Within the dark halls of the fortress, a great hall of gold and greatness sits silent and regal. Tall walls embellished with tapestries of legends and victories. Elegant high ceilings are decorated with intricate paintings. At the end of the halls, one would stop in awe, standing before a simple yet refined platform. On its center situates a lone table carrying a single sword stand.
The hall's gilded walls longed for their true master, missing the sound of his footsteps. Today their wishes were answered.
Heavy footsteps echoed as tall dark figure strides towards the end of the hall. The area thrumd with energy in wisps of golden concentrated mana vibrating within the air. His golden features complented the surroundings well. It was created for him.
Lord Hadrian Hercullio's steps were asured and purposeful, exuding power and determination. His posture is upright and his gaze steady as they settle upon the gilded table. When he stopped, absolute silence fell.
The table, ornately decorated with intricate golden patterns, catches the light, casting a warm, shimring glow. The stand, crafted from sleek, ebony wood, contrasts sharply with the table's opulence, its dark surface absorbing the surrounding light. Like smooth-cut obsidian, it reflects the cold features of the man on its glossy surface.
Years ago, upon being appointed the lord of his family, he had taken the black sword and its formidable sheath from this very stand. This dark blade, which he now wielded with unparalleled skill, served as more than a re weapon. It acted as a sophisticated conduit, ticulously channeling his imnse power into the world and ensuring the precise balance of his mana usage.
Its chambers had long been abandoned. He returned expecting it to be left in ruins. However... here it was. Neat and polished as though brand new.
Lord Hercullio unsheathes his sword. The obsidian blade glistened under the light making it look more intimidating yet mysterious. The sword inched near the stand.
Tremble.
He paused.
His golden gaze lowers to his sword-handling hand to witness streaks of black veins, almost blurring, marking his fingers and traveling slowly toward his wrist.
"I thought it would be shaful to tear this place down." An intruder's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Golden eyes narrowed. He sheathed his sword and the marks suddenly disappeared.
The person had entered the forbidden place and walked towards him, stopping a few steps beside him. Prince Archaen smiled gazing at the black sword stand.
"What do you think? Is it to your liking?"
The golden lord glanced at him expressionlessly, "You should have left it in ruins."
"Ah, I had considered that. However, my subjects were adamant about transforming it into a site that showcases your guild's brilliance, regardless of how overwhelming and botherso the tales may be."
Lord Hercullio did not respond and remained silent as the seconds went by. Prince Archaen did not mind. His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to talk.
"Thinking about your beloved, are you? I must comnd your taste. I never expected you to be promised to such an exquisite creature. Your noble lineage certainly has its perks." The sarcasm in his voice was barely concealed. He wore a smile.
"Does Your Majesty feel inferior to a man like myself?" Lord Hadrian raised his gaze. They are sharp like a blade glistening under sunset rays.
Inferior? Prince Archaen wanted to curse before his face.
"Hardly. I am next to no one."
Hadrian turned his gaze away. "How selfless you are."
"I am proud of my bloodline, and you know that well. Yet, you persist in provoking at every turn. I am always wary of you. Your golden mask aims to overshadow the royal blood. You have forfeited your right, but I am a cautious man." The prince's eyes narrowed further. "For the sake of the people, I shall tolerate it."
A low smile crept onto the High Lord's face. "Fear shall consu you, your majesty."
Wrath flashed in a split second. If one were present, they would tremble from the dark tension between the two esteed figures.
"As fierce as your lovely fiancé, I see. However, he tried to accommodate my being as politely as he could. It is a wonder how you enamored such a creature."
Archaen knew the effect of his words. However, the result he expected failed to co.
"Pity. My lovely fiancé is one of a kind. You may never find anyone as unique as him throughout your life." A sigh left the High Lord's mouth as though he was truly sympathizing with the prince.
A subtle twitch betrayed the High Lord's composure.
With an insincere bow, Lord Hercullio turned on his heel and departed, his movent more of a dismissive nod than a respectful gesture. Prince Archaen let him go, accustod to his arrogance but harboring a fervent hope for the day when he could shatter the man's proud facade.
.....
The second eting comnced at noon. Moulin dressed elegantly as he did last ti. Hadrian looked impeccable as always. The youth's hands added the final touches. The eting today was deed extrely important and at the end of it, a decision would finally be made.
The mbers and location remained unchanged, except for one notable difference: Moulin was ordered to wait patiently for the final decision. He was not to attend the eting, like a criminal who lost his right only to wait miserably for the fate that would befall him
"It will be quick..." Lord Hadrian reassured as his lips pressed against Moulin's smooth forehead.
With a sigh, Moulin nodded and watched as his beloved left the room.
"Relax. It will go well." Tessley placed her hand on his shoulder in reassurance. Moulin could only believe her.
.....
A few hours later, Moulin tried not to drift off to sleep while he sat by the window of the study with a book on his lap. He truly wanted to wait for Hadrian's arrival and the news he would share but it was hard to keep himself awake with nothing to do. It took Snow several loud barks to keep his master from nodding off. Unfortunately, he could only whine as his efforts were fruitless.
Moulin leaned against the backrest with steadying breaths. Sohow, he was too sleepy. It was unlike him. He knew always had plenty of rest.
"Didn't he want to wait until Lord Hercullio arrived?" Tessley raised a brow while she leaned against the doorway.
"His nervousness must have tired him out." Ordan silently took a small blanket and covered the youth's slumbering fra. His actions are too gentle in Tessley's eyes.
.....
Thud!
A man crashed to the ground, sending dust flying. His armor clanked as he struggled with the pain in his body. Slowly rising, his sweat dripped onto the dry earth. His embarrassnt fueled his rising anger, and he clenched his teeth tightly. His gaze lowered to his trembling knees.
"Good fight," ca a voice in front of him. Two pairs of dirty boots appeared in his view, and a hand extended to help him up. The man bore the familiar insignia of the Leonile guild, the golden crest glinting faintly.
The defeated man, though unarmored, was easily recognizable as one of the imperial knights from the stronghold. He slapped the offered hand away, brushing the dust off his body. With long strides, he rejoined his fellow warriors, who all shared the sa look of disdain.
The Leonile warrior sighed in disappointnt, flinching as a hand clapped him on the back. He turned sharply to see who it was.
"C-Captain!" he stamred, snapping into a salute.
Ghana raised an eyebrow. "You did well."
"Thank you, Captain!" he responded, his eyes shining with pride at having pleased his leader.
Ghana nodded toward the other sentinels, signaling for him to join them. As he departed, she noticed the group of imperial warriors huddled together, casting sneering glances at her and her n.
Her cerulean eyes narrowed. It's only been a few days since she and the soldiers arrived. She never expected even a fake welco from the people of the stronghold. The last ti she had been here, she had broken an arm belonging to an imperial sentinel who had been insulting her and the guild. The anger from a few years ago seed to not have faded.
With a shake of her head, she walks towards her n. All of them seed to be imrsed in a conversation. Maintaining her pace, she silently listens without catching their attention.
"-I heard he can communicate with the demons through his dreams. That's why they needed him."
"I think the mages will be stripping him of his mana."
"Ha? You are kidding . He has done so much for the city. What do they know?"
"I 'know' that they're going to keep a strict eye on him."
"You don't think that he already knew about his identity and kept it a secret?"
"That... could be possible..."
"Hm. Thought he was one of us. Can we even trust anyone now?!"
"Hey. Keep it down- Ack! Captain!"
One of the n jumped when he realized Ghana was already standing behind him. In an instant, the sentinels shut their mouths and quickly saluted to the female warrior.
Staring at their pale faces, Ghana sighed and calmly spoke. "Do not let rumors cloud your judgnt. Moulin Fraunces is an excellent maeruthan who has accomplished great things for the good of the people. He is one of us."
The n hesitantly relaxed and carefully took her words in their hearts. She dismissed them and solemnly walked away wondering about the dark rumors about her dear friend circulating throughout the stronghold.
....
"We still don't know much about it..."
Ghana turned to face the man standing before the tall window who had his back facing her. Jagra looked well today. Despite the seriousness of his expression, he looked healthy. Well, he had been getting enough sleep during his recuperation, and leaving his duties in Helios ant that he had no work to keep himself busy.
The only matter that seed to consu his thoughts were the frequent interrogations by the imperial investigators and examinations by the mages. Jagra never looked happy whenever those people ca to visit him.
"No one is permitted to see him. Whether it's for his own protection, I can't say, but I know they don't need to go to the extre of investigating everyone who so much as ntions his na. I tried to et him but I t Tessley instead. She says the lords are finally going to decide his fate today."
Jagra listened and his face grew somber as each word was spoken. He walks to sit down beside Ghana. "Whatever they decide, I hope it doesn't turn against Moulin. They can find another way to resolve this situation."
"Lord Hercullio is behind him. He will be fine. And I've heard that Lord Fridal and Lady Klaria are also on his side," Ghana reassured him, attempting to lighten the weight of their worries.
Suddenly, a thought entered Ghana's mind. For a second, she hesitates to bring up the topic but her anger won against her hesitance instantly.
"The elf. Gaile. I know you have been visiting him." She glanced at his expression. Noticing the slight stiffness of his countenance, her brows instantly drew together.
"Why? Do you know how dangerous he is?"
The man's gaze lowers. "I was trying to extract information."
"The palaces people could do that. You were 'talking' to him weren't you?"
"... I wanted to know why he did this to ." Jagra's gaze drifts off. He rembers a torn expression, filled with grief and guilt. "It was his last attempt, he says. Before..."
"Before what?"
"Before he severed his roots. He didn't know if he could live that ti. This ti... he would help us defeat Uldher."
Ghana stared incredulously at Jagra's pleading gaze. She knew he had long harbored hatred and grief because of that elf. But why did he look like that now? His eyes were filled with an internal struggle as if he longed for sothing he both forbade and loathed.
Her jaw clenched. No matter what... she will make sure he doesn't see that elf again!
.....
Darkness engulfs the stronghold's skies. Lamps, torches, and crystals are lighted to illuminate the manor. In a bedroom, nestled on silken pillows and warm sheets, a certain white-haired youth slumbers deeply snuggling with an also sleeping little white fox.
"Should we wake him?" Suggested Tessley who began to approach the bed.
Ordan gestures, imdiately stopping her. "Let him sleep for a couple of minutes."
The two left the room quietly. In the silence, Moulin's brows furrowed and he shifts in discomfort as though he was trapped in a nightmare.
The room grows cold.
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