Page 5
In the Mountains of the Tribes…
The silence had not ended yet.
Adam was still standing, his eyes wide, his breathing uneven… but the thing inside him had not calmed.
Rather… it had awakened further.
The voice returned.
Stronger.
Closer.
"You are not Nol… nor Kyles…"
His body froze for a moment…
Then—
It moved.
But not by his will.
His hand rose slowly, gripping the sword "Slayer of the Black"…
His eyes lost their focus, as if something else was looking through them.
Dairion noticed immediately.
"Adam—?"
He didn't finish his words.
Adam lunged at him suddenly.
A single strike… fast… lethal.
The sword collided with Dairion's blade with a sharp sound, the ground beneath them trembling.
But the force was not normal.
It was… more.
"What is this—?!"
Adam pushed him back violently, forcing Dairion to stagger several steps, his eyes filled with shock.
But the attack did not stop.
It intensified.
Flames rose from Adam's body—
But they were not blue.
They were black.
Pure black… dense… as if they were not fire, but something that burned existence itself.
They erupted around him all at once.
A pillar.
Massive.
It shot into the sky, piercing the clouds, as if it were a declaration… as if it were a scream born from the depths of something ancient.
The ground shook.
The air burned.
Even the light… retreated.
"Adam!!"
But his voice did not reach.
Within that blaze… there was no "Adam."
There was something else.
Something that looked at the world as if it knew it… and hated it.
And at the moment when the flames were about to consume everything—
Lorian appeared.
He did not rush.
He did not shout.
Just one step.
He entered the black pillar… as if the fire meant nothing to him.
He raised his hand.
And for a moment…
It stopped.
The flames gradually extinguished, as if they were forced into obedience.
Lorian grabbed Adam's wrist firmly, yet his expression was calm… cold.
"Enough."
One word.
And everything collapsed.
Adam fell to his knees, gasping, cold sweat covering his body, his eyes slowly returning to normal.
The voice… vanished.
But its trace remained.
He looked at his hands…
Trembling.
"W… what…"
He didn't finish.
Lorian was looking at him in silence.
Then he said calmly:
"This is not a choice…"
Silence.
Then:
"This is a judgment."
In Frosthaul Castle…
The capital of ice, the heart of the Kingdom of Winter Mark.
The throne hall was immersed in a pale blue light, emanating from walls of pure ice.
The air was cold… yet charged.
Prince Valerion Blue Rhine stood, his gaze fixed ahead.
And before him—
A claw.
Massive.
Embedded in a black stone base, as if it were part of a creature cut from another time.
But now…
It was burning.
Black fire.
Consuming its edges slowly, as if awakening after a long slumber.
Valerion spoke, his voice low yet sharp:
"This dragon claw… why is it burning now?"
No one answered.
But behind him stood a man with harsh features, his eyes knowing no hesitation.
Lord Malgar Raven.
Commander of the Royal Guard.
Silent.
Ready.
As if waiting for an order… or a catastrophe.
Suddenly—
The hall doors opened.
An old man entered, his steps slow, yet his presence heavy.
Sage Carlis.
He stopped, then bowed slightly.
"The Chosen has awakened… my lord."
Silence filled the hall.
Even the fire… seemed to listen.
Valerion slowly lifted his gaze toward him.
"A prophecy?"
Carlis nodded.
"An ancient prophecy… older than the kingdoms themselves."
He stepped forward.
"It says… when the Chosen awakens… the dragon claws will ignite."
He looked at the burning claw.
"And these claws… are scattered across several kingdoms."
Valerion's expression changed.
"And it also says…"
Carlis paused for a moment.
"That the world… will face four endings."
A heavy silence.
"The Chosen will witness the first…"
Then in a lower voice:
"And stand against the rest."
The fire intensified.
As if agreeing.
Valerion said slowly:
"The Boro family… used to boast that the Chosen was one of them."
"But they are gone."
He raised his gaze.
"And if it is not from them…"
Carlis stepped closer.
"Then that means…"
The sound of the fire rose.
"That he was born… from outside history."
In the dead desert of Miron…
After midnight.
The silence was absolute…
The sky empty… without stars.
The Eighth Shadow stood among the pillars of a ruined tower, his cloak moving slowly, as if it breathed.
Then—
A flutter.
The temperature dropped suddenly.
And from above…
The Ghost Bird descended.
Its wings were black, its presence unseen… yet felt.
The Eighth Shadow spoke in a low voice:
"I can no longer distinguish the night from your shadow… you finally came."
The voice came… from within.
"I came… because the wind has changed."
Silence.
"And the Shaptor… has awakened."
The Eighth Shadow smiled a dark smile.
"Chaos is increasing."
"The order you commanded… is beginning to slip out of control."
The bird replied:
"Chaos… is the beginning of every order."
"Shaptor is not an army… but a test."
The air drew closer… as if listening.
"Those who survive the fire… deserve my banner."
The Eighth Shadow spoke:
"The Seven have begun to doubt…"
"The King's Princes…"
"Your strings move them… and they do not see you."
The bird replied with cold calm:
"Let them remain ignorant… ignorance is a weapon, and doubt is bondage."
"I do not need them to see me."
"As long as my shadow… touches their decisions."
The sand shifted.
"Let them rule in the name of the crown…"
"And I… rule in silence."
The Shadow fell silent for a moment.
Then:
"And how will you keep the fire burning?"
The bird replied:
"I have sent the first omens."
"And at the dawn of blood… everyone will understand."
Silence.
Then the bird said:
"Do you have anything else?"
The Eighth Shadow raised his head slightly.
"A prophecy…"
He paused.
"I did not believe it."
"But…"
His voice grew lower.
"They say… the Chosen has awakened."
Stillness.
Weight.
Then—
The Ghost Bird vanished.
As it came.
Nothing remained…
Except the faint scent of ash.
And somewhere far away…
The world… had begun to change.