The room remained silent.
Not merely devoid of sound, but a silence that felt alive—pressing in, watching, as if waiting for something yet to unfold. The air was heavy, saturated with remnants of unseen yet undeniable power.
The king stood at the center of the ancient stone chamber.
The walls around him were carved with faintly glowing runes of old magic. Their light pulsed slowly, like a steady breath. That dim glow reflected off the object in his hand—a worn parchment sealed with a golden dragon.
The seal did not look lifeless.
It shimmered unnaturally. The engraved lines shifted subtly, like living scales. Each flicker of light cast tiny moving shadows, creating the illusion that the creature itself was watching anyone who dared to touch it.
The king broke the seal slowly.
His movements were careful—almost reverent. As if he wasn't opening an object, but awakening something long forgotten.
The moment the parchment fully unfolded, the air changed.
Colder.
Heavier.
The writings upon it were no ordinary ink.
The ancient characters looked like energy carved into existence—frozen into words. Every stroke carried weight, radiating an aura strong enough to tighten the chest of anyone who read them.
The king drew a long breath.
He had read this prophecy countless times throughout his life. Every word was etched into his memory. Yet tonight felt different. Something unexplainable stirred within him—something that made his heart beat faster than usual.
"When the sky is torn apart…"
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
Yet the words echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the stone walls and sinking into the air itself.
"And light turns into darkness…"
The glow of the runes trembled faintly.
Shadows shifted.
Or perhaps… they were never just shadows.
The king continued.
"…then the world shall enter an age of destruction unlike any before."
His grip tightened slightly.
The parchment quivered—not from fragility, but as if it responded to the voice reading it.
"A great war shall arise…"
His voice deepened.
"The heavens will shatter, the earth will tremble, and all races will be dragged into darkness."
And then—
A vision appeared in his mind.
The sky cracked like shattered glass.
A black rift split the heavens, gaping like a wound upon the world. Fire rained down—but not ordinary fire. Darker. Heavier. As if it came from somewhere that should not exist.
The ground trembled.
Mountains collapsed.
The oceans roared in fury.
And from those rifts… something began to emerge.
Creatures with unstable forms.
Blurred. Shifting. Twisting.
Yet unmistakably—
not of this world.
The king exhaled slowly.
The world… destroyed.
But he had not finished reading.
"Yet within that darkness…"
His voice sharpened.
"…a single hope shall rise."
His eyes narrowed.
"…a child, destined."
The room grew even quieter.
As if time itself had come to a halt.
"A child who will defy fate itself."
The words no longer felt like mere writing.
They felt alive.
"A power beyond all limits…" he whispered.
"…and a soul unbound by the laws of the world."
And then—
Another vision.
A child.
Standing within a magic circle.
Light surrounded him.
Golden—
yet intertwined with darkness.
Not pure light.
Not complete darkness.
Something that should not exist.
That aura silenced even the dragons—
the oldest and most powerful beings.
They did not move.
They did not speak.
They only watched.
The king slowly shook his head.
"That… is the world's last hope."
His voice was barely audible.
He lowered the parchment.
The room returned to silence.
But now, the silence was heavier.
As if those words still lingered in the air—
alive… and waiting.
The king closed his eyes.
Pieces began to connect.
A child.
An unnatural power.
The dragons' reaction.
And this prophecy.
Everything aligned.
"Khan…" he murmured.
That child.
He opened his eyes.
The hesitation was gone.
Only certainty remained.
Khan was the child of the prophecy.
But that realization brought no comfort.
If this part was true—
Then the rest must be true as well.
War.
Destruction.
Creatures from the abyss.
Something that might not be stopped.
The king carefully rolled the parchment back up.
His movements were deliberate—
as if he understood that this secret could no longer remain hidden.
He placed it inside a black wooden box.
Its surface was carved with protective seals.
Layers of magic bound it tightly from all sides.
He closed it.
Click.
A small sound—
yet final.
As if something had been decided.
The king straightened.
"If this is true…"
He stepped back.
"…then I cannot stand idle."
A section of the stone wall beside him opened.
A hidden passage revealed itself.
Cold air flowed out.
Without hesitation, the king stepped inside.
His stride was swift.
Resolute.
He had someone to meet.
Someone who might already understand everything.
Leo Rodieck.
Khan's father.
The Head of the Mage Tower.
The only one who might truly comprehend that power.
The king emerged into the grand hall.
Towering pillars stood in silent majesty.
The marble floor reflected the torchlight.
Everything looked the same.
Yet something had changed.
Or perhaps—
it was the king who had changed.
He did not walk toward the throne.
Not tonight.
He passed through the hall without a word.
His steps quick, purposeful.
Toward the mages' wing.
His cloak fluttered behind him.
His expression hardened.
"Leo…" he murmured.
"We need to talk."
Outside—
The night wind blew softly.
The sky looked calm.
Too calm.
As if the world itself was holding its breath.
Waiting.
And somewhere—
Within the same palace—
A child named Khan remained in his own world.
Unaware of everything.
Unaware of the meaning behind the power awakening within him.
Unaware—
That he was not merely part of this world…
But its very center.
And when the time comes—
The world will never be the same again.