A young boy sprinted through the dimly lit hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. The echoes of his footsteps seemed deafening in the silence, but he dared not stop. Only moments ago, he had been standing behind his father, who was engaged in conversation with the emperor in the grand banquet hall. Then, all of a sudden, an attack erupted, and in the middle of the chaos, he ran away from his father's side.

“Find the boy!” one of the assassins exclaimed from further down the hallway.

Terror surged through the boy’s veins, and he ran even faster. He didn’t understand what was happening. 

Desperate, he glanced around, searching frantically for a place to hide. His eyes darted across the corridor until he spotted a room with the door slightly ajar. Without hesitation, he slipped inside, closing it softly behind him. 

The interior of the room exuded beauty, tempered by an underlying sense of eeriness. Towering, arched ceilings soared overhead, adorned with intricate frescoes. Stained glass windows depicted a goddess, her ethereal figure illuminated by the soft light, casting a mesmerizing array of colors upon the stone floor. In the center of the room lay the statue of the same Goddess.

However, the sounds of footsteps and voices drifting from the hallway jolted him from his trance. He darted behind the statue to hide. He slid down to the floor, knees pulled tightly to his chest as tears welled up in his eyes.

“Father,” he choked. “Please be safe.”

For a few moments, he remained curled, overwhelmed by fear. But then, he rose to his knees. His hands came together in a prayerful clasp. Eyes brimming with tears, he whispered fervently, “Oh mighty goddess, this unfortunate soul is not deserving of your audience nor your divine favor, but I beseech you... please, protect my father from the dangers that loom beyond these walls. Let him return safely to me.”

The boy did not expect an answer because statues cannot speak nor move. But he could only cling to a sliver of hope that the goddess above might be listening to his desperate prayer and is merciful enough to spare his father from the clutches of death.

Suddenly, a hand was patting his head. Startled, he recoiled, tumbling to the ground. Wincing in pain, he opened his eyes and beheld a golden mist coalescing into a human form. Shock coursed through him, and he crawled backward in fear, suspecting this apparition is one of the assassins. Yet the golden mist remained still, seemingly patient.

Reluctantly, he calmed himself down. The mist began to approach him, bending down to meet his gaze. It was then that he recognized the striking resemblance between the mist and the statue he had been praying to.

“Uhm,” he stammered and quickly lowered his head. “I apologize for not recognizing your holiness!”

The goddess, amused, gently asked, “What is your name?”

Peering up through wide eyes, the boy replied, “Ludolf Velimn Seraphis, your holiness.”

“Ludolf,” she echoed, cupping his cheeks tenderly. “I heard you. Unfortunately, it’s too late to grant your prayer.”

Ludolf’s heart raced; a chill gripped him. 

“As a goddess, I possess great power, yet it is forbidden for me to revive the dead. Nevertheless, I can bestow upon you a bit of my power. This gift will serve you well in the trials that lie ahead,” the goddess stated, her hand glowing with a radiant light. She then placed her glowing palm against the boy’s chest.

Ludolf felt a surge of power coursing through him, a warm and comforting sensation that seemed to erase the sting of her earlier words. But the comforting warmth suddenly intensified. His breath hitched, and his hands instinctively flew to his chest. A strangled gasp escaped his lips as his heart hammered against his ribs.

“T-Too much,” he choked out, “It's… too much!”

 Yet, the goddess remained seemingly deaf to his torment.

“This goddess shall watch over you from the heavens,” she said as the light began to dim. “Remember, while seeking retribution for those who have wronged you and your loved ones is one thing, abusing the power I have granted you is quite another. Use it wisely.”

Ludolf nodded with a determined resolve. “I will, your holiness.”

“Excellent. Now go forth. Fear not for your safety; a protective shield will guard you against harm,” the goddess instructed before her figure dissolved before his eyes.

Ludolf could hardly believe that the goddess had appeared before him and bestowed her power upon him. The immense power coursing through him felt so strong, he doubted his ability to control it.

“Thank you, your holiness,” he murmured. As he turned to leave the room, however, a troubling sight caught his attention—the goddess’s face now appeared marred by streaks of blood trickling down her cheeks. A surge of concern gripped him, but...

He needed to see his father!

He sprinted through the corridors, his heart pounding with increasing anxiety.

“I found him!” a voice rang out, and an arrow whizzed toward him. Just as he prepared to dodge it, the arrow's trajectory inexplicably shifted.

‘Huh? Could it be…?’ he pondered, momentarily distracted.

“Get him!” 

With no time to contemplate further, he pressed on toward the banquet hall.

Upon reaching the banquet hall, he beheld a scene of knights encircling the emperor. He then dashed toward the knights, who were visibly taken aback at the sight of the boy being pursued by several assassins. One knight swiftly pulled Ludolf to the emperor's side, while the rest surged forward to confront the attackers.

“Protect the emperor!” “Protect the nobles!” the knights shouted.

The emperor, holding the child close, demanded, “Ludolf, where have you been—”

“I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesty, but where is my father?!” Ludolf demanded, however, his heart sank when he noticed the emperor’s expression changed, his gaze averting.

Following the emperor's line of sight, Ludolf spotted a man sprawled on the ground, bloodied and motionless. He rushed forward and knelt in front the body. It was his father. Tears streamed down his cheeks; his cries pierced the bloodied hall.

The emperor approached Ludolf, “It was my fault. Your father died protecting me.”

Of course, his father had protected the emperor. His father was the emperor’s closest confidant. Ludolf's father served as a loyal mage, and it was unjust to place blame on the emperor for his father’s death.

After some time, the battle subsided, with several assassins lying dead while a few managed to flee the scene. The once-opulent banquet hall was now awash in crimson. 

“Your Majesty!” A vassal exclaimed, hastening to the emperor's side, closely followed by several other vassals. “Are you alright?!”

The emperor let out a weary sigh before replying, “I’m fine.”

“Those bastards really chose an inopportune moment,” one of the vassals remarked indignantly.

“What are you talking about, Duke Janssen?” the emperor demanded.

Janssen Helsmith is the Duke of Arishtair. He is a distinguished vassal in the emperor's court, recognized for his strategic acumen. As a duke, Janssen commands respect not only for his noble heritage but also for his experience in governance and military affairs. His family has long been a pillar of support for the emperor. Furthermore, he oversees a number of businesses, among which is weaponry. 

In addition to his influence over the weapons trade, the duke presides over an exclusive auction house, famed for its dealings in rare armories and arcane artifacts. This auction house attracts the empire’s wealthiest and most powerful, all eager to bid on relics of ancient battles, enchanted armor, and priceless artifacts.

“The Sun Empire!” Janssen's voice rose in frustration. “It is no secret that Aestheris and the Sun Empire have been teetering on the edge of conflict for years. It should come as no surprise if Emperor Lucien now seeks to ignite the flames of war by sending his assassins into our midst.”

“It certainly appears as though he is angling for confrontation,” another vassal, Count Ciel, muttered.

Count Mashinel Revon Ciel hails from the illustrious House Ciel. As one of the emperor’s most trusted advisors, his role within the court has earned him a place of considerable influence in Aestheris' high society. Revered for his keen intellect and diplomatic finesse, Count Ciel is a master of political maneuvering, often relied upon for his sharp insight into both foreign and domestic affairs. 

“Mind your words, Count Ciel,” the emperor interjected. “I have not committed any act of aggression to invite Lucien's hand, nor does he have any tangible reason to provoke me. While it is undeniable that both our empires have long shadowed one another like beasts circling for the kill, Lucien is not so reckless as to incite a war that would destroy both our lands without gaining from the ruin.” 

The vassals exchanged cautious glances.

Janssen pressed on, “Yet, Your Majesty, the timing of the attack cannot be ignored. Perhaps Lucien has grown more ambitious. Sending assassins—it is not beyond him.”

“True, but let us not leap into assumptions that may hasten our downfall.” The emperor said, then turned to his knights, “Clean this up. Track down those assassins with haste. They may have someone behind them, or they may be driven by a deeper hatred who seeks my ruin. Either way, bring them to me alive.”

“As you command, Your Majesty,” the knights shouted in unison, already moving to scour the scene and organize their pursuit.

The Emperor then turned to his vassals and other attendees, commanding, “For now, return to your homes. There are assassins at large. Fortify your defenses and be vigilant. Do not speak a word of this assault. I will announce it afterwards.”

The vassals bowed low, “Understood, your highness.”

The attendees, though fear gripped them, they listened. They bowed and exited the hall without daring to look back.

Just as the vassals were preparing to take their leave, the emperor spoke once more. “Before you depart...” The emperor's gaze landed upon Ludolf, the child still on his knees, cradling the cold body of his fallen father. 

“Ludolf,” he said quietly, “Magnus’ death shall not be in vain. His courage, his loyalty, will be honored. Rest assured, justice will find those responsible. Those assassins—whoever they are—will pay for this treachery.” With that, he turned his back to Ludolf’s grief-stricken form.

“Take the boy with you,” The emperor ordered his vassals. “Or escort him to the tower. Ensure he is cared for.” Without waiting for a reply, the emperor swept out of the bloodied banquet hall.

At dawn, Ludolf arrived at the Magic Tower, accompanied by Baron Palbrins, who had appointed himself the boy's quiet companion. The Baron sought to ease Ludolf’s pain with words of comfort, but his efforts proved futile. The boy's pain ran too deep to allow for even the simplest courtesies. Without a farewell, Ludolf turned from the Baron and entered the tower.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy. A figure stood at the grand staircase. Ludolf lifted his tear-streaked face, and through the haze of his grief, he recognized the man.

Without hesitation, Ludolf bolted towards the man. The man immediately dropped to his knees to meet the boy’s approach, wrapping Ludolf in a tight embrace.

“I heard what happened,” the man began softly. He gently ran his fingers through Ludolf’s hair, continuing, “I’m so sorry, Ludolf. Truly, I am.”

Ludolf clung to him tightly. “I-I don’t know what to do now, Genev,” he choked out. “Father’s gone! He’s not here anymore… and it’s my faul—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Genev interrupted. His hands moved to cradle the boy’s tear-streaked face. “This is not your fault. Not in the slightest. Your father already knew it was going to happen.”

Ludolf blinked up at him, “…. What? But I—”

“No,” Genev interrupted as he wiped the boy’s tears. “We’ll investigate this and find out who is behind the attack. For now, don’t wander outside. Stay here, alright?”

“Okay,” he responded. The boy tightened his grip around Genev, his sobs returning but quieter this time. Genev held him close, allowing the child to grieve.

When Ludolf finally managed to calm down, Genev spoke, “The emperor told me he’ll hold a funeral for your father. It’s set for tomorrow.”

Ludolf's gaze remained fixed on the floor. He didn’t speak or blink. 

Genev hesitated before continuing, “I told him the Tower should handle the rites, but the emperor refused. He said… it was his fault your father died.”

A silence followed. Thick. Stifling.

Ludolf’s fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. He wanted to be angry, to blame someone, anyone—but all he could feel was a dull, aching void. He knew it was all a calculated assassination. But, another part of him couldn’t help but agree: it was the emperor’s fault. Maybe not directly—but because his father had died protecting him.

Without a word, Ludolf gave a small nod.

Genev gently scooped him up. Ludolf didn’t resist. He was too tired to move on his own. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Genev murmured.

“Mn.”

Genev laid him gently on the bed. Ludolf turned toward his father’s untouched bed across the room, perfectly made—just as it had been that morning. But now it was empty. 

Permanently empty.

A lump formed in his throat again. His vision blurred, but he bit his cheek.

Genev turned to leave, but Ludolf’s small hand shot out, gripping his sleeve.

“Genev…C-Can you train me?”

Genev paused mid-step and turned, confusion flickering across his face, “Train you? You’re already great with a sword—almost a knight as it is.”

“No, I want to become a mage,” Ludolf said. 

“A mage?” Genev echoed, now clearly startled. “But you weren’t born with any innate power—”

He stopped.

Ludolf’s eyes were no longer the sharp lime green they used to be. They were now a stormy shade of slate gray.

Genev took a step back, “What…? Did you awaken your power? Or have you been hiding this all along? No… I would’ve felt your power—this doesn’t make sense.”

Ludolf's eyes dropped to his hands—still faintly stained with dried blood. He remembered the light. The warmth.

“I…” he began, “I didn’t have power before. But now… I think I do. She gave it to me.”

Genev’s brows furrowed, “She?”

Ludolf’s hand clenched into a fist. “I don’t want to sit here and cry. I want to become strong. I want to use this… for something that matters.”

Genev let out a quiet sigh and gently said, “We’ll talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

With that, Genev turned and left the room.

Ludolf was alone again.

Then, his hand rose to his chest, fingers grazing the spot where the goddess’s power had surged earlier. The memory of it still lingered. It had been so powerful that he couldn't quite understand how he hadn’t lost his mind in the moment it struck. And yet, here he was, still sane. Now, though, the sensation had faded into something distant. But he knew—it had been real.

Undeniably, terrifyingly real.