When Sven opened his eyes, the turmoil of the night engulfed him at once.

The voices of his guards blended with the clash of steel and incomprehensible roars, forming a din his childish mind could not decipher.

Nights in Delphen were usually quiet and soothing. At first, he could not understand what was happening.

The doors to his chamber burst open. A group of lunar soldiers seized him roughly and began to escort him, shouting orders to one another. Sven barely had time to clutch the fabric of his nightshirt before he was dragged out of his quarters.

As they crossed the corridors, the atmosphere changed—heavy with iron and ash.

Among the fallen bodies, he recognized the guard who had taught him how to ride his pegasus. The sight left an icy void in his chest. His thoughts flew immediately to his mother.

“Mom…” he whispered.

He ran surrounded by soldiers who did not guide him, but pushed him forward. He turned his head desperately, searching through the chaos for a familiar face—either of his parents.

He found neither.

The royal halls were carpeted with bodies. Lunar soldiers fought desperately against the source of the chaos: creatures made of the night itself, formed from dark magic. Their bodies seemed to swallow the light, and their eyes, like burning embers, showed no trace of humanity. They lunged at the royal guard with savage claws, like beasts created for the sole purpose of devouring light.

Then, trumpets rang out in the distance.

As they emerged from the castle, Sven made out the golden helms of Diodain’s army. He had seen them arrive many times as honored guests—but this time there were no presentations, no ceremonies. The soldiers entered the battle without hesitation, and at their head marched King Apoleon, wrapped in the fury of war.

Sven took an instinctive step toward him.

Before he could move further, someone pulled a hood over his head, hiding his silver hair, and shoved him urgently toward a small, discreet carriage—nothing like any he had ever used before. Inside, the boy pushed himself up, trying to make out, through the confusion, one of his parents.

He saw only a blurred amalgam of steel, fire, spells, and shadows.

The emptiness in his chest became unbearable. His throat tightened.

“Mom…” he repeated, barely audible.

In a desperate impulse, he was about to jump from the carriage when another soldier threw a second child inside. The boy clutched a small blue creature and two large bundles, which made him fall backward. The impact echoed sharply.

A soldier struck the front of the carriage and delivered a cruel sentence:

“The king and queen are dead. The kingdom has fallen.”

The coachman snapped the reins. The horses moved swiftly along a winding path that led into the forest, vanishing into the darkness of the night.

The sounds of battle gradually faded, until only the rhythmic thud of hooves on earth remained—and the muffled sob of a child.