ROYAL PALACE HALLWAY – NIGHT
Anjan took a slow stroll across the quiet hallway of the West Tower, the moonlight casting long shadows against the stone. A figure emerged from the darkness ahead.
Anjan: "I should have expected to see you here, Your Highness."
Rocian Ignis, the Second Prince of the Agnikhaat Empire, stepped into the light. He was a striking youth with light green hair marked by rogue slips of crimson, and eyes like polished silver. He wore a pitch-black shirt and trousers, draped in a dark green cape that seemed to swallow the dim light.
Rocian Ignis: "I heard the whispers in the court. They say the times are changing. Tell me, Advisor—what is truly happening?"
Anjan: "You know far too much for your age, Prince Rocian. It is true. The Witness of Peace is about to perish, and the treaty shall fade along with his final breath."
Rocian: "So what if he dies? Why is one man's life the only thing tethering this continent to peace? Tell me the whole story."
Anjan: "I suspect you already know of the man who started it all."
Rocian: "You mean the one they call the world's greatest mistake?"
Anjan: "The very same. Because of him alone, the Third War of Fall earned a second name: Pandemonium. He was born to the Thundergun Dynasty, but for reasons lost to time, his own family imprisoned him for fifteen years. When he finally awoke, he slaughtered his entire bloodline in a single day. He single-handedly reshaped the political ideology of that era. Every land he walked through rained with blood; by the age of twenty, he was branded the Enemy of Humanity. Every royalty in Amilanga lost an heir to his blade... except for us."
Rocian: "A man who fought the entire world and won."
Anjan: "He despised slavery and the arrogance of the old nobility. He killed so many that the world simply stopped arguing and accepted his terms. It was because of his wrath that we established the clan system, where commoners are accepted and anyone can rise to leadership through skill alone."
Rocian: "So, a monster forced the world to become a better place?"
Anjan: "Yes. In fact, the very Master of the Spirit Temple who bought us these four hundred years of peace is from a lesser race—a barbarian. A strange irony, isn't it?"
Rocian: "Then what exactly is the problem we face now?"
In the distance, the voices of servants called out, searching for the Prince. The moment of confidence was broken.
Anjan: "That is a tale for another time, Your Highness."
(8/4/1394) FIRST DAY OF CELEBRATION (BATTLE CEREMONY)
MORNING: THE COLOSSEUM
The sun rose over Solaren, illuminating the massive arena. In the center, hundreds of young women moved in perfect unison, their golden silks fluttering as they performed the Sunflower Dance. It was a ritual to please Aevis, the Fire Spirit of Eternity, and to beg for her ancient blessings.
Among the roaring crowd, a mother held her eight-year-old daughter, both cheering as they watched the display.
Daughter: "Mom, why is it only the girls dancing?"
Mother: "Because the Blessing of the Sunflower was only given to women. It purifies the body and amplifies growth beyond measure. But long ago, a bad man kidnapped our Princess—the Sunflower of that era. The Fire Spirit grew angry at our failure to protect her, and she has never blessed a dancer since."
High in the observation stands, Melvin and Anjan watched the festivities with somber eyes.
Melvin: "If not for that man, our generation would have seen a true Sunflower."
Anjan: "The Spirit is not angry because he took the girl, Melvin. She is angry because we did nothing to stop him."
Melvin: "Who would dare to face that anomaly? At least Emperor Nicolas was a revolutionary; he abolished slavery ahead of time and established the clans. We only escaped that monster's wrath because we changed before he arrived to force us."
Anjan: "Our ancestors endured much. We never fully committed to the rot of slavery, and since commoners were the ones who truly built this land, our nobles have common roots. We were different from the start—which is why we grew while other kingdoms crumbled."
Melvin: "True enough. But are our future generations strong enough to face the darkness that is coming? We shall find out today."
THE ESTEEMED BALCONY
Houren Cinders, the head of the Cinders Clan, arrived at the balcony with a silent, commanding presence. Though he was fifty-five years old, he possessed the fit, lean physique of a man in his thirties. His dark green hair was partially obscured by a hooded robe, making him look as though he were prepared for a stealth mission rather than a festival.
He cast a sharp glance at the Elder who had caused the street brawl earlier; the old man immediately looked at the floor, unable to offer an answer to his leader's silent judgment. At that moment, royal guards escorted a new group of VIPs onto the balcony.
Kam: "I am Kam Malak, head of the Malak Merchant Clan from the Redown Kingdom."
Houren: "I am Houren Cinders, head of the Cinder Clan. Redown... that is one of the West Coast nations, is it not?"
Kam: "It is. We have travelled far."
Houren: "All the way from the western edge of the continent? It is our honor to host you."
Kam: "The honor is mine. Might I ask you to explain the significance of this festival for us, Head of Cinders?"
Houren: "It is my duty to look after our guests. We, the people of the flame, have revered fire for thousands of years. The sun—the ultimate manifestation of fire—shines brightest in the summer. Since our land was founded during this season, we dedicate the first week of Nole to prayer and respect for our ancestors. The second week is a celebration of life. Today, the first day of that week, we begin with the Sunflower Dance—the Eternal Promise. It is followed by the Battle Ceremony of the new graduates, so they may prove to the ancestors that the future generations are capable and proud."
Kam: "An admirable culture. Where I come from, people are often crude and violent. It is grand to see a people so united."
Houren: "That is why our past Emperors sought to conquer the continent—so that everyone might live like this."
Kam caught the subtle arrogance in Houren's tone but ignored it, thinking to himself: As expected of an Easterner.
THE ARENA
The two-hour Sunflower Dance concluded to a deafening roar. The entire stadium stood in unison, throwing flowers and spraying rose water into the arena to honor the dancers and to cool the air from the heat the ritual had generated.
A commentator stepped onto the center stage—a flamboyant man with wild curly hair, round black glasses, and a sharp black suit. He gripped a megaphone-like device and screamed to the heavens.
Mint: "My name is Mint, and I am your voice for today's events! Everyone, stand! Stand and recite our Eternal Promise to our First Queen, the Fire of the Darkness!"
The tension of ten thousand people rose as they began to sing in a haunting, powerful unison:
Under the scorching sun lies the land of fire,
Through the endless nights, our hearts stay ablaze.
We may burn for a price, so our land could rise,
Above the endless stars where Emperors cast their eyes.
From each ash, a new life shall rise,
For the Empire, no light brings surprise.
For the land born of fire, for the ancestors who never tired,
Those who burn shall soar higher,
For the timeless truth their hearts desire...
"THE FLAMES ARE ETERNAL!"
As the final words echoed, ten thousand citizens raised their hands simultaneously. They cast Ignite—the simplest of fire spells. Individually, it was a spark; together, it was a majestic sea of flame that illuminated the stadium. It was a display of history made visible, a bridge between the new generation and the honored dead.