Dijio walked urgently to the throne room of Verdetta's castle—for a direct summoning from the king was of the highest importance.
The guards at the door gave a quick salute before pushing the heavy doors inward, revealing the marvelous throne room once again. Dijio's steel boots clanked against the marbled floors as he made his way toward the king.
His lordship's gaze followed Dijio until he bowed in a kneel.
"You requested my presence, my lord?"
King Lutheran carried a heavier look across his face. "Dijio, my dear Summoner. There has been a calling to Ninefall for the Council of Six. All six empires shall halt any hostilities for the meeting."
Dijio's eyes widened.
"For what, your grace? Why would they agree to meet? The last time that was done—"
"Was decades ago, yes. Which leaves me nothing short of shocked. However, reports and rumors are surfacing around the realms… of Reauford's fall."
"What?!" Dijio exclaimed loudly. The guards turned slightly to look at him.
"Quiet, my boy. Quiet," whispered Lutheran, putting a finger to his mouth. "They may be only rumors."
Dijio gave a hesitating nod. "Right. So, when is this gathering?"
"Three days. You and I, along with my guard, will make for Ninefall. We shall head that way tonight, for it is a trek from home."
"Yes my lord."
Lutheran stood from his throne, approaching Dijio in grace.
"Good. Now, ready yourself. For we cannot appear before the other realms in shame. Pack your finest cloth and wears. We will change on the carriage, for we may cut it close. And of course—don't forget the armor. Just in case."
Dijio chuckled. "I'm always prepared, my lord. I'll pack now. Good wishes."
Lutheran offered a nod, heading to a door in the far right of the grand room—his chambers. Two guards followed until they reached the door, then stood guard just outside. Dijio turned toward the large doors leading back to the entrance hall of the castle. He made way in haste, his boots echoing across the stones. He turned a corner toward his chambers—and almost decked a woman by accident.
"Oh—excuse me my— ah! Esmiel!"
Esmiel's eyes bulged in shock, before she took a breath to gather herself.. "Lord Dijio! How great to see you!"
"Likewise," he responded, offering a large smile. "How goes the day?"
"Very well, actually. Are you heading to the market later? I've time to accompany you if you'd like."
"Ah, about that," Dijio started. "His highness and I leave tonight. For The Heartlands' capital."
A curious look overcame Esmiel. "Ninefall? What for?"
Dijio hesitated. Esmiel blushed, feeling she overstepped. "Ah, I'm sorry. How insensitive of me."
Dijio waved it off. "Don't worry. There's been reports—unsure of how viable they are—of Reauford being overrun in the Jatharsis Range."
"Reauford? How?"
Dijio shook his head. "We do not know. That is why we've been called to the Council of the Six. We're off tonight, for The Heartlands is a bit of a journey."
"Ah. That makes sense," Esmiel said, softer and more calm.
"Indeed. However, when I get back, I'm sure I'll be hungry… I may have a larger appetite for street food instead of palace dining—and may be lonely…"
His face molded into a sly smirk. Esmiel chuckled—a truly beautiful one, that Dijio dreamed of each night.
"I'll make time, of course! It'd be the worst offense to ignore a request from the Summoner, right?"
They both laughed together—quietly and tender.
"Lord Dijio, may you have safe travels," Esmiel said finally.
He nodded. "Thank you, my lady. Good wishes to you."
He continued down the hall, with one more glance that caught eye contact. Then he entered his room which smelled faintly of flowers. His new knapsack he had recently acquired sat open on his bed, and his closet was filled with shirts he barely wore—they weren't armor.
When's the last time I wore something so formal?
A brief chuckle escaped his lips as he stuffed clothes and other necessities within the pockets of his bag.
He set his greatsword down against the bedframe opting for a quick power nap before the coming journey. He slept with armor on—something he'd grown accustomed to as a soldier before he was chosen as Aldorion's Summoner.
His eyes grew droopy, and before he knew it, hours had passed. He only awakened to a knock at the door.
"Sir Dijio?" a voice called, followed by a repeated knocking on his door.
Dijio stumbled upwards, still half asleep. "Coming!"
Dijio made his way to the door. He pulled it inwards, and a soldier greeted him with a salute. His steel armor was topped with purple cloth that favored a side—King Lutheran's Violet Guard.
"Excuse me, sir. Our king requested I fetch you for the journey and escort you to the carriage."
Dijio yawned, tapping his palm into his widened mouth.
"Oh? Time to leave already?"
The soldier chuckled a bit. "Funny sir."
Dijio didn't laugh, in fact, his expression didn't change. He just looked at the soldier with a brow raised.
"Oh. You're serious. You've been asleep for hours sir."
Dijio's mouth opened in shock—practically to the wooden floor of his room.
"Hours?"
The soldier nodded, still half smiling. "Indeed. We must be going. If you would grab your belongings, and follow me to the carriage."
Dijio blinked once, then a second time.
"Well," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "That explains the dream where Aldorion scolded my tardiness."
The soldier's smile twitched, unsure whether to respond.
Dijio turned back into the room, moving quickly now. He slung the knapsack over his shoulder, gave the room one last glance—flowers, borrowed peace and quiet—then reached for his greatsword. The weight settled into his hand like something familiar and honest.
He paused at the threshold. The room had been comfortable, something he'd miss in his brief travel.
Dijio stepped out and shut the door behind him.
The halls of the keep were alive with motion. Servants hurried past carrying sealed crates and bundles of parchment. Guards stood at intervals, spears grounded, eyes forward. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, painting long bands of gold across the stone floor.
The soldier fell into step beside him.
"Long road ahead," the guard said, trying again for conversation. "The Heartlands are further than it looks on the maps."
"So I've heard," Dijio replied. "Maps like to lie."
That earned a quiet chuckle.
They descended a spiral staircase that opened into the lower courtyard. The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and steel. A line of carriages waited near the gate, horses stamping impatiently as handlers tightened straps.
At the center stood the largest carriage—reinforced, marked with the sigil of Verdella.
King Lutheran waited beside it. He was already dressed for travel, violet cloak clasped at his shoulder, crown absent but authority unmistakable. His gaze lifted the moment Dijio stepped into the courtyard.
"There you are," the king said. "I was beginning to think Aldorion had spirited you away already."
Dijio offered a short bow. "Not yet, Your Majesty. He's patient when he wants to be."
Lutheran smiled faintly, then motioned toward the carriage. "We leave now. The others are already en route."
Dijio followed, but slowed just a step as they reached the door.
"Others?" he asked.
Lutheran met his eyes. "The Council of the Six will not wait for stragglers."
Dijio exhaled through his nose. "Of course they won't," he said, stepping into the carriage.
The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, sealing out the courtyard noise. As the carriage lurched into motion, Dijio leaned back against the cushioned wall, resting the greatsword across his knees.
He glanced down at the armor still strapped to his body and let out a quiet breath.
"Guess this will have to do," he murmured.
Outside, the wheels rolled forward—carrying him toward answers he wasn't sure he wanted, and a war that was no longer content to stay distant.
Elsewhere, the Jatharis Range was now gifted with silence's embrace. Deep within, the fortress of Reauford—once known as impenetrable—lay in fresh ruin.
One figure walked the roads leading to the overarching stone structure. A black cloak trimmed with dark blue lining covered his body and face. On his back, the design of a frosted crown rested—the symbol of Mysandor. It was cold steel blue, and plain without jewels or vanity.
The man walked with slow purpose, eyes hitting the structurally sound bridge ahead. Jatharsis was beautiful—but held its dangers no less.
He approached the stone of Reauford paying close attention to detail. The blood of soldiers stained the steps leading into the compound, and rubble covered the perpetrator's tracks.
He held a gaze downward at a soldier, a now dried wound that slit his chest down the middle.
"The doing of an axe… one much larger than any man could wield," he said softly to himself. His gaze turned up the stairs. At the top, a man sat with his own sword cast through his abdomen.
The cloaked figure made his way up the steps, maneuvering around the body as he opened the door. Inside, darkness consumed every corner of the fortress. Torchlight had long died out alongside the guards.
"Encasso," he whispered, and a giant ball of light loomed above him, following his every movement. Every corner was now enlightened.
The man made his way past shattered plates and sideways tankards. Cabinets were opened and bodies littered the floor.
Every sound echoed through the enclosed stone walls. The figure pressed against a door leading further in, and the creak resonated moments after.
The further he went, the things awaiting remained all the same. That was, until he found something interesting.
He crept through the solid halls of Reauford, eyes not missing the hymn of a detail. Behind a fallen soldier, a trail of blood unlike the rest. The man nudged another body, and put on a pair of glasses.
Below him, the trail bled a dark purple, staining the ground below. Droplets scattered across the floor, making its way to the closed door at the end. The man creeped forward, summoning a scythe in his hand, as he kicked it open with brutal force.
It led outdoors, and the trail turned cold.
He stepped down the second pair of steps, and another trail caught his gaze.
This one showed someone dragged through the dirt below the bridge of Reauford. From the door the man had just exited.
He studied the tracks briefly, before looking over the horizon. The pass continued eastward, into darker lands. The distant group of lights caught his attention. With that, he had all he needed, and turned back from which he came.
Dijio and the king of Verdelle now closed in on downtown Ninefall. It was the biggest city in the human realms, casting four districts each big enough to be a city alone.
The council sat in the heart of Ninefall, inside the meeting chambers of the palace. The travel inside its walls had been treacherous.
"Hard to imagine people can actually find their way around," Dijio said chuckling. His arms rested on the edges of the carriage, and one leg rested on top of the other.
The king looked off into the towering palace approaching them. "This city has nothing on the sheer force of Verdelle's borders!"
Dijio gave a dumbfounded look. Even the two soldiers beside His Majesty gave each other a look.
"Your Grace, I believe Ninefall has four districts that each at the minimum rival Verdetta's size…"
"Blasphemy!" he shouted cheerfully. The Heartlands may have the population, but we've the structure and traditions! Our people fail to be complete scrabbers in Verdelle too!"
Dijio let out a solid laugh. Even the carriage driver let loose a bit. The scenery around them was absolutely stunning—though, not according to King Lutheran. The liveliness of the citizens was unlike any other. The streets were clean, yet crowded with markets, carriages and lanternposts.
"The people here calls themselves the Hearts," one of the soldiers began. "I used to live here—when I was younger."
The soldier took his helmet off briefly, wiping sweat from his forehead. A charming young lad with blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, and a bright face. He was of the Violet Guard, one of two assigned to accompany the king to Ninefall.
"What's your name, soldier?" Dijio asked in curiosity.
"Adulgor, my lord."
"A pleasure to meet you, Adulgor. You're quite young, I don't think I've seen a soldier serve His Majesty's guard at such an age."
Adulgor chuckled. Well, you've seen two then. Locke over here is but a month older than I."
Dijio turned to the soldier to the king's right—he also pulled his helmet from his face. Locke held a more serious expression, with daggering brown eyes and black hair. A scar rippled through his eyelid—though, didn't seem to do any damage to the iris itself.
"Age doesn't matter in this line of duty," Locke said, holding his tone. "Experience outranks all. And I've seen more than my share of battle."
The king turned his head slightly, giving a nod to the soldier in respect. They passed a longer bridge overshadowing the Huronel River below. Its stone was compact and neatly shaved for beauty. In front, the palace loomed over them in pride and grace. White marbled pillars held the overhanging roof like a canopy.
"About there, gents—ah, watch my tongue! My king, we are approaching the palace," the driver said, calling the horses to a slowing halt.
The king offered a muffled grunt, before turning to Dijio. "Good. Let us move quickly. It's time to distinguish truths from rumors."
The carriage continued forward slowly, before screeching to a stop. Adulgor stood first, hopping out and lowering the carriage's extendable steps to the ground. King Lutheran followed, and then Locke after. Dijio was the last to leave—his gaze lingering on the behemoth of a palace before him.
"It's even more marvelous up close," Dijio said in excitement. Adulgor, now with his helmet back on, turned and gave what Dijio guessed was a sly smile.
"Easy now my lord, don't wet your trousers in excitement," he chuckled, moving along. Dijio shook his head in a playful manner, before following in stride.
They made their way to the towering stone doors before them, manned by two guards in the unmistakable red of The Heartlands. They pounded their greatswords into the ground in unison, before pushing the door open. Inside, large halls lit by torchlight and a stained glass roof created colorful shadows across the royal rug leading further in. Men and women dressed in prestigious clothing wandered.
"Follow along, Dijio. The council room is just this way," boomed Lutheran.
He stepped with intent, his two guards on either side, and his Summoner at the rear. There was no greater protection than that across Verdelle.
Ahead, another set of doors greeted them in its gold plating. Another set of soldiers opened the set of doors, leading to a large circular room, centered by a round table. Inside, the five other emperors and empresses of the Human Realms sat. Each with their Summoner behind—except for Mysandor, which seemed to be missing.
They had seemed to be mid-debate, and King Lutheran realized early.
"Ah! I see we now have no urge to await all six emperors for discussion!" he said, in a low but direct tone. "I too rule over such a realm… yet I lack the respect of a ruler."
The emperor of The Heartlands, Lokaine, sat near left of Lutheran's seat—which he had just seated himself in.
"Emperor Lutheran, it is an honor to see you."
Lutheran huffed at the comment, shooting daggers at the other rulers.
"If it was so, I feel you would've waited a mere five more minutes for my, my guards, and my Summoner's arrival."
A third voice rang out from across the room. The emperor of Chesamere—an older man, pushing his late sixties. His hair had long gone white, pushed into braids that allowed his wrinkled forehead to present itself.
"You claim neutrality! Such civil war matters mean not a thing to a coward such as yourself!"
"I wasn't told your opinion was final in the council, Uthgora. You have a knack for overtaking your rule! You made that clear with your unruly conquests!"
"Enough!" Lokaine shouted, hitting the marbled floor with a staff. "Are we not rulers? Kings of established lands? Why can we not be formal in such matters?"
They quieted down, not without final looks at one another. Dijio stood behind Lutheran, looming like a giant—marking fear into those opposed.
"Now, we will save such matters for another time. As you all know, there was another reason you were all called here today," Lokaine explained. "Rumors have circled that a fortress deep in the Jatharsis Range has fallen. One once thought to be inpenetrable—sieged by the unknown."
"Nonsense!" Uthgora countered, his fist slamming into the table. "Reauford has not fallen! It wouldn't fall. It is merely a lie crafted to prevent the victory of Chesamere and Mysandor in this war!"
Dijio looked at the emperor of Mysandor, who sat in silence, his eyes distant. Maybe thirty years of age, yet holding the experience and power of one that had ruled for twice that.
"And with Xel's recent victory over Ghalmarch's prestigious Summoner Ghalstoria," Uthgora continued, "we are evercloser to an end!"
Ghalstoria, across the room, lowered her eyes to the floor. Ghaldorion, her king and father, boomed in her defense.
"A mere fluke, Uthgora. If you feel so strongly, you shall face our swords and meet our spears on the battlefield! Have your dear Summoner you claim is so great—face Ghalstoria in a Ninelight Duel!"
Uthgora's face grew into a wide grin, forming from ear-to-ear. "I would love to, but you are merely Mysandor's breakfast. Speaking of the young lad, I couldn't help but notice Xel is not here. Emperor Theronia?"
The ruler of Mysandor remained quiet a moment longer. His eyes finally focused upon Uthgora.
"He had other pressing matters to attend to."
"Ones that overruled the Council of the Six? I severely doubt that," Lokaine said in a defended voice. "Tardiness—or even worse—skipping the Council is the utmost disrespect to the other realms."
Lokaine glanced briefly at Lutheran—just enough to get the point across.
"It is for good reason, I assure you my friends. I meant not disrespect," Theronia said. Dijio could see sincerity in his eyes, however, the others seemed to ignore any trace of its existence.
"It came across as such," Ghaldorion said, his head lying in a hand on the table. His eyes were closed, but ears were perked.
"Now now," Lokaine chimed, "we are not here to fight. It was not my intention to isolate you, Theronia. I am sorry."
Mysandor's emperor gave an accepting nod, just as Lokaine began again.
"Now, about Reauford—"
He didn't finish. The door to the chambers suddenly opened, and a soldier bearing the blue crown mark of Mysandor walked in. He paid no attention to the others on the council, before leaning into Theronia's ear. The emperor's eyes went wide, before he stood in haste.
"Excuse me," he said, before following the guard out to the halls. Every eye remained on the man.
"And where might you be going?" Lokaine asked. "We have urgent matters to discuss."
"The bathroom," Theronia said plainly. "I won't be long."
He left the room, the guards closing the door behind him. What remained were five rulers left in confusion, and their Summoners and guards—equally unsure.
Ghaldorion sighed, his head resting into both hands now. Lokaine was still shocked from the emperor's sudden leaving.
"Since when, has our council of tradition grown so prone to disrespect?" the empress of Elvantine asked in calmness.
"It has been that way, since your ambitions and intentions were clouded by the false sense of honor in warmongering, Bellarmine." Lutheran said firmly. His eyes pierced the souls of the others.
Our king does not censor his words, does he? Dijio asked in his mind. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, but did not remain. Glares filled the room at Lutheran—he didn't care. He spoke his truth, and that would be a constant till the day he fell.
"You're not a part of this war! Your opinion means nothing!" Uthgora seethed. From across the room, Ghaldorion responded.
"For once, I can agree with a man from Chesamere! You have no part, Lutheran!"
Just as tensions had begun to rise again, the door slammed back open. From the halls, Theronia reappeared with a serious look.
"Reauford is worse than I imagined. Fellow rulers of the Human Realms—we must turn our focus from this damned-forsaken war, and toward that of the demons. They have returned."
Uthgora slammed a fist on the round table, giving a soft smile in disbelief. "Theronia, have you drank too much rat-ale? You're piss poor drunk if you think Reauford had fallen, let alone by demons!"
"Please. Uthgora—you all, listen to me. I wouldn't bring such matters if there was anything but certainty."
Lokaine coughed softly into a napkin, before folding it, and placing it onto a servants platter. "And—I'm assuming you've brought proof of such claims, Theronia? This is quite preposterous…"
Theronia's eyes fell to the floor. His hands shook slightly, as he remained standing nearest to the doorway.
"I… can not say."
Ghaldorion let out a booming laugh. Bellarmine's eyes fell onto Theronia's with doubt.
"What do you mean, you can't say? Do you realize you're asking us to believe demons had broken the Jatharsis Pact off of nothing but your words? I thought the emperor of Mysandor to be wiser than this."
Theronia's eyes fell to his noble shoes, as heckling continued from the other rulers. The only man who remained uncertain—was Lutheran.
"Quiet yourself, Theronia. Sit, so we can talk some sense into our enemies before us. This war will rage on, and I will—"
"Mysandor will fight in this war no longer," Theronia said firmly, his head raising to the others. His eyes flickered from each ruler, eventually settling on Uthgora.
Uthgora chuckled. "Come now… this isn't time for jokes. The council is a serious matter."
"It is not the time for jokes indeed, Uthgora. And that is why I said it at this time."
Uthgora's eyes turned harsh. "You… you dare to turn your back on Chesamere? To my people? After the debt you owed?"
"I more than made up for that debt. I helped you for years, taking territory for unnecessary means! To expand your empire to make you feel more powerful and diligent!"
Theronia took a breath. The others remained silent, awaiting a final verdict.
"I sent Xel into countless battles—countless Ninelight Duels—all so you could prove a meaningless point! My oath is to my people—my kin. Not yours. And when those creatures of hellspawn come crawling from your territories because you refused to acknowledge… Mysandorians will survive. Because my Summoner and I took action."
With that, Lokaine stood, waving his hands for all to stand.
"We are concluding this meeting here. Claims without evidence are merely speculation. Theronia, I hope next we meet—you are more serious about such matters. All are dismissed."
Every ruler and Summoner present, along with the soldiers accompanying them, headed out the doors. Theronia remained, head down as his hands sprawled out against the table before him. He let out a deep sigh. Lutheran and Dijio stood, but stopped in their tracks.
Lutheran opened his mouth to say something, but paused midway. Theronia lifted his head to meet his gaze.
"You can go, Lutheran. I know such claims without readied proof is nothing less than unbelievable."
"Then why would you speak of them?" Verdelle's king questioned. "Unless the evidence was something that could not be shared?"
Theronia looked back down at the table with another sigh. He hesitated before he next spoke, looking to the door to ensure it was truly only them left.
"My Summoner's other responsibility was given by me," he started. "I sent him to Reauford in secret to confirm or deny these rumors first handedly. He is but a young man, but I'd trust his word over anyone in Chesamere. Especially Uthgora."
Dijio stepped forward. "Excuse me, but does that mean that the reports are true? Mysandor's Summoner found Reauford in ruins?"
"Worse," Theronia said grimly. "Soldiers littered the bloodstained floor. No valuables, weapons, or supplies were taken, which means—"
"They were there to kill as an example," finished Lutheran, rubbing his chin before wandering around aimlessly. "A declaration of war."
"One we can not yet do anything about," Theronia said solemnly. "If Uthgora were to discover Xel had trespassed to confirm the state of Reauford, Mysandor would be on the brink of war because of the emperor's sense of pride."
"And you're sure of this, Theronia? You know Xel is a trickster."
Theronia straightened, meeting Lutheran's gaze with unwavering confidence. "Deception and lies are two very different things. Xel can deceive, but he is not a liar, Lutheran. I swear to it."
Lutheran studied Mysandor's emperor once more, before nodding to himself. "Then I best be prepared in my realm for these demons. I am grateful you urged us on such matters, my friend. If they're not to listen to your pleas, know that Verdelle will aid you in this coming war if it continues."
Theronia approached Lutheran with an outstretched hand. "And the same for Mysandor. Though our realms may be far apart… an illusionist is always handy to sneak an army through empires undetected."
Dijio smiled hesitantly, knowing an agreement with Mysandor boosted Verdelle's political power greatly—but also knew that such alliances often meant an inevitable danger that loomed like the night.