Royal Court – Morning, Inner Chambers
A heavy silence loomed within the obsidian-pillared royal council chamber, broken only by the crackle of torches and the whisper of silk. The walls were adorned with ancient tapestries, each bearing the sigil of one of the great noble houses—falcons, roses, dragons, and moons—all watching in silent judgment.
At the head of the onyx table stood King Edward Stoneheart, draped in crimson robes trimmed with radiant gold. His eyes, weathered by war and wisdom, scanned the faces of Arcane Academy heads, war generals, and the realm's highest nobles. The air was taut with anticipation.
The King raised a hand. His voice rang like a drawn blade.
> King Edward: "We stand upon the precipice of shadow. One among us has not only stood against the dark… but struck it down. Rael Ramos—S-Class swordsman, demon slayer. A genius born once in an age."
Murmurs bloomed like wildfire.
> "I propose the formation of the Hero's Vanguard," he declared, "an elite force to lead the charge against the Demon King's horde. And I nominate Rael Ramos to lead this vanguard."
A beat of silence. Then movement.
Lord Commander Varik, clad in gleaming silver armor, rose with the disciplined grace of a lifelong warrior.
> Varik: "With all respect, Your Majesty—none have earned it more. His victory over General Greed saved half the academy."
Lady Alina of Silverglen, seated beneath a banner of silver thorns and azure roses, gave a rare nod.
> Lady Alina: "He inspires not just fear in demons—but hope in the people."
But the rising tide of praise was halted.
From the far end of the chamber, a man heaved himself to his feet. Lord Malrik Drosen—obese, jowled, wrapped in gaudy sapphire furs and reeking of spiced perfume. His skin was waxy, like rotting fruit left too long in the sun.
> Drosen: "Your Majesty, may I remind this council that Rael Ramos has no noble house, no documented lineage, no known bloodline? Are we truly to entrust the kingdom's fate to a... charming orphan?"
Gasps. Frowns.
> "Power, yes. But power without pedigree is fire in a child's hands. And fire—burns."
The chamber stirred with unease. Some nobles lowered their eyes. Others watched carefully.
The King met Drosen's gaze, his voice colder.
> King Edward: "We call him commoner, yet he triumphed where nobles perished. We call him outsider, yet he bled for our realm. Rael Ramos is not born of privilege—but of providence."
That word—providence—echoed through the room. A few progressives applauded. Drosen sat back, lips pursed.
---
Arcane Academy – Rael Prepares
Sunlight poured through frost-edged glass. Rael Ramos tightened the leather straps of his gloves, fastening the black cloak that trailed behind him like smoke. The dormitory was quiet, serene.
A knock. He opened the door to a royal knight, armor polished, spine straight.
> "Sir Ramos. The King awaits you."
Rael gave a subtle nod. "Understood."
But before leaving, he climbed the spiral steps to the Headmistress's tower.
Lira Moonshade, regal and aloof, stood before her celestial-glass window, her robes woven with starlight threads. Her violet eyes narrowed.
> Lira Moonshade: "They'll clap for you now. But beware the ones who offer honeyed words and daggered hearts. This court… is won with masks, not swords."
Rael bowed. "Then I'll learn to wear both."
He turned away. Behind his steady stride, the memory of Solaria's fall smoldered—his mother's scream, the glow of divine fire, the last flare of a broken shield.
> Never again, he thought. This time, I play their game—and write my own rules.
---
Dark Corridor – Whispered Conspiracy
Far below the royal palace, in a mold-veined chamber lit by flickering candles and veiled in black drapes, corrupt nobles met behind sealed doors.
Lord Malrik Drosen leaned over a crystal decanter, wine sloshing in a goblet shaped like a beast's skull.
> Drosen: "The King hands the sword to a stray—and the fools cheer. Let them."
A noble in dusky robes shifted nervously. "The boy's influence spreads. Even the Academy backs him."
Drosen's voice dropped to a near growl.
> "Influence can be unraveled. Pressure his allies—Eris, Lyra, Evelyn. Tug their threads. If he protects them, he's distracted. If he loses them, he breaks."
He drained his goblet.
> "And if he resists… we clip his flame before it burns the whole tapestry."
The others nodded, silent as vultures.
---
Throne Hall – Grand Arrival
The throne hall dazzled with colored light filtering through stained-glass murals. Columns soared to a star-scribed ceiling. Golden banners swayed in a breeze conjured by subtle wind magic.
A hush fell.
The doors creaked open.
Rael Ramos strode in—cloaked in black and crimson, boots echoing with calm defiance. His gaze swept the nobles: jeweled necks, guarded eyes, smiles like sharpened coins.
Gasps murmured through the crowd. He was younger than they expected. Taller. Sharper.
At the dais, King Edward stepped down, bearing a velvet-lined box and a silver-edged blade: the Sword of Arathiel, relic of the first Hero-King.
> King Edward (clearly): "Rael Ramos. For valor unmatched. For defeating the Demon General Greed. For standing alone where armies fell—we honor you."
He pinned the golden medal to Rael's chest.
> "And so, we name you Captain of the Hero's Vanguard. Chosen not by blood—but by brilliance. Our flame in the dark."
Applause thundered from the young knights and the commonfolk gathered in the balconies. Some nobles clapped slowly. Others watched in wary silence.
Rael bowed low. Then rose, unflinching.
> So it begins, he thought. Not just a battle of blades—but of crowns and claws.