May 17th, 1810 — Murmansk, Russian Empire
Weeks had passed since Graviil and Thorfine first convened with their close friend, Cedric Ravenshadow, and his most trusted instructor, Lady Faelwen Brightmind, to confront the question that loomed over them all: how to protect the young heroes.
Now, the day had come.
The day they would lay their plan before the world's most powerful rulers — emperors and empresses whose approval could decide the fate of an entire generation.
Saint Graviil stood once more within the grand audience hall, facing the assembled sovereigns of the great nations. This time, however, there was no hesitation in his posture. His stance was firm, his presence steady, his resolve unmistakable.
Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Confusion lingered among the rulers, many of whom still struggled to understand why another summit had been called so soon after the previous one. No consensus had yet been reached. No concrete solution agreed upon. The urgency alone was unsettling.
"Greetings, Emperors and Empresses," Graviil began, his voice calm yet authoritative. "I am aware that this gathering comes sooner than expected. However, circumstances allow no delay."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the hall.
"Emperor Thorfine and I, alongside a trusted confidant, have reached a compelling conclusion regarding the protection of the young heroes. One that we believe is the only viable path forward."
The air grew heavy.
"I will speak plainly," Graviil continued. "We propose sending the heroes beyond the Human Realm itself — to a place no enemy would dare assault. Rather than dispersing them across our fragile nations, we would entrust them to an entire realm."
His voice did not waver.
"That realm is none other than the Elven Realm."
Silence fell — deep and crushing, like the eye of a storm.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then disbelief erupted.
Whispers turned to sharp murmurs. Murmurs became protests.
Madness. Absurdity. Recklessness.
"How can such a proposal even be spoken aloud?"
"This borders on lunacy!"
Graviil and Thorfine remained still, unmoved by the uproar. They had expected this. Such reactions were second nature when decisions of this magnitude were laid bare.
"This is madness, Your Majesty!" a ruler finally shouted, rising from his seat. "You cannot impose a decision of this scale without prior consultation! To present it this way makes it clear you intend to pursue it regardless of consequence!"
Graviil allowed the accusation to echo unanswered.
The emperor turned sharply toward Thorfine. "Surely you do not support this as well, Emperor Thorfine? This is unlike you — unlike both of you!"
Thorfine answered without hesitation. "I do support it."
The simplicity of his response only fueled the outrage.
"I believe it is a brilliant plan," he continued calmly. "And one that must be carried out if we truly intend to protect the heroes."
Several rulers bristled. Some scoffed openly. Thorfine did not flinch.
Then, a new voice cut through the chamber — measured, composed, and carrying a quiet authority that demanded attention.
"I am intrigued by your proposal, Lord Graviil."
All eyes turned.
It was Emperor Arthur Aurelius Pendragon, Sovereign of the Imperial British Empire.
"Yet I struggle to see how you intend to execute it," Arthur continued. "The Grand Portal Gate connecting our realm to the Elven Realm cannot be accessed at will. Protocols exist for a reason. Any misstep could provoke grave misunderstandings with the elven race."
He paused, thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"Still," he added, "I find myself at an impasse regarding this matter. So, absurd as it may initially sound, I wish to hear the entirety of your plan."
A faint smile touched Graviil's lips.
Straightening, he began to explain.
He spoke of unity — of how the Elven Realm stood as a single, powerful nation rather than a fractured collection of competing states. Of how the heroes would be guarded not by scattered human hands, but by an entire civilization.
He explained the diplomatic veil — a once-in-a-generation exchange, modeled after past accords between humans and elves. A measure that would not be a lie, but rather a calculated truth. One that could, in time, further strengthen relations between the two races.
At the heart of it all, Graviil made one thing clear: the idea was not his own.
"The credit belongs to Headmaster Cedric Ravenshadow of the Pennsylvania Royal Academy," he stated. "It would be unjust for me to claim brilliance that is not mine."
When he finished, the chamber was no longer roaring.
The tension did not vanish — but it shifted.
Where outrage had once dominated, contemplation now took its place. One by one, rulers began to see past the surface absurdity, recognizing the ruthless logic beneath it.
It was a dangerous proposal.
But undeniably… a compelling one.
Another voice rose from the chamber, this one tinged with genuine concern rather than outrage.
It belonged to Emperor Bonaparte de Montrevant, Sovereign of the French Empire.
"Lord Graviil," he said thoughtfully, "your proposal is undeniably brilliant. However, you overlook a crucial matter." His gaze sharpened. "How do you intend to persuade the elven royal family to accept such a burden? This is no minor request. To place it upon them without warning would be… irresponsible."
A murmur of agreement followed.
Graviil inclined his head, acknowledging the concern. "That question has already been accounted for," he replied. "Our bridge to the Elven Realm lies with Lady Faelwen Brightmind."
Several rulers stiffened at the name.
"She was sent to us over a decade ago," Graviil continued, "as part of the diplomatic exchange between humans and elves. Our cultural and historical archives in return for one of their own — an observer, a scholar, a living ambassador."
He paused.
"Her tenure within the Human Realm is nearing its conclusion. Upon her return, Lady Faelwen has volunteered to serve as our voice — to present this proposal directly to her people. And given the gravity of the situation… sooner will be better than later."
"In short," Graviil finished, "she is our only viable means of securing the Elven Crown's consent."
The explanation seemed to ease the tension. Several emperors exhaled quietly, reassured that the plan was not as reckless as it had first appeared.
Then, a relaxed voice broke the moment — almost amused.
"Where are the human Herrschers when we need them most?" the speaker mused. "Vanishing for millennia, never a word, never a trace."
The comment came from Emperor Aurelio Valençor I, Sovereign of the Southern United Empire.
A cold laugh answered him.
"You Southerners never tire of complaining," said Emperor Marius Everhart of the Northern Empire. "Or has their emperor suddenly lost his memory?"
His eyes narrowed.
"There is only one human Herrscher left alive since the Great Battle of the Seven Heroes against the King in Black. And he is no myth — the Ancient One still walks this world."
Aurelio scoffed. "I don't recall asking for your input, Marius."
The casual use of his first name was deliberate — an insult laid bare.
The animosity between the two rulers was ancient, spanning countless generations. Their nations loathed one another, restrained only by mutual alliances and fragile economic ties — particularly with the United States Empire. A single spark could ignite a war neither side truly wanted.
Sensing the danger, Graviil intervened at once.
"Enough," he said quickly, forcing a polite smile. "There is no need to quarrel over this."
He turned back to Aurelio. "I understand your frustration. However, as Emperor Marius stated, the Ancient One is the only living human Herrscher of our era."
His gaze shifted toward the eastern delegation.
"Records indicate he was born within the domains of Imperial China. If he is anywhere, it would be there."
All eyes fell upon Emperor Zhao Tianlong, Grand Sovereign of the Empire of China.
Zhao rose calmly.
"Your assessment is accurate," he said evenly. "But I regret to say that we do not know his whereabouts."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"The Ancient One has always been reclusive. Non-confrontational. Our records describe him as a watcher, not fully a warrior."
A shadow crossed his expression.
"Though I share your wish that he would stand with us — for he may be our only true counter should the King in Black recover his strength before the heroes awaken their potential — we cannot rely on his intervention."
Zhao hesitated, then added carefully, "It is possible he is already aware of these events. And if he has chosen silence… then perhaps he has chosen not to interfere."
Realizing the weight of his words, Zhao inclined his head. "This is merely conjecture. I do not claim to speak for a Herrscher."
The chamber grew quiet once more.
Not empty — but heavy.
Though doubts lingered, the foundation of consensus had begun to form. All that remained was the greatest uncertainty of all:
Would the Elven Kingdom share their vision?
For now… hope was the only answer they had.
———————————————————
Now that the meeting had finally adjourned, the great hall of Murmansk slowly emptied. One by one, emperors and envoys departed, their escorts waiting beyond the frost‑lined corridors, steam cars and armored horse carriages ready to return them to their respective nations.
For most, their expressions were carefully controlled — masks of diplomacy honed over decades.
But one sovereign could no longer hide what festered beneath.
Emperor Marius Everhart.
The moment he crossed the threshold of the palace gates, the restraint shattered.
"Damn it all," he hissed under his breath, his composure collapsing into raw fury. His face flushed red, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled. "Look how fast things are spiraling, Percival."
He paced beside his waiting steam car, boots crunching against frost‑dusted stone, his thoughts racing far faster than the engine that idled nearby.
"First, you allow yourself to be exposed with that wretched Superior Project of yours," Marius snarled. "Conducting abominations in secret, only to get yourself caught like a careless fool. And then — as if that weren't enough — you launch a direct assault on Great Britain."
His fingers curled into fists.
"Did you spare even a single thought for what that would mean for your allies?" he continued bitterly. "For me? Had my involvement surfaced, I would have been condemned alongside you — paraded before the world as a devil wearing a crown."
He exhaled sharply through his teeth.
"I should consider myself fortunate," Marius muttered, "that not one name from my council appeared in the documents leaked by the Lantern Society. Those cursed zealots exposed your crimes in full — the experiments, the stolen infants — and yet my nation emerged untouched."
The butler silently opened the steam car's door. Marius stopped short of entering.
"The irony," he said coldly. "The only reason I ever agreed to aid you was because I believed in your ambition."
His gaze hardened.
"I supplied you with soldiers. With resources. I diverted funds and influence in complete secrecy. I even committed an unforgivable sin — replacing one of Emperor Julius's Ethereal Instruments with a counterfeit."
His voice dropped to a near whisper.
"The Cursed Lance," he said. "Entrusted to my ancestors for millennia… stolen under my command."
At last, he stepped into the steam car — but did not sit.
"I did all of this because you promised me something in return," Marius continued, staring down at his right hand. "Sorcery. The forbidden art birthed by the Dark Sorcerer himself."
Slowly, ominous energy began to seep from his palm.
Black‑violet light coiled around his fingers as ancient runes surfaced upon his skin — letters written in the primordial tongue of Eldoria. They flowed and shifted like liquid ink, alive, whispering power into his veins.
"You kept that promise," Marius admitted quietly.
His lips twitched upward.
"With this," he murmured, "I will crush the Southern Empire. Reclaim lands stolen from us. Erase those pests from history."
The runes flared brighter.
"And in time," he added, eyes gleaming, "not even the Four Great Monarchs of Humanity will be able to stop me — once I grasp even a fragment more of this power."
"Power…" he breathed.
A pause.
"Yes… power."
He closed his hand, extinguishing the glow.
"That was all I ever desired," Marius said softly. "Power. Fame. Eternal youth."
A bitter smile crept across his face.
"I possess one of the three," he continued. "The rest… will come once you ascend, Percival."
He finally took his seat inside the steam car.
"Only time will tell," he repeated — louder now, steadier — as the door closed with a hiss of steam.
The engine roared to life, carrying him away into the frozen dusk.
A truth had surfaced in the shadows — one none of the gathered rulers yet understood in full.
Percival was not alone.
And if a nation as powerful as the Northern Empire stood behind him… then the darkness threatening the world ran far deeper than anyone at that summit dared to imagine.
Only time would tell.
Just as the madman himself had said.