The towering stone of Beh-REET loomed on the horizon, casting a long shadow over the frost-bitten mountain pass.
For the first time in over a millennium, an army of the Anai marched toward those gates in the name of peace. Zekena'nor traveled at the center of the formation, flanked by the Paired Champions, while Darius, Mia, and Ny'all rode at the point.
Before they were even within bowshot, the horns of the watchtowers blared a deafening warning. The massive ironwood gates of the Mountain shrieked open. A vanguard of thirty Dragon-Oath poured out onto the rocky path, their swords already drawn, their eyes locked on the Anai.
"They think we are hostages," Ny'all realized, her hand instinctively dropping to the pommel of her blade.
"Halt!" Darius ordered his party. He spurred his mount forward, riding ten paces ahead of the Anai line before dismounting. He stood alone in the center of the pass, raising a gauntleted hand toward the approaching Dragon-Oath. "Stand down and sheath your weapons!"
The Dragon-Oath vanguard skidded to a halt in the dust, several paces from the Prince. Their captain, a scarred veteran of the western patrols, did not sheathe his blade.
"Forgive us, Prince Darius," the captain shouted, his voice tight with blind loyalty. "The King's orders are absolute! We are to secure the royal family and eliminate the Anai threat!"
"I gave you an order, Captain," Darius warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous, kingly register. "Stand down. Your actions right now defy the true duty of the Dragon Line."
The captain hesitated, his eyes darting from Darius to the hundred Anai warriors standing behind him. The military conditioning of the Mountain won out over hesitation. "Secure the Prince and his wives!" the captain roared. "Kill the rest!"
The first wave of Dragon-Oath lunged forward.
Ny'all was a blur of blackened leather. The Oath Blade did not need to draw her sword as she stepped into the guard of the first attacking Dragon-Oath, caught his wrist, and twisted with bone-snapping force. The man hit the dirt, clutching his arm as he writhed in pain.
Mia drove both palms forward, landing flush against the throats of the two advancing Dragon-Oath, sweeping them off their feet and slamming them into the dust. They lay there choking, the impact constricting their airways.
Darius met the captain head-on. He didn't bother parrying the man's strike; he simply stepped inside the arc of the sword, grabbed the captain by the chestplate, and drove him into the ground with the force of a falling boulder. The impact cracked the stone beneath them.
The first wave of four Dragon-Oath lay groaning in the dirt, but alive.
The remaining Dragon-Oath froze in shock. Striking the royal family was a crime punishable by death, but watching the future King, his Oath Blade, and the mother of his heir dismantle their own brothers-in-arms shattered their reality.
Behind Darius, the Anai did not retreat. In synchronized silence, the warriors of the desert lifted their hands to their faces as they began to raise their veils.
"Enough!" Darius roared, the volume of his voice echoing off the walls and freezing the Anai hands in place.
Darius stepped over the groaning captain and glared at the remaining Dragon-Oath. The memory of the Last Shadow flared in his mind—the entity's willingness to sacrifice his child for the sake of a broken duty. He would not let his father's blind allegiance to old orders destroy this fragile hope.
"I spare you death for attacking your future King and Queens," Darius said, his voice cold and absolute. "But if you do not disengage..."
He stepped closer, the afternoon sun hitting his face. His eyes caught the light, glowing with the fierce gold of the desert sands.
"...If you strike us again," Darius vowed, "I will kill you as traitors to the Line and rebuild the Dragon-Oath anew."
The threat hung in the air, heavier than the stone of Beh-REET's walls.
The Dragon-Oath looked at the glowing eyes of their Prince. They realized that if they took one more step, the royal family would slaughter them before the Anai even had to draw their blades.
Darius let the weight of his words sink in before offering the lifeline.
"The Anai will remain under your guard until King Va'lerius has seen us," Darius commanded. "That is my only compromise."
The remaining men looked at each other. They were trapped between abandoning their King's direct orders or committing treason by striking down the future of the Mountain. A false move here would ignite a civil war before the Shadow Sworn even reached the gates.
Slowly, reluctantly, the Dragon-Oath sheathed their swords.
The captain pushed himself up from the cracked stone. He wiped a smear of blood from his mouth and spat it into the dirt. His eyes flashed obsidian for a fraction of a second as he instinctively reached for the Void to retaliate, but Darius's gold-ringed eyes held his, and the black drained out of the captain's. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he swallowed his pride and the King's orders.
"Form up!" the captain shouted, his voice shaking. "Escort the Prince and his wives to the throne room. His guests—" he infused the word with a bitter spice of disdain for the Anai "—will be escorted to the holding arena."
Darius looked back at his wives, gesturing for them to follow. Adjusting his gauntlets, he began the tense march through the gates of Beh-REET, ready to face his father.
The Gilded Hall
The doors slammed shut behind them, sealing the royal family inside the gilded hall of Beh-REET. Here, the oppressive stone of the exterior gave way to gold and ancient crimson banners. The air was thick with the scent of tension and impending violence.
At the far end of the hall sat King Va'lerius. His fury was palpable, radiating outward from the throne like heat from a forge. Yet, as Darius, Ny'all, and Mia walked the length of the hall, their footfalls echoed in perfect unison. They wore stone for faces.
The impudence of the trio burned at the King further.
"You dare forsake our duty—" Va'lerius spat, his voice booming through the cavernous space as he rose, placing his right hand on the hilt of his Dragon-Etched blade.
The word duty was the spark to the powder keg. A heat flared in Darius's chest. The stone-faced prince vanished, replaced by a sovereign equal.
"You question my honor to my duty, now?" Darius roared. The force of his voice shook the golden fixtures on the walls, laced with an untamed rage. "Your actions nearly forsook a treaty we forged with an enemy older than the Dragon Line itself! Now you question the resolve of our duty, yet you stand in the way of the purpose of the Line, Father."
"You are a child, hoping and wishing on the promises of our eternal enemy." King Va'lerius's amber eyes flared with intent before he slowly unsheathed his sword and pointed it at his prince. "I would strike you down where you stand for your treason, if not for the blood in your veins."
With a metallic hiss that rang like a death knell, Darius unsheathed his own blade. The steel caught the torchlight, but it was the unyielding intent in his golden eyes that froze the room.
"The Shadow Sworn are coming," Darius growled, the tip of his sword pointed down at the marble floor but unwavering in his grip, "and I will not let them have this world."
Va'lerius stared at the drawn obsidian steel. Beneath the sting of being dismissed and threatened by his own flesh and blood, a strange pride bloomed in the King's chest. He was in awe of his son's resolve. Va'lerius had not seen this level of passion since the Kal'duo. But looking into Darius's eyes, the King realized a terrifying truth: This time, he stood for the Line, not just for the sand girl. Could I be wrong?
Va'lerius's eyes narrowed, pausing with his blade still pointed at his blood heir while truly measuring the man his son had become. The boy now stood in opposition of the sitting King in the very halls he was destined to rule, spouting the return of the Shadow Sworn.
Va'lerius waited a long moment before lowering his blade, mimicking the stance of the prince. The Shadow Sworn return? The thought usurped his rage, triggering the logic of the commander beneath the crown: How?
"Tell me then," Va'lerius challenged, his voice dropping to a cautious rumble, "what makes you think the Shadow—"
"I have faced the Last of the Shadows twice now, Father," Darius interjected. "And I say this with complete certainty... The veil is fractured and the Shadow Sworn come."
A cold dread washed over Va'lerius. He had prepared for this day, devoted his entire reign to fortifying the Mountain, but all his preparations had not readied him for this clash of authority.
"Then how do you—" Va'lerius tried again, attempting to regain his footing.
"We have conscripted the Anai with the Autonomy clause," Darius cut him off abruptly. His glowing eyes flickered to his father's, flashing with a silent satisfaction at wielding the dismissed law against the King.
"Son, you bring enemies—" Va'lerius sputtered, outraged by the concession.
"I bring the blood of the First Dragon," Darius interrupted for a final, decisive time, his voice ringing with finality. "I have found my cousins among those we call enemies."
The tension in the Throne Room at the end of the Gilded Hall crested.
Va'lerius stepped backward. His royal presence seemed to collapse at the foot of the Throne where their ancestors built the Line. The Line is incomplete? He was a man entirely unmoored from the reality of his rule, suddenly questioning the history of the Dragon Line's heritage itself.
Seeing the disbelief in his father's posture, Darius exhaled. Understanding the fracture in his father's resolve, the Prince sheathed his blade.
"Father," Darius said, his voice dropping the lethal edge and returning to a measured tone. "The shadows do not fall to steel alone. Oath Blade Kael was right."
The King had struck down and exiled his teacher and greatest confidant over the falsehood that Kael had gone mad. Yet, this realization of his own actions made Va'lerius feel like the madman.
Va'lerius's posture crumbled, the rigid spine of the king simply gave way. His head hung toward the marble floor, though his amber eyes grew wide with horror and disbelief. For the first time in Darius's memory, his father shook. A faint tremor rattled the blade still clutched in the King's hand.
To realize he had waged a lifetime of war against his own cousins—against the sacred blood of the First Dragon. The disbelief of the moment was second only to the apocalyptic promise of the returning Shadow Sworn.
Darius continued, his words relentless as the winds of a hurricane. "We have not come to conquer the Mountain, Father. We have come looking for the brother of the First Dragon."
Va'lerius blinked, his mind struggling to process the words over the ringing in his ears.
"Brother?" the King questioned, his voice stripped of all its prior thunder. "The First Dragon had no brother."
Mia stepped forward, her movement fluid and graceful. She pounced on the fracture in the King's certainty.
"The 'nor bloodline," Mia stated, her voice projecting clearly across the hall. "The family the Mountain had cast out and branded as traitors for over a millennium. They are the descendants of that forgotten brother. They are the Beginning of the Dragon Line."
Revelation after revelation rained down on Va'lerius, hammering against the core beliefs that had governed his life, his reign, and his wars. His eyes darted between his son and his inherited daughters, desperate to find the lie in their faces.
He found none.
Darius stepped aside, gesturing toward the Anai elder whom he had signaled forward for this exact moment. "Zekena'nor," the Prince requested softly. "Show him."
Zekena'nor walked forward with the regal grace of a jungle breeze. Stopping at the base of the throne steps, she reached up and pulled away her veil.
A millennium of conditioned hatred seized the King. A stillness settled over him. His knuckles bulged around the pommel, his muscles locking as he prepared to strike down the ancient enemy standing in his hall.
Before the steel could sing, Darius caught his father's eye. The Prince gave a single, steady nod. Va'lerius slowly loosened his grip on the weapon and truly looked at the woman before him.
Staring back at him was a face weathered by lands far beyond the sands of Beh-REET or the Red Dunes, but her eyes were undeniable. The irises were a deep blue, but surrounding the pupil was a stark, ember-gold ring. The exact same ring that burned in his son's eyes.
In the silence that followed, Zekena'nor began to speak. She recited the oral histories of the Anai, her voice a melodic chant of ancient battles and a pact made in the shadow of the first Void incursion.
As Zekena'nor's chant faded into the cavernous heights of the hall, the silence that followed was no longer heavy with impending violence, but with the weight of lost time. The history of the green valleys of Ne-HE-miah hung in the air, painting a picture of a parallel lineage that had thrived while the Mountain locked itself in stone and paranoia.
Va'lerius collapsed back into his throne. He slumped forward, his sword arm extended fully like a man exhausted from weeks of running in the desert sun. He stared blankly at the gold-flecked floor, a master tactician who had just seen his entire board swept away.
"All this time..." Va'lerius muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "My rule... my entire life's work... tainted by lies. Forgive me, Kael."
Ny'all flinched, her hand tightening around the pommel of her sword until the leather creaked. To hear the King finally speak her exiled father's name—not as a madman, but as a man owed an apology—flipped the military composure she had clung to on its head.
To see the indomitable King of Beh-REET stunned into submission, questioning the very foundation of his honor, shifted the atmosphere in the hall.
Darius stepped forward, the royal edge bleeding away, leaving only a son looking at his father. He climbed the first two steps and placed a heavy, gauntleted hand on his father's shoulder. It was a gesture of solidarity that anchored the old King.
"We were all bound by that same lie, Father," Darius consoled him, his voice steady and grounding. "But we no longer have the luxury of mourning the past. The veil is tearing. The Last Shadow roams the Void." Darius's gaze shifted briefly to Mia, who stood quiet and resolute. "It seeks to harvest my child. I will not let that happen."
Va'lerius looked up, his golden eyes meeting his son's, the instinct to protect the future of the Line reigniting a spark within him.
"Why bring them here, Darius?" Va'lerius asked, his voice finding a fraction of its strength. "If the texts are lies, where do you expect to find the truth?"
"We don't know exactly where the answers are," Darius admitted candidly. "But we know this Mountain is where it all happened. The great siege of the Shadow Sworn, the victory of man over the darkness, and the political strike that branded the 'nor family as traitors... it all happened on these stones. If there is a clue as to how the ancient seal was forged, it is buried here in Beh-REET."
Va'lerius sat, silence washing over him as his mind worked furiously. Slowly, the shock began to recede, replaced by the calculating mind of a king who had survived a lifetime of war. He looked past Darius, toward Zekena'nor.
"We did not just brand them traitors," Va'lerius said, his voice hardening with grim realization. "We tried to erase them."
The King stood up, the groan of his armor echoing in the quiet hall. He pointed a finger toward the western face of the Mountain.
"The Ruins of the Traitor," Va'lerius stated. "The original estate of the 'nor family. It was burned to the ground shortly after the war on darkness and the establishment of the Dragon Line. It was left to rot as a monument to their supposed treason. No one has been permitted to set foot in those ashes for millennia. If anything of their true history survived, it is buried in the rubble of that estate."
Darius nodded. "Then that is where we begin."
Va'lerius took a breath, his posture straightening as the mantle of leadership settled back onto his shoulders. The revelation had broken his worldview, but his survival instincts remained. He looked toward the doors of the hall.
"And what of this army, my son?" Va'lerius asked, a hint of his old, wary edge returning. "I have hundreds of Anai warriors sitting inside my gates."
"They are allies, Father," Darius reminded him gently. "They are here to bleed for the same cause."
"Perhaps," Va'lerius conceded, his mind assessing the risks of a hidden trap. "But they will not flood my city all at once."
The King turned to the captain of the Dragon-Oath, who still stood frozen near the entrance.
"Captain!" Va'lerius barked, his authority ringing true once more. "Send word to the watchtowers. The Anai are to be granted entry into the lower rings of Beh-REET. Bring them in waves. Assign them to the outer barracks and integrate them into the city's defensive patrols. Treat them as honored guests, but keep the inner gates secured."
The captain struck his chestplate in a sharp salute. "At once, my King!"
"Take the Oath Blade, Ny'all, with you, and keep her updated on all of your progress," Va'lerius ordered. "I will not allow the Line to be unprotected, and her recent interactions with the Anai forces will prove invaluable."
Ny'all's eyes flared to Darius, who nodded in agreement with his father.
How have I misjudged so poorly? Va'lerius's mind spiraled around all the calculations he missed as he watched Ny'all take command of the Dragon-Oath before his eyes fully settled back onto his son.
"Come," Va'lerius commanded, stepping down from the Throne's steps. "Let us go dig through the ashes of our ancestors' sins."