Ayat Seraf

“Lord Dries… I’ve got news for you.”

I spoke as the massive doors of the hall slowly opened from the center, revealing the magnificent chamber beyond.

At its heart stood a long wooden table, richly carved with ancient symbols long forgotten by history. In the middle of it rested a slab of enchanted clay — a rare material that could be shaped into different landscapes and scenarios through specific magic. It was likely once used to simulate strategic formations for generals.

Or so the stories said.

This place carried many legends. It had been abandoned for hundreds of years — until recently.

Lord Dries and his companions had claimed it as their base. Or rather… rented it from Lord Ashkan, ruler of the western lands of the Perabisan region.

My words were met with an overwhelming presence.

Impressive… I will never get used to it, I muttered inwardly.

Dust rose from the ancient stone floor as the massive doors finished opening. Through the haze, a pair of dark blue eyes began to glow.

Dries Benoit.

The “missing prince,” as he was called in formidable Opeur.

Only eighteen years old — yet the moment he appeared on our shores, he pushed this region… no, not just this region, but the world itself toward chaos.

He had a striking face, almost charming at first glance. But his eyes — those two dark blue eyes — flickered between a void-like darkness and a deep, violent blue, like an enraged ocean before a storm. His long, pure black hair fell loosely over his shoulders.

At his right stood a girl around the same age. I had never seen her face clearly. Her black hair always concealed her features.

Six chairs surrounded Lord Dries’ seat — six individuals in total, including myself.

Four were absent today.

And yet, the presence of one alone was enough to suffocate anyone below the highest tier.

If all of them gathered in one place…

You would pray to disappear.

As I was still lost in my thoughts, a cool voice echoed through the vast, nearly empty chamber.

“What is it, Ayat? What brings you here?”

Lord Dries spoke without looking up, his eyes still fixed on the scroll in his hand.

A foreign nation’s official decree, perhaps.

I stepped forward immediately. “Here, my lord. After a long meeting between the three Lords of Perabisan, they have sent you this message. It contains their final decision.”

At last, he lifted his gaze toward me.

The scroll flew smoothly from my hands into his, guided by an unseen force, landing perfectly in his well-poised fingers.

Silence followed.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Then — a faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.

His eyes began to change.

The deep blue darkened, then shifted, blending into something vast — like looking into a stormy sky clearing at dusk. For a brief moment, it felt as though I were staring into the universe itself.

And then he spoke.

“So… it begins.”