Days before the broadcast that would reach every corner of the El Malais Kingdom, far from the capital and its ordered avenues, a secluded stretch of land lay hidden deep within the Wangsati Mountain range.
The area had been deliberately cleared generations ago by patient hands and clear intent. Towering trees, centuries old, formed a natural canopy overhead, their interlocking branches filtering sunlight into fractured shafts that never fully touched the forest floor.
Even at midday, the clearing remained dim, warm, and heavy with moisture. The air carried the constant scent of damp earth, moss, and slow decay. Signs of a forest that was never meant to be conquered.
Scattered across the mountainside were modest huts and elevated treehouses, all constructed entirely from natural materials. Timber beams were fitted together without nails, stone foundations were shaped rather than carved, and every structure followed an architectural discipline eerily reminiscent of Kigumi construction. Each joint locked into the next with precision, as though the builders had expected the forest to test their work over centuries.
There was no electricity. No plumbing. No visible concessions to modern life.
Rainwater was collected in carved basins. Fire was contained within stone hearths. Paths were not paved but pressed into existence by repeated footsteps, thin lines of compressed soil barely distinguishable from the surrounding growth. The absence of modernity was not accidental. Anything that could rot, rust, hum, or demand fuel had no place here.
It was a sanctuary.
The climate that day was typical by tropical standards. Humidity clung to skin and cloth alike, turning every movement into exertion. Insects thrived in the stagnant air, and distant calls of unseen creatures echoed through the forest, never close enough to be threatening, never far enough to be ignored.
King Aldon Adamas Malais moved through the jungle alone. His clothing was simple, practical, and already damp from sweat.
With each step, he followed a barely visible trail that wound upward along the mountainside. A path so faint it could easily be mistaken for an animal track.
Creeping vines and encroaching undergrowth had nearly reclaimed it, a testament to how rarely it was used.
This trail did not lead to any settlement recognized by the Kingdom's maps. It did not appear in infrastructure records or emergency response routes. It existed outside governance, outside law, preserved only through memory and tradition.
Here, Aldon's title held no weight.
As he advanced, the forest seemed indifferent to him. The environment neither welcomed nor resisted his presence. The Kingdom's authority, his decrees, his command over armies and institutions, all of it dissolved beneath the canopy of the Wangsati Mountains.
He was entering a territory where power did not flow from crowns or bloodlines.
This was the gathering ground of former kings, ancestral figures, and living legends of the El Malais Kingdom, those who had stepped away from governance and lived secluded, pursuing wisdom and enlightenment. They lived here in seclusion, removed from politics and succession.
Aldon knew this was not yet a pilgrimage demanded by tradition. He had chosen to come because the path ahead offered no clarity, only consequences.
Appearing at the clearing, nobody was there to receive him, and the area was peaceful and calming. The huts and treehouses' doors were shut, and could easily pass as a place already abandoned.
However, Aldon doesn't seem even the slightest bit bothered. After all, everyone worthy enough to live here in seclusion is older, wiser, and undoubtedly stronger.
Yes, the recipients of the Malais Ichor, the former kings, and the historical figures, are not deceased, but this fact has been purposefully and tightly hidden. Even the truth of Eli's Staff wasn't hidden nearly as tightly as this one.
As Aldon entered the clearing, walking up the slope and heading to the closest hut in his line of sight, the sound of a door being swung open entered his ears, followed by a…. lazy yawn.
Aldon's sight immediately shifted toward the source, just in time to see a rotund old man with a goatee and mustache exiting a treehouse. Yawning and scratching his belly without a care in the world.
Samadi Akhator Malais, one of the latter generation kings of El Malais. Samadi had ruled the Kingdom over twelve decades ago and was famed for his thirst for combat.
It was a miracle that such a battle-fanatic, typical for the Akhator lineage, also possessed the bearing of a King. Well, it's more fitting for Samadi to be a conqueror. Ironically, during his rule, the world was at peace, and there were literally no major conflicts happening.
As fate had written, Samadi ruled the Kingdom stellarly before passing the torch to the next in line. The fact that the third world war erupts barely a handful of years after his abdication had nearly caused the Akhator Mansion to be turned upside down, as Samadi throws a mega tantrum.
He was so annoyed that he even voiced an intrusive thought of his during a Kingdom Crisis Assembly, murmuring something about seizing the throne and leading a war.
As he got older, Samadi's personality didn't change, but it was indeed placated after relocating to the Sanctuary. Back then, Samadi was used like a punching bag by the elders before him.
It was inevitable since the recipients of Malais Ichor would only grow stronger with age. Back then, Samadi was the youngest and the weakest, and that only changed after the latter generation of Kings abdicated and joined the sanctuary.
Now, Samadi has a tempered and tame personality. As his grogginess left him, replaced with clarity after a good night's sleep, Samadi's attention fell to the young-looking person standing not far from his treehouse, lower on the slope.
"Eh? Had another one abdicated? Is it that time already?" Samadi said to himself internally while inspecting Aldon.
"Greetings, Elder Akhator." Aldon pressed his palms together before his chest. It was a gesture of respectful greeting preserved until the current days. However, this courtesy was mainly used in the royal hall or court, where the King was present.
"Which Lineage are you from, boy?" Samadi asked as he began after-nap stretching.
"My name is Aldon Adamas, Elder. Current ruler of the Kingdom." Aldon answered.
"So you haven't abdicated?" Samadi questioned, though his mood dropped slightly. Clearly "sad" that he didn't get another junior as a punch-…. Cough! Forget about it.
"No, Elder." Aldon smiled.
"How was your meditation, Elder?" Aldon asked out of politeness. He even had a warm smile on his face.
Hearing that question, Samadi grinned and jumped down from the treehouse onto the steep trail. Landing with ease and poise.
"Junior, this Elder of yours has had great results from the introspective meditations. My power and control had only grown greater. For that, as I am in a good mood, I'll allow you to ask for my assistance if there's someone you need taken care of." Elder Samadi swung his right arm across Aldon's shoulders like they're the bestest bros.
"Ahem!"
Before Samadi could pitch his definitely shady ideas to Aldon, a sharp, intentional fake cough halted Samadi's words. Suddenly, he stood straight and unmoving, almost as if he were afraid of being seen if he moved even an inch.
"Samadi." A hoarse and dignified voice called out as the door of a hut was slowly pushed open.
"Samadi is still sleeping!" Samadi said. Immediately after, he cupped his mouth with his hands, already regretting exiting his abode.
"Call Sharaha, Berke, and Nasfi. Tell them to come to my abode." A willow-like thin old man with a long goatee said while standing at the door. His gaze later fell on Aldon, and he added, "Come in, King Aldon."
Aldon was about to excuse himself from Elder Akhator, only to find the later already gone with the wind.
Not paying it any more attention, Aldon offered a respectful greeting toward the old man before accepting his invitation to enter with his action.
What was discussed in the confines of the old man's abode was known only to them and the wind. Samadi, as curious and crass as he was, didn't even dare to sneak around the hut.
In the presence of the four most decorated former rulers of El Malais, each representing a Royal Lineage, Aldon tread humbly and respectfully as he should.
Aldon came with a troubled mind, hoping to leave this sanctuary with answers, but receive only cryptic words as references.
"Why do all old people like talking in riddles?" Aldon internally screamed as he stared impassively at the wilderness in front of the hut's door.
"I wonder what Neil would do in this situation." He mused as he began walking back through the trails that he used to come, as he let his mind wander to the past.
"How did I become King again?" That question suddenly popped up. Annoyingly, the image of a certain person's wedding emerges alongside it.
It was the scene he had seen around two decades ago, and it was the wedding of his cousin Neil with a commoner female, named Amanda.
It was because of her that this Kingdom had lost a great kingly prospect, and despite having the throne fall in his hands, Aldon wasn't the least bit happy.
His bond with Neil had been great. They are close like blood brothers from childhood, and Aldon always admired Neil's composure despite the latter being a few years younger than himself.
In fact, throughout the years, before that woman named Amanda even came into Neil's life, Aldon had been aware of Neil's gifts. It's like he was born and bred to be a King. He was intelligent, his capabilities greater than what his age suggests, and simply "knows" how to make people view him with gravity.
It was an odd experience for Aldon, growing up alongside such an excellent peer. Aldon learned a lot from Neil's personality and had prepared himself to become a chancellor or advisor.
Against Neil, none of the other candidates even stood a chance, including Aldon himself. Aldon was fine with it. He was fine with losing to a truly competent rival and to his best brother-from-another-mother.
The fact that Neil had willingly walked away from the throne, all because the tradition doesn't allow the King to marry a common-born, had Aldon stuck between a rock and a hard place.
He wants to berate the tradition, but it had been held for generations before he was even born. He wants to release his anger toward Amanda, but knew that would only make things worse than it already is. Ultimately, Aldon had chosen to unleash his fury toward Neil himself.
And that had caused their bond to fracture. Aldon couldn't understand why Neil chose such a path when he could bring this Kingdom to a glorious era never before seen across the Kingdom's history.
Aldon resented Amanda, as he saw her as nothing but a source of downfall. After his ascension to the throne, Aldon was paired with a noble-birth woman as his wife. He had never smiled at her. He couldn't.
All the resentment that he bottled spilled into a rather childish mindset, as he viewed all women as nothing but trouble. Roadblocks or challenges on the path to greatness.
As time passes, however, Aldon learned to accept things that had happened, to forgive if things didn't go as he envisioned.
However, to make things up with his official wife weren't easy. He had neglected her for years, all because of his selfishness and unfounded resentment.
Aldon attended the thirteenth birthday of Neil's son, in his effort to set things straight. To clarify the muddied water and to rekindle the brotherly bond he once shared with Neil.
Just as things were beginning to get better, Aldon bore witness to an incident that broke the hearts of both Neil, his friend, and his wife, Amanda. Their son Zachary fell into a coma after experiencing a very severe seizure.
The ray of sunlight hit his face, and it broke his subconscious state of mind. As he regained his conscious clarity, Aldon realized he had already exited the boundary of the tropical jungle.
An entourage was already waiting for him on the side of the road. He only needed to enter and give his words, and the entourage zoomed through the road as swiftly as they came, heading back to the palace.