The sky over Axrax had turned heavy and restless. King Raynold stood alone inside his pavilion, his gaze fixed on the darkening horizon where thunder rolled endlessly across the heavens. The wind pressed against the fabric of the tent like something alive, and yet he barely noticed it.Worry sat deep in his expression. Not for the kingdom, but for those who had left, his sons, and Esther.A silence followed his thoughts, one filled with unease he could not shake.---Far from Axrax, the world had become something harsher. Lord Emmanuel, General Raphael, Zussorender, the princes, and the princesses rode desperately on horseback. Esther remained unconscious among them. It had been two days of relentless flight. Two days since the open battle with the Marcs. A battle that should not have been possible. A battle that ended in loss. All the soldiers were gone. And yet the Marcs still lived.The golden weapons had failed. Magic had failed. Nothing had touched them.Only escape remained. And

Garryls are ancient creatures belonging to the same primordial lineage as gargoyles, bound to them as their riders. They share the same stone-like flesh and massive, sculpted bodies, but their forms are far more brutal and bestial. A Garryl stands as large as a bear, yet far more dangerous in motion and intent. Its jaws are lined with elongated teeth capable of tearing through bone, while its claws extend far beyond those of ordinary beasts.They possess broad, powerful wings capable of carrying them across vast distances, and a long tail tipped with a sharp, poisonous point. That tail is not only a weapon of precision but also a lethal extension of their instinct, striking with speed and venom. On land, Garryls move with surprising agility, faster than most creatures of comparable size, making them deadly both in the air and on the ground.Dark Druids are feared warriors known to ride the Dark Horses, forming a bond that enhances their already exceptional combat abilities. They are

King Raynold’s eyes snapped open, but not into his chamber. He stood in the vast emptiness of space. No ground. No sky. Only an endless ocean of stars burning quietly in the void, stretching beyond imagination. The silence was absolute, pressing against his ears like a weight.King Raynold turned slowly, his boots finding no surface, yet he stood firm as if the universe itself held him in place.He asked himself, “Where… am I…?”Then a presence. Soft. Sudden.Princess Esther appeared before him, as though she had always been there, woven into the starlight itself.King Raynold froze. For a split second, disbelief held him captive… then it shattered. He called, “Esther—!”Relief surged through him like a flood. He rushed forward and pulled her into a tight embrace, gripping her as though she might disappear if he loosened his hold.He said, “Thank the gods… you’re okay.”His voice cracked—raw, unguarded.For that moment, he didn’t care about the void, the stars, or how impossible this

The great hall of Axrax remained wrapped in a heavy, suffocating silence long after Zussorender finished speaking.No one moved. No one spoke. The weight of everything he had revealed—every creature, every horror, every impossible truth—hung in the air like an unseen storm waiting to break.Zussorender exhaled slowly, then turned and returned to his seat.The moment he sat, the silence cracked.Guzen leaned forward, urgency burning in his eyes. He said, voice sharp with logic and desperation: “Since the death power is what awakens Marcelos’ armies, then we should hunt Marcelos down and kill him before he gets his hands on the remaining crystals—while he is still vulnerable.”A few heads lifted. It was bold. It was dangerous. It was… tempting.But Zussorender shook his head almost immediately. He said, “No, Guzen.”His voice cut clean through the rising thought. He continued, “Marcelos’ armies were never killed—not before, and not when he was put to sleep.”The hall stilled again. A ri

SAMUZIAThe city of Samuzia was no longer a kingdom—it was a graveyard.Smoke clawed into the sky as flames devoured homes, towers, and temples alike. The once-proud palace stood violated, its gates shattered, its halls drowned in blood. The ground was covered with the dead—people, guards, soldiers, and Light Army warriors—lying where they had fallen, their bodies waiting to be consumed by the flames that Bane would soon bring upon them.The palace itself stood in silence, heavy and broken.Inside the palace hall, Marcelos sat on King Michel’s throne. Not as a ruler, but as a conqueror. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, yet the air around him pulsed with overwhelming power. Dark energy pulsed through the Death Crystal in his hand, flowing steadily into his body. The air around him felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the hall itself was struggling to exist in his presence.Six Marcs stood around him, motionless. Watching. Waiting.The doors to the hall opened. Philip walked in