At the far edge of the world men still dared to map. Where roads thinned into jagged trails and the air itself grew colder with altitude—
There stood a mountain.
Not the tallest. Not the widest. But the one no kingdom claimed. Because no kingdom could.
The path to its summit did not welcome travelers. It carved upward in narrow, broken lines—stone steps half-swallowed by time, edges worn by wind that howled without pause. Mist clung to the cliffs, shifting like something alive, revealing and concealing the ascent in uneven breaths.
From below, the peak could barely be seen.
Only a shadow.
A place where light hesitated. Higher still, past where vegetation dared not grow, the mountain changed. The stone darkened. The air continuously thickened. A faint red glow began to bleed through the mist above.
Not fire. Not light. Something else.
And at the summit, it stood.
A castle.
Blackened stone veined with deep crimson, as though the structure itself had been carved from something that once bled. Towers rose like jagged fangs into the night sky, their edges uneven, unnatural, as if shaped by force rather than design.
No banners flew.
No guards stood watch.
And yet, it was not empty.
Inside, a hallway stretched forward into darkness. Long, endless. Lit only by rows of candles placed along the walls. Their flames flickered red. Like slow-burning embers soaked in blood.
The floor reflected their glow faintly, polished to a mirror-like sheen that carried distorted reflections of the pillars standing in perfect symmetry on either side.
Footsteps echoed. Not from one, but many.
Faint.
Layered.
As if the hallway remembered every presence that had ever passed through it.
At the end, there's a door. Massive and ancient. Carved with symbols that twisted upon themselves—patterns that did not settle into meaning, but instead shifted the longer they were observed.
It stood closed. But not sealed. Beyond it, there are voices. Low at first... Then rising. Murmurs. Whispers layered over whispers.
"…Impossible…"
"…Maleth…?"
"…After Malveris…?"
"…No… this cannot be…"
The door creaked open. The throne room revealed itself in silence. Vast. Empty at its center. But surrounded.
Twelve elevated seats formed a wide arc—six on each side—each throne carved from the same dark stone as the castle itself. They towered over the open space below, positioned with deliberate symmetry.
Two of them—
Empty.
The eleventh and the twelfth.
Shadows occupied the rest. Figures seated. Still. Their forms obscured by darkness, their presence defined only by silhouette and voice.
"…First Malveris…"
"…Now Maleth…"
"…Two of the High Table…"
"…Fallen…"
Disbelief lingered in every tone. But beneath it, something else. Not fear. Not grief. Something colder.
"…This has not happened in centuries…"
"…Who could—"
"Silence."
The word did not echo. It pressed. Every voice ceased at once. At the center of the chamber—
The throne.
Larger than the rest. Elevated above even the High Table. Dominant. Absolute.
A figure sat upon it.
Unmoving, unseen. When he spoke, the room listened.
"Malveris was dead."
A pause.
"Now… Maleth."
The weight of those words settled across the chamber.
"The Table is chipped. Unbalanced."
No one interrupted. No one dared.
"I want the head of the one who killed them."
The silence broke again. But only into controlled murmurs.
"…Reports indicated interference…"
"…A clash…"
"…A Royal Knight…"
"…Yes…"
"…A Royal Knight…"
"…From Aurelian…"
"Aurelian?"
"Yes… Aurelian."
"I believe his name was… Renn…"
"…Renn…?"
"…Renn."
The name settled into the room like a foreign presence. Another voice spoke, quieter.
"…Malveris mentioned something before his death…"
"…A name…"
"…Valehart."
A shift. Subtle, but real.
"…A Valehart…?"
"…Impossible…"
"The Valehart lineage is dead."
"Long dead."
"Erased."
"Gone."
Silence again. But not empty. Tight. Focused. Then—
The man on the throne spoke once more.
"Find that boy, Renn. And bring him to me."
His voice lowered. Not softer. Just deeper. No resistance followed. No argument.
One by one—
The figures seated along the High Table rose. Ten shadows standing in unison.
Without a word—
They stepped back.
And as they did, their forms dissolved into darkness. Not walking away. Not turning. Simply vanishing. Until only one remained.
The throne.
The chamber grew still. The red candlelight flickered.
Behind the throne—
A tall glass window stretched upward, revealing the night beyond. The sky above the mountain. Endless. Cold. Watching.
A silhouette stood before it.
Hands behind his back. Gaze fixed beyond the world below. The faint red light traced his outline just enough to suggest form—
But never enough to reveal him fully.
"…Valehart…"
The name left him slowly. As if remembered. As if expected. And beyond the glass, the darkness did not answer. But it listened.