The morning after the ill-fated assault on the Baros main camp, the Gold Palace was shrouded in a heavy, oppressive silence. Rain still whispered against the towering stone walls, as if mourning the blood spilled in the fields. The usual bustle of guards and servants had dulled to hushed murmurs and anxious glances.
Alekius moved swiftly through the empty corridors, his boots echoing off the polished marble. The vivid banners celebrating a century of Zuli rule now hung limp and sodden. The scent of damp stone and smoke clung heavily to the air. When he entered the war room, the tension was suffocating.
King Zubotu stood rigid at the center of the chamber, his hands clenched white against the edge of the great war table. Maps lay scattered before him, marked with frantic scrawls of battle lines and crude circles where skirmishes had ended in disaster. Thunder rumbled outside, and the flickering torchlight deepened the shadows on his hardened face.
Before Zubotu, Kael and Zaron knelt, both heads bowed low. Zaron's once-polished golden armor was battered and scorched, bearing the blackened marks of failure. Blood and grime streaked his copper-brown hair, and his chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. His hands trembled slightly, whether from lingering fear, grief, or shame, Alekius could not tell.
"Explain yourself, Kael," Zubotu said, voice low and coiled with fury. "You were ordered to scout. To assess. Not to engage. Your insubordination has cost us dearly."
"If I may, sir," Zaron began.
"You are not the acting leader, Zaron. Be quiet."
Kael raised his face, pale beneath the grime and blood. His copper-brown hair clung wetly to his forehead, his eyes red-rimmed from more than battle fatigue. The stink of smoke and charred flesh clung to his armor.
"King Zubotu… I sought revenge. After what they did to my father and Zayen..." His voice cracked. "I believed I saw an opportunity. Their lines were scattered. Their warriors were disorganized. I thought a swift strike would cripple them before they could regroup."
"I did this, not the boy." Zaron said.
Zubotu's expression flickered, a moment of sympathy, but it was swiftly buried under the weight of responsibility. His fist struck the table with a resounding crash, sending ink pots and rolled maps skittering. Ignoring Zaron's words.
"You thought?" he roared. "Your thoughts have cost the lives of half the soldiers you led! Half!" His voice cracked with fury. "Decimated by what?"
A tremor ran through Kael. "By… by fire, King. But not any fire I've ever seen. It was... unnatural. Blue, with black edges. It moved like a living thing, consuming everything it touched with impossible speed and heat. And..." he hesitated, a shiver racking his body, "there was something else. A shadow. Towering and dark, standing behind one of their younglings."
Alekius tensed. A shadow? A youngling wielding fire powerful enough to rout trained Zuli soldiers?
He exchanged a glance with his father, but Zubotu's face had gone still, stone-cold and skeptical. Beneath that mask, Alekius could sense the tension brewing.
"A shadow?" Zubotu said, voice thick with disbelief. "Old tales and soldier's superstitions. I expected more from you, Kael. Your father's death has blinded you."
Kael's voice broke, but before he could speak Zaron answered. "He tells the truth, King. I swear it. It wasn't just the flames. Before the blue fire came... the elders," He hesitated, sickened by the memory. "They unleashed… a wave of heat. They burned themselves alive. One of the elders, possibly twice my own age, threw himself into our men. Burning one of them with a single punch and then exploding into another group. The same power that consumed my brother. We need to snuff these people out. More Zuli will surely die. Now this boy seems to be even stronger than them."
Alekius stared, his gut knotting tighter. More of the self-immolation?
The Baros sacrificing their own to ignite magic?
"Mind your tongue Zaron. I do not want superstitions told to our soldiers. You both will answer for this." Zubotu hissed with anger.
"You mean..." Alekius said slowly, voice barely above a whisper, "they willingly burned themselves?"
"It was horrific," Kael rasped. "They didn't hesitate. They wanted it. Their deaths gave rise to a young boy... a boy who fought like no human I've ever seen. His axe burned with spectral flame. He moved through our ranks like a demon, faster than any soldier could react. We had no defense."
"ENOUGH." Zubotu yelled, and lightning struck down outside directly behind him.
The war room fell deathly silent. The weight of Kael's and Zaron's testimonies settled like a boulder over the gathered captains and strategists.
The proud wielders of lightning had been routed. Not by superior tactics. Not by overwhelming numbers. But by an enemy who had harnessed sacrifice and something older, darker.
Zubotu's jaw tightened, the muscles in his face working furiously. Alekius could see the storm gathering behind his father's eyes. Zubotu's gaze lingered briefly on Alekius, then shifted, and for the first time, Alekius caught a glimmer of worry hidden deep within it. Not just for the war, but for his sons. How could Alekius face such magic? How could even Laric?
Kael lifted his gaze, and Alekius saw the vow burning behind it, a cold, unwavering promise. He would see every last Baros fall. For his family. For General Tharos, for Zayen. No matter what this new threat was. Zubotu leaned heavily on the table, his knuckles pale. His voice, when it finally came, was low and cold, yet tinged with a shadow of sorrow. "Prepare for the war council. Send word to Arken and the other commanders. I want every Baros scout driven from our borders. I want the source of this power found, and destroyed."
Kael bowed his head lower, guilt and fury warring across his young face. "I will not fail again, my King. For my father."
Zubotu's lightning-marked eye glinted dangerously. "You won't have the chance to fail again. You will be in the training yards. Do not return, unless I summon you. Zaron," Zubotu said coldly. "You will be stripped of all military accolades… and transferred to Fulgur. As a slave."
"Sir, please–," Kael was stopped with a hand from Zaron.
"No more. I will take my punishment as will you. Be careful nephew." Zaron said, a small smile forming as he walked with two guards out of the room.
Without another word, Zubotu turned his back, staring at the maps like a man peering into a future he no longer recognized. As Kael rose to leave, Alekius followed him out into the rain-slicked corridor.
Kael paused, water dripping from the fringe of his battered armor. His shoulders sagged under the weight of grief.
"Training yards, my heart burns deeply with the need to eliminate them all. I will avenge him, Alekius," Kael said hoarsely. "No matter what it takes. I do not know why your father cannot see this danger."
Alekius nodded, the words heavy on his tongue. "Yes. I believe you Kael."
Lightning flickered through the palace windows as the two young men stood together in the gathering storm, the first drops of a bloodier flood yet to come. As Alekius left, another figure emerged from the shadows, Laric, his cloak drawn tight against the damp air. His expression was grim but not unkind. Laric had always been different from Alekius. Where Alekius bore the classic features of the Zuli royal line, bold, unyielding, Laric was leaner, more reserved. His skin was paler, his hair a shade lighter, and though they shared the same father, their mothers had carved different destinies into their blood.
"Kael," Laric said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence. "Your father was a good man. A better general than most ever knew. He even taught me how to properly handle the Zuli blade. I cannot say I really knew Zayen all that well, but I am sorry about him."
Kael stiffened, his grief raw and fresh. Laric stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Kael could hear. "Hold onto your anger. Shape it. Temper it like steel. Rash actions will only honor your enemies."
Kael looked up, meeting Laric's piercing gaze. "Do not make the same mistake twice," Laric finished. Then, without waiting for a reply, he melted back into the corridors, leaving Kael standing alone beneath the weight of his vow,and the burden of surviving his father's legacy.
Kael stood alone in the corridor long after Laric's figure vanished into the shadows. The air felt thick, like the palace itself held its breath, waiting to see what he would do next. The walls around him were lined with murals, Zuli triumphs etched in stone and gilded lightning. His father was among them. Carved in full armor, sword raised high, eyes hard with purpose. Kael looked up at that familiar face, and for the first time, felt nothing but hollowness. They'd taken him. The Baros. Not in war. Not even in combat worth a song or story. A fanatic had immolated himself in their god's name, igniting a blast so hot it had blackened the rain and incinerated the man Kael had tried his whole life to measure up to. That wasn't strength. That was madness. But now, this new thing? This boy in the west wielding fire that bent color itself, cloaked in shadows that even lightning feared? That was something else entirely. Kael pressed a hand against the mural. The stone was cool beneath his palm. Unmoving. Unyielding. Everything his father had been. His jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white.
"You died building a legacy," he whispered to the stone. "Now I'll burn the world to defend it."
Laric's words echoed in his head: Hold onto your anger. Shape it. Temper it like steel.
But Kael didn't want steel. He wanted lightning. No more obedience. No more waiting. The court saw him as broken. A son mourning a hero. But he would become a reckoning. Kael turned sharply, boots ringing against the marble as he stalked down the corridor, not toward the barracks, nor to beg more orders from Zubotu. He moved toward the underhall. Toward the old training pits. Toward the men who owed him favors, the veterans overlooked for court assignments. Soldiers who didn't ask questions.
Let Zubotu count numbers on a map.
Kael would build a weapon in the dark. And when the time came, he would not let anyone stand in his way. If he had to strike down something in his path to rid the world of these animals then he would gladly do so.