"I never expected she'd be that strong," Zevril muttered, still shaken from the fight.
"Mm… me too. Even with the blood washed away, something still feels heavy in the air," Aelric said, arms crossed, his eyes still scanning the battlefield.
But then, something caught Zevril's attention.
His gaze shifted toward a large, silent monument in the corner of the arena—an old statue that seemed untouched by time.
"…Hey, Aelric," Zevril said, nudging him. "You know anything about that statue over there?"
Aelric glanced over. "No. Looks like an old one or something."
Zevril squinted. "Old? You said 'old'—but it looks new."
Aelric gave him a flat stare. "...Seriously?"
Before they could argue further, a familiar voice called from behind.
"Zevril! Aelric!"
Their grandfather hurried toward them, relief washing over his face as he saw they were unharmed.
"Oh, thank the stars. You two are alright," he said, placing a hand on Zevril's shoulder. "I heard what happened… That was intense. But don't let it shake you. Things like this—they're not uncommon in this world. You both know that, right?"
They nodded, though Aelric's expression remained tense.
Then Grandpa's eyes landed on Storm's lifeless body being carried away by palace knights. His expression darkened.
"Gods… that's brutal," he muttered, exhaling sharply. "Alright, let's move. No need to linger."
But Zevril wasn't done.
"Grandpa," he asked, pointing back at the statue which is totally covered in a black blanket only leaving the sword for visibility, "do you know anything about that one?"
Aelric groaned. "Again with the statue…"
Their grandfather followed Zevril's gaze—and froze.
His eyes narrowed—not in confusion, but recognition. And he recognised the sword in the statue hand
"Mmm… Yes. Maybe my grandparents told me about it when I was a kid," he murmured. "But I can't remember the name. What I do remember… is that he was once a king. My grandmother called him the Forgotten King."
"A forgotten king?!" Aelric perked up.
Grandpa smiled faintly, his gaze distant. "Yes… and if I'm not mistaken, he was the one who created this kingdom."
Zevril's eyes widened. "The creator? You mean—the first ruler?"
"That's right," Grandpa nodded. "Oh—I remember now. This story is ancient… nearly a thousand years old. He came when the land was collapsing. They say he saved the people, became their leader, and eventually their king."
He looked up at the statue, his voice softening.
"He was also known as the Savior of this land. His name was—Torian and…"
His voice trailed off.
Zevril froze.
His vision blurred. And then—darkness.
A man stood alone in the void. Blood dripped from his mouth. Fire coursed through torn muscle, his eyes burning red like furnaces. Flames surged from his body, consuming everything.
Another flash.
Then nothing.
"Where… am I?" Zevril whispered. "Wasn't I in the arena?"
In the distance, he saw someone seated on a broken throne. But the figure was hidden in shadows.
Then a voice echoed—
"I am not the king they wanted,
Nor the one they deserved...
But I am the one who remains."
"Zevril!"
Outside the vision, Grandpa and Aelric shook him. His body convulsed.
Grandpa tried casting a healing spell—but it flickered and failed. His hands trembled.
Aelric reached out, placing a hand on Zevril's shoulder.
In that moment, a burst of unknown energy exploded outward.
Elsewhere…
The King rose from his throne.
"What is this sensation…?"
"Dear?" the Queen asked.
"Brother, are you alright?" said the Princess.
"Nothing. Just a headache," the Prince muttered.
Velmira, sitting atop a tall building, stared at her trembling hands—eyes wide in disbelief.
Across the city, knights fell to one knee, overwhelmed by an invisible pressure.
And just like that… it vanished.
Zevril's eyes fluttered open. "Aelric? Grandpa?"
Aelric looked at him, worried.
Grandpa asked gently, "What happened?"
Zevril frowned. "I… I saw a dream. Or… something. I can't remember."
Grandpa's eyes narrowed. "A vision?"
"A vision?!" Aelric exclaimed. "Hey—tell me! What did you see?"
"There was a voice," Zevril said slowly. "It said..."
"I am not the king they wanted, nor the one they deserved.
But I am the one who remains."
Grandpa's expression shifted—but only for a second.
He forced a smile, brushing it off.
"Hmm... Anyway! In four years, you'll both be off to the Magic Academy—remember?"
Aelric frowned. "Hey, Gramp—don't change the topic."
"Let's talk about it later, alright? No need to dwell. Oh, and guess what? I bought a bunch of food from the festival!"
That caught their attention.
"Really, Grandpa? Let's go eat it all!"
They took off running—laughter chasing away the tension.
But their grandfather lingered.
He turned back to the statue—his expression darkening.
"A vision… at ten years old? That's not normal.
And my healing magic failed?
Their cores haven't even awakened yet…"
He exhaled sharply, then turned to follow.
Eyes filled with worry.