The hall fell silent.
All eyes turned toward the center of the room, where a massive sigil was carved into the stone floor, ancient, circular, its runes aglow with a faint, eerie shimmer under flickering torchlight. At its heart lay something buried and dull, pressed into the middle like the eye of a storm.
Drenak stepped forward, his boots heavy on the marble. He knelt, brushing away dust with his gauntlet.
“There,” he murmured, pointing. “Beneath it.”
The soldiers moved in. Steel rang against stone as hammers and axes shattered the silence. Marble cracked. The ground trembled. Dust rose like ghosts disturbed from slumber, curling in the torchlight.
The sigil’s lines fractured, glowing brighter for a moment before fading into dim ruin.
Tharic turned to the king, and Velyra’s eyes flickered with dread.
“The Pearl…” Velyra rasped. “It was never meant to be found…”
And then, with a deep, splitting crack, the stone split open.
Something rolled free.
A dull object, round and caked in dust, came to rest at Drenak’s feet. A soldier picked it up, gently wiped it clean with a cloth, and handed it to him.
As the dust cleared, the object glowed red. Slowly. Rhythmically. Like a heartbeat.
The red pearl pulsed with a quiet, ancient heat. The moment it touched open air, the ground trembled, and a low rumble echoed through the hall like distant thunder.
Tharic stared at it, eyes wide. “It’s… beautiful.”
Velyra didn’t look away. “Yes,” he said, voice hollow. “But in the wrong hands, it can unmake the world. Twist the winds. Turn fire against its master.”
Outside, the sky obeyed.
Clouds churned over the city, boiling with unnatural fury. Winds screamed through shattered windows, extinguishing torches and rattling the old stone pillars. Lightning streaked across the heavens, illuminating the hall in flickering white.
Drenak’s cloak snapped behind him.
He then turned towards Shavric and raised a hand.
Without a word, Shavric stepped forward.
Drenak held out the pearl, now glowing brighter, the storm reflecting in its surface. “Take it to Valoria,” he said. “Ride south. Hand it to Zafayr, and only Zafayr.”
He leaned closer. His voice dropped to a growl. “If anything stands in your way, do not bargain. End them.”
Shavric nodded. “Understood.”
The pearl rested in his hand like something alive, warm, throbbing, dangerous.
“Take thirty riders,” Drenak said. “The fastest. The fiercest. Leave before night falls.”
Shavric wrapped the pearl in black cloth and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
He turned and strode from the hall. His voice rang through the corridors as he called for his riders.
Men sprinted to the stables. Armor clanged. Horses screamed against the howling wind.
Shavric sealed the pearl inside a lockbox of black steel etched with ancient runes.
In the hall,
Kaaryon stepped forward beside Drenak. “My lord,” he asked, “What shall we do with the king… and Tharic?”
Drenak’s gaze was iron. “Chain them. Kill all of their guards.”
The command echoed, and came into action.
Moments later,
At the far end of the hall, King Velyra and Tharic were slumped against a great stone pillar, bound in iron chains. Their arms were raised above them, chests heaving with each breath.
Tharic’s armor was torn, blood staining his side. His jaw was clenched, face was bruised. Beside him, King Velyra sat upright, unharmed, but ghostly pale. Silent.
The storm raged outside. Inside, it was deathly still.
Drenak approached, his boots echoing across the blood-streaked marble. Torchlight flickered weakly along cracked columns.
Kaaryon followed, hammer in hand. The head of the weapon was dark with dried blood.
Drenak stopped before the king.
“Where,” he asked, voice cold as ice, “are the remaining fragments of the Solarian?”
No answer.
Kaaryon took a step forward. The hammer rose.
Tharic spat blood on the floor. “You can kill us,” he growled, “but you’ll never find it. Not a single shard.”
Drenak’s eyes narrowed.
He lifted his hand.
The hammer came down.
A sickening crack echoed as Kaaryon shattered Velyra’s thigh. The old king screamed, a jagged, raw sound that echoed like thunder across the hall. He writhed, blood pooling beneath him.
Kaaryon leaned closer. “Still no answer?”
Tharic turned away, jaw clenched, eyes burning. Velyra trembled, struggling to breathe.
Drenak didn’t blink.
“Again.”
The second blow crushed the king’s shoulder with a wet crunch. Velyra screamed again, a hoarse, broken sound. Blood dripped from his mouth, staining his beard.
“Stop!” Tharic shouted. “Stop, damn you!”
Drenak looked at him, silent, expectant.
Tharic coughed blood, then spoke. “The Solarian is a key… made of three pieces. The red pearl. The Solarian Blade. And the handle.”
Velyra tried to stop him, lips moving soundlessly. He could barely lift his head.
Drenak nodded once. “Continue.”
Tharic breathed hard. “The first… You have. It was hidden beneath the Great Hall.”
He paused, groaning in pain.
“The Blackthorn Empire guards the blade in their vault.”
He hesitated.
“The third… the handle… no one knows where it is. Except those of the Zevrath bloodline.”
Drenak said nothing. He simply turned to Kaaryon and gave the faintest nod.
Kaaryon raised the hammer.
The final blow crushed King Velyra’s skull.
Blood splattered across Tharic’s face.
Drenak did not look away.
“Untie him,” Drenak said.
A nearby soldier obeyed, unlocking the chains.
Drenak stared down at Tharic. “Leave,” he said. “I want you alive, to tell the world what’s coming. Tell them the Valorian army is coming.”
Tharic collapsed to his knees, gasping. His soul weighed with the deaths of friends, his generals… his son… and now, his king.
Drenak turned and walked from the great hall.
Kaaryon dragged his hammer behind him. Its scrape echoed like a funeral dirge.
In the evening.
Bodies burned in towering pyres outside the city walls. The flames danced against the darkening sky, turning red embers to ash.
Drenak stood before the fire, the light flickering in his eyes.
Shavric approached, wind whipping his cloak.
My lord,” he said. “We are ready to ride.”
Drenak leaned in and whispered something low into Shavric’s ear.
Shavric gave a single nod and vanished into the night with his men.
Far away, deep in the Blackthorn Empire.
The towers of Blackthorn stabbed the heavens, their spires looming over cliffs of pine and shadow. Winds screamed past stone gargoyles. Lightning cracked across the peaks like gods splitting the sky.
General Caelus stood on a high balcony, his black cloak snapping in the gale. His eyes were locked on the storm that churned in the distance, bleeding red into the clouds.
A lieutenant stepped beside him. “What is this? The sky, ”
Caelus didn’t look away. “The red pearl has been removed.”
The lieutenant stiffened. “That’s not possible. It was hidden deep in the Thalvryn Empire.”
Caelus’s jaw tightened.
“Not anymore.”
He turned back to the storm, voice as sharp as frost.
“Next… they’ll come for us.”