.
"Lowly dwarf?" he repeated quietly, his tone level but icy.
He gripped Rowan's collar in return — effortlessly lifting him slightly off his feet. "Listen, you spoiled brat," Ardyn said, his voice calm but with a dangerous edge. "Call me whatever you want. But you will not insult my kind. Or my country."
The tension between them crackled like static.
Before it could escalate further, a man in a navy-blue suit appeared — likely a hotel manager. "Gentlemen," he said crisply, his voice carrying authority. "Violence of any kind will result in strict action."
A third man stepped out of the car — similar to Rowan, but calmer, more composed. He quickly placed a hand on Rowan's shoulder, pulling him back.
"Let it go," he murmured, before turning to Ardyn with a brief nod of apology.
The blonde twin stepped between them, her tone apologetic. "Sorry! Here — there's extra for the trouble," she said, holding out a pouch of silver serin.
Ardyn shook his head. "No need."
"Wait," she said, flustered. "At least let us repay you somehow. We could… buy you a room here for a week?"
Ardyn gave a soft laugh. "Staying in a hotel when you're in a paradise like this? This place comes alive at night."
Her eyes brightened slightly. "You'll be out all night?"
"Yeah," he replied. "There's a music festival that was just announced. Figured I'd see what the fuss is about."
The girl smiled shyly. "Then… maybe I'll see you there. I still owe you one."
Ardyn chuckled. "Owe me? I just gave your friend a ride. If we see each other again, we'll probably both get kicked off the island."
Her cheeks colored faintly. "Then… we'll meet again if Auralis wills it."
As she turned away, Ardyn's smile faded slightly.
'Auralis…' he thought, the name echoing in his mind. A long-forgotten memory stirred — a whisper from another time.
He started his moped again, the engine humming quietly beneath him, and rolled down the coastal road as the sunset painted the horizon gold.
The sea breeze hit his face again — cool, free, and alive.
"Now," he murmured, his tone soft and content. "Let's find a good place to eat."