In the ancient, hidden stronghold of Aetheleon, Beatrice, the Queen, sat on a carved stone seat. Her chamber was an archaic nexus of power, illuminated solely by the flickering, amber light of countless candles. These candles were meticulously crafted from purified animal fat, and their smoke rose straight, indicating the chamber's perfect atmospheric seal.
Around her, etched deep into the polished stone floor, was a massive golden-lined sigil—a complex circle overlaid with lines radiating to the center, creating a focus point for interdimensional contact. In the very heart of this diagram, she had placed the gruesome catalyst: Rena's preserved ear, a sacrifice made long ago to anchor the Queen's power to her son's lineage.
Beatrice pulled back from the deep trance of her communion. Her usually composed face was slick with sweat, her blond hair plastered to her temples. Her senses, which were Tier 2 in their spiritual depth, were ringing with the residual force of her effort. She felt a surge of happiness—her voice had reached her grandson, Rayn—but it was immediately followed by crushing sadness—the sheer spatial and dimensional distance between them was immense, almost shattering her concentration.
After sitting quietly for an hour, recovering her immense spiritual reserves, she used a soft chime to summon a guard. "Send for my daughter, Rena. Tell her it is urgent."
A short time later, Rena (Rayn's biological mother) approached the Queen's chamber. She raised her hand to the gleaming white marble of the double doors, pausing before the portal carved deep with the solemn figures of two winged angels. Their massive, interlocked swords formed a golden, inescapable X across the portal, the hilts and guard of each blade inlaid with ancient gold. This crossing was not a mere defense; it was a unified vow: one blade representing the first warden, the other, the second, a shared sentinel against the profane world.
Rena knocked on the giant white door.
Beatrice, using her Tier 2 vision power, instantly saw through the opaque marble, recognizing her daughter's anxious form. "Yes, come in," she commanded.
Rena entered the breathtaking expanse of the Queen's room. The chamber was paved with expensive, polished stones that reflected the soft, countless candle glows. Every surface—the towering walls, the archways, and the heavy tables—was crafted from seamless, cold white marble. Ancient history books, bound in dark leather and smelling of ozone and age, were stacked everywhere, overflowing from deeply carved shelves. On the floor, the golden pelt of a massive, extinct lion-like creature lay stretched near the foot of the throne. That throne, magnificent and terrible, was upholstered not with velvet, but with tiger skin, its structure bristling with the pommels of multiple embedded swords. Dominating the far wall stood a bed so enormous it could easily accommodate a giant, while glowing green jade statues stood silent vigil in the shadows.
Rena immediately bowed low before her mother, addressing her with the appropriate reverence. "What happened, Your Highness?"
Beatrice sat on a nearby couch, its frame composed of intricately worked swords bound together, a symbol of constant readiness. "I have made contact," she explained, her voice soft but resonating with power. "I saw my grandson, and your son."
Rena's control instantly broke. Her eyes filled with tears, and her entire frame shook with suppressed excitement. "Did you see him? How is he? Is he good, Mother?" she asked, a flurry of desperate questions tumbling out.
Beatrice held up a hand. "I did not talk to him right at this moment due to some dimensional instability and the sheer effort required. You must wait for some time. I need to regain my full strength, and then I will communicate with him again. Then, Rena, you can talk to your son yourself."
Meanwhile, far away in the Dwarf Kingdom of Khazad-Dar, the war raged with relentless, barbaric brutality.
The valley was a vision of living hell, a churning landscape of pulverized stone and thick, black smoke where nothing remained whole. The air was thick with the metallic stench of iron and burned earth, choked by the screams of the dying and the relentless, rhythmic clang of steel. The ground was slick with the spilled blood of dwarf soldiers, their broken forms scattered like discarded dolls amidst the ruins of their former fortifications.
Above the chaos, Thrain Ironhand moved with the dreadful momentum of a storm. Mounted on his black-winged warhorse, he was a massive, merciless engine of war, his divine sword "Killer" rising and falling in blurring, unstoppable arcs. He eliminated the terrified soldiers not as warriors, but as vermin—a single, indifferent stamp upon a swarm of insects, reducing the enemy dwarf ranks to nothing more than crimson spray and shattered armor. His presence alone was breaking the moral of the Shadow Crown's remaining army.
In the middle of this chaos, Team Jai (composed of Jai, James, Zayn, Winston, and Brokk) stood firm, holding a hastily erected defensive border against the Shadow Crown loyalists. They were exhausted, low on energy, and relying on pure adrenaline.
Suddenly, Lenard (one of Zeron's commanders, Tier 5) flew high above the battlefield, observing the carnage. His attention, however, was immediately drawn to the skirmish below. He spotted Winston and felt the cold fire of vengeance ignite. He dove toward Team Jai's magical border, his descending body a weapon.
Lenard's impact was devastating. He destroyed the border shield instantly and landed directly in front of Team Jai. The force of his landing kicked up a massive cloud of dirt and pulverized stone, temporarily blinding everyone. In the split second of chaos, Winston immediately exerted his residual magic to cast another, focused magical border around their immediate vicinity, ensuring no other enemies could interrupt the impending fight.
Lenard emerged from the dust cloud, his eyes fixed on Winston. He spoke with cold fury: "Hey, Winston! Last time, you got out purely by luck. Now, I am going to take my revenge. I will kill you and deliver your head as a gift for my King, Zeron!"
The battle lines solidified. Facing Team Jai was a formidable group: Lenard (Tier 5), Zenos (Zayn's cousin and Zevan's young son, confirmed to be a Tier 7 Elemental Master), and two elite soldiers who were Tier 8. Behind them stood a guard of ten more soldiers split between Tier 9 and Tier 10.
Jai, seeing the stark numerical and power disadvantage, quickly activated his artifact—a complex magical focus. "Hey guys, we are completely outnumbered and outranked! Zenos is a Tier 7. We must stay together and make the attack combined. Make sure everyone helps each other."
Winston, despite his fatigue, nodded grimly. "Guys, Lenard is quite weak, but we have already lost so much energy fighting those Tier 9 and Tier 10 soldiers earlier."
The enemy troops, led by Zenos and Lenard, moved forward in a unified wave. Team Jai tensed, ready to meet the attack.
The inevitable clash began—but it was not the expected fight between the grudge-holding rivals, Winston and Lenard. Instead, Zenos, fueled by years of bitterness, lunged straight for Zayn.
"I came to this war just to kill you with my own hands!" Zenos screamed, his face contorted in rage. "Because of your father, King Borin, my entire family—my father, my mother, and I—had to get out of the kingdom and live outside like mere, common people!"
Zayn, his previous battle trauma ("The Shame of the Silver-Haired Prince") still fresh, faced his cousin.
Jai interrupted, trying to defuse the personal attack: "Your dad is the reason you ended up in that situation! Why are you blaming King Borin?"
But Zenos ignored him, focusing his full elemental fury on Zayn. This wasn't a strategic fight; it was a deeply personal one. The question remained: Could Zayn surpass his trauma and defeat the cousin whose intense rage was directly caused by the actions of Zayn's own father? The survival of Team Jai depended on Zayn's ability to fight a true, agonizing family battle.
The charge was immediate. Lenard, despite being wounded and exhausted, aimed a focused Tier 5 energy bolt at Winston, forcing the weary strategist onto the defensive. Meanwhile, the two Tier 8 guards moved to suppress Jai and James, using coordinated magical suppression fields. The Tier 9 and 10 soldiers formed a tight perimeter, ensuring no escape.
But the focal point of the chaos was the clash of kin. Zenos, his face streaming with angry tears, materialized twin scimitars crackling with raw Tier 7 elemental lightning. He bypassed the Tier 9 bodyguards and plunged straight toward Zayn.
"You had the crown, the comfort, the love! You were the Prince!" Zenos shrieked, driving his lightning blades forward. "We had nothing but exile and your father's lies!"
Zayn's entire world narrowed. The familiar battlefield smells—iron, blood, burned earth—vanished. All he could see was the reflection of the lightning in Zenos's tear-filled eyes, triggering a flash of memory: his own childhood shame, the feeling of the leather belt, the cold floor of the smithy cellar. The trauma threatened to paralyze him. His limbs felt heavy, and his mind screamed retreat. I can't fight him. His pain is real. My father did this.