The Kingdom of Vastrael did not lose its king to demons.
It lost him to contempt.
After the capital burned and the army was shattered, King Rhaevor II remained alive—physically untouched, politically dead. His orders were mocked. His messengers delayed. His commanders obeyed only when convenient.
The final blow was laughter.
When subordinates openly ridiculed him during a council dispute, something inside the king broke. He collapsed hours later, alone, clutching a crown no one feared anymore.
Thus ended the reign of pride.
And thus began the return of the twins.
Prince Kkaii and Prince Ssaii rode back into Vastrael without ceremony or escort of splendor. No trumpets announced them. No crowds cheered. Yet when they entered the ruined council hall, every remaining official stood.
Not because they were royal.
But because they had left and returned.
Authority followed those who came back.
At the head of the hall stood a single armored knight, posture straight despite exhaustion etched into his face.
General Ser Alric Veyden.
Once the Steel Marshal of Vastrael, Alric had refused evacuation orders, refused surrender, and refused to abandon survivors even after the capital fell. His armor was battered beyond ornament, his sword nicked and dulled from overuse.
He knelt.
"My royal sword," he said, voice steady, "are sworn to The kingdom of Vastrael.
If you will lead it, then command me."
prince Kkaii stepped forward, not toward the throne—but toward him.
"Stand, General," she said calmly. "We don't need kneeling. We need rebuilding."
princess Ssaii unrolled a weathered map across the table. It showed no borders—only camps, supply lines, and scars.
"These are who remain," the prince said. "Gather them. Anyone willing to fight, whethger farmer, or war veterans."
Alric nodded once. "It will be done."
For the first time since the fall, he kingdom of Vastrael began to move as a kingdom again.
Far to the east—
The sky screamed.
When Zenn left City Red Flags, the air itself detonated. A massive sonic blast tore across plains and valleys, flattening grass and rattling stone foundations miles below. The clouds split apart like fabric ripped by an unseen blade.
rivers and lakes heated up.
Then erupted with steam.
Villages erupted with the rumours.
"want to know what the rumour was!"
"The great Red Flags battalion have a dragon!" and there was no doubt because , they saw it fly over their village.
Children pointed skyward. Elders clasped their hands shaking in fear. Hope spread faster than fear ever had as the colossal silhouette crossed the heavens.
On Zenn's back sat two figures.
One was Aarenn, the Prince of Death, cloak snapping violently in the distorted wind, his long spear gripping it tight in his left hand, black cloak flying in the wind
Beside him stood Eeseren, now known as the queen of Death. since she and Zenn killed a lot of orgers and demonic beasts, in the last war at the boarder of the kingdom of Astrael
Their hands were clasped—not for balance, not for display—but with quiet certainty. A bond forged through battles that did not forgive hesitation.
Below them, the western lands watched history move.
The battlefield outside the kingdom of Vastrael's capital was already alive with chaos when Zenn arrived.
Demonic formations writhed across the plains, corrupted mana boiling through their ranks.
Human knights stood opposite them—tired, outnumbered, gripping weapons with red-knuckled resolve.
Then—
The shadow fell.
Zenn descended and released a loud agonizing roar.
The moment his claws touched the earth, an overwhelming aura exploded outward. It was not fire. Not lightning.
It was dominance.
Human knights staggered as pressure crushed their lungs. Veterans who had faced demon hordes felt their knees weaken, cold sweat sliding down their backs.
"What… is that pressure…"
Across the field, the demonic army recoiled—then roared.
Fury answered authority.
Zenn lifted his head and responded, his roar tearing across the battlefield like judgment. Stone cracked. The ground shuddered.
Daniel stepped forward atop the dragon, his voice calm, absolute.
"Vastrael stands," he said."And it does not stand alone."
Behind him, the Red Flags Banner unfurled in the wind.
On the city walls, Prince Kkaii raised her hand.
The gates opened.
General Alric Veyden drew his sword.
"For Vastrael!" he roared.
The army surged.
Far from the front lines, atop the western ramparts, stood Eeseren.
Once a peasant girl who had trained with cracked hands and empty stomach, she now wore the insignia of Vice Commander of the Red Flags—one of the most prestigious positions under Daniel's Army.
Her salary alone had rewritten her past.
The village she was born into no longer existed—it had become a town. Stone walls. Trade roads. A school. All built with Red Flags coin and guarded by Red Flags rookies who were recruited to stabilize those regions.
She had changed her world by surviving.
Daniel joined her at the rampart, eyes never leaving the battlefield.
"You're calm," he said.
Eeseren smiled faintly. "You taught me not to panic when Danger is lucking."
"That's not a compliment," Daniel replied.
"It is," she said. "You built something that doesn't need you shouting for it to function."
For a moment, Daniel glanced at her—not as a commander, but as a man measuring outcomes.
"You exceeded projections," he said. "Vice Commander wasn't charity. You earned it."
"I know," Eeseren answered simply. "That's why it matters."
Behind them, Aarenn stood in silence.
The Prince of Death watched Eeseren with an intensity that had nothing to do with war. He had ended millions without hesitation—yet found himself uncertain now.
"You rebuilt your village," he said quietly.
She nodded. "I didn't want anyone else growing up thinking survival was luck."
Aarenn hesitated. "You don't fear standing beside death?"
Eeseren met his gaze, unflinching. "I fear dying with out telling you something. You're not."
For the first time in centuries, the prince of death the stone hearted , felt small,. for Christ sake, he was a prince, he was chased by noble ladies, but his urge for stronger people, made him attracted to strong women.
Below them, the battle shifted.
Zenn advanced, aura alone shattering demonic formations. Daniel descended from the dragon like inevitability itself, every step final, precise.
From the walls, princess Ssaii issued commands with chilling clarity. while prince Kkaii adjusted formations in real time, her voice steady as steel.
Vastrael did not reclaim its future that day.
It earned it.
And across the battle field, as the dragon's roar echoed once more, kingdoms listened.
When the Red Flags arrive—