The rain had begun to fall heavily, as if the sky itself was announcing the approach of something dreadful. Was this the foretold day that returns every fifty years?
Inside his palace, King Arthur sat gazing into the fire. When he noticed the heavy downpour through the window, he stood up slowly, picked up some logs, and placed them onto the fireplace. His hands had barely left the wood when a soft knock echoed on the door.
Arthur (calmly, without turning): Come in.
The door creaked open, revealing Martha. An old woman draped in a priestly robe, her eyes glimmering with unmistakable fear.
Arthur (surprised): A strange hour for a visit, Martha.
Martha (trembling): They are coming...
Arthur lifted his wine glass from the table and took a slow sip before asking:
Arthur: Who?
Martha: The prophesied day, Arthur... They're getting closer. We must prepare.
Arthur shook his head with a mocking smirk.
Arthur: You priests... forever clinging to myths and legends.
Martha (firmly): They are no myths. It is truth. They're coming—with eleven girls. They seek the Seal.
Arthur (sarcastically): And where is this seal? I don't see it. Do you know where it is?
Martha: No... but our ancestors said it was buried in this very city. No one knows its exact location.
Arthur (whispering): Just illusions...
Martha: But what if they aren't? What if it's all true, Arthur? What will you do then?
Arthur fell silent, his gaze lost in the void. Something in her words stirred an ancient echo from the tales his ancestors once whispered:
"He shall rise from the shadow... and erase all. No kingdom shall withstand."
He slowly lifted his eyes toward Martha, saying nothing.
Martha (with conviction): The day comes once every fifty years. We must not let them find the seal. We must stop the sacrifices.
At that moment, Arthur rose sharply and shouted with authority:
Arthur: Call the commander now! Arm the battalions! Archers to their posts immediately!
---
Elsewhere, a small boy hid under the trees, holding his breath so tightly as not to be noticed.
???: Got you!
The boy jumped in fright and turned around, annoyed:
Joseph: Not again! Why is it always me, Henry?
Henry emerged from the foliage, laughing loudly.
Henry: Found him, everyone!
One by one, the other children emerged. The first was Aro, shaking his head with a grin:
Aro (teasing): That's the hundredth time he's found you, Joseph.
Henry (laughing): You always hide in the same spot. How could I not see you?
Joseph (grumbling): Thought I'd fool you this time...
They all laughed—pure, innocent laughter, untouched by loss or the scent of blood.
But then Aro looked at the darkening sky and murmured:
Aro: It's getting late, Joseph. I should go home.
Everyone: Goodbye!
Henry: I think I'll head home too. Need anything, Joseph?
Joseph: Will you play tomorrow? Or will you train with your uncle Malik?
Henry (hesitating): I'll try to come.
Joseph: See you.
Henry: Take care.
---
Joanna sat in quiet unrest, her hands clasped tightly in worry. A knock broke the silence.
Joanna (softly): Henry?
She opened the door, but it wasn't her son—it was Malik, her late husband's brother and Henry's uncle.
Malik (gently): Good evening, Joanna.
Joanna (surprised): Malik! Come in.
He sat in silence for a few seconds before speaking with mild reproach:
Malik: Where's Henry? He missed training today.
Joanna (sighing): We argued… again. He ran off to play.
Malik smiled faintly.
Malik: Stubborn, just like his father.
Her face froze. The mention of her husband brought memories flooding in. Malik sensed it and stood up.
Malik: I'll go find him.
Joanna (anxiously): Be careful.
He opened the door—and there stood Henry, soaked from the light rain, his eyes innocent.
Joanna (rushing): Henry! Are you okay? Where have you been?
Henry (confused): Just playing... with my friends.
Malik (sternly): Don't you realize how late it is? Your mother was worried sick.
Henry: I know... I'm sorry. I lost track of time.
Malik: How long will you keep being this careless?
Henry (quietly): I'm not careless... I just didn't notice the time. I'm sorry.
(Lingering silence. Henry looks up at his uncle, hesitates, then asks:)
Henry: Was my father... like me when he was my age?
Malik paused, a soft smile forming. No surprise in his eyes—he knew well Henry had never met his father. They always told the boy his father had gone on a mission and never returned.
Malik (warmly): You were twins. He was mischievous, stubborn, sharp-tongued. Just like you.
He reached out and ruffled Henry's hair with a laugh.
Henry smiled sincerely. For a brief moment, he felt something like fatherly warmth— A safety he hadn't known in years.
But it didn't last.
Trumpets blared. Castle gates slammed shut.
They had come.
Malik (grimly): We need to go, Joanna.
Joanna (whispers): Alright.
Henry didn't understand the sounds. He had never heard these trumpets before, never seen gates close with such urgency. Everything felt heavy, unreal. All he knew about war, he had heard from his grandmother's fireside tales.
But today... he would see it with his own eyes.
---
The king's aide burst into the chamber, gasping:
Aide: Your Majesty... they're at the gates.
Arthur rose and walked to the high balcony. When his eyes met the horizon, they widened in disbelief.
A sea of black. Countless soldiers. They weren't just here to kill. They came to conquer. To awaken the evil buried beneath this kingdom.
Arthur (shouting): Summon the First Battalion! Sir Romil leads the front line!
Aide: At once, sire!
Arthur looked to the sky—a sky he never truly believed in. Yet now... he sought answers within it.
The armies lined up. Archers to the walls. Horns roared. No room for diplomacy. Only death... or victory.
On the other side, Martha forced her way through the panicked crowd. Her eyes frantic, steps uneven.
---
Panic spread like wildfire. People ran, unsure where to go. Doors slammed. Windows shut tight. Mothers clutched their children. Men stared into the horizon with silent dread.
Whispers turned to screams: "Who are they?!" "Why are they attacking?!" "What do they want?!"
No one had answers. Only one truth: they weren't from here. Strange faces. Cold eyes. They didn't come to talk. They came to erase. To destroy.
---
At the edge of chaos, he stood alone. A mountain of a man. Eyes black as ancient prophecy.
Graham. The harbinger of ruin. A soulless weapon wrapped in flesh. His hammer? Not a tool, but a vessel of hatred. With every swing, kingdoms had crumbled.
He looked up at the sky. Rain fell upon him. He smirked. "Don't cry too much... I want to see the blood."
Then he roared, shaking the battlefield: "ATTAAAAAACK!!"
Dark legions surged like a tide.
From the city walls, Arthur shouted back: "THIS. IS. WAR!"
---
War ignited. And blood fell like rain.
Screams. Blades. A dagger in the neck. A sword in the eye. Limbs torn. Chests split. The ground devoured the fallen.
Graham raged like a hurricane. One swing—six men down. Fear spread like poison.
Only Romil's voice held them: "HOLD YOUR GROUND! NO RETREAT!"
Arrows rained with the storm. Sky and fire danced as one.
Then—the twist. A second army appeared. The enemy had surrounded them. Zuurans fought on two fronts. The enemy breached the walls. Destruction began.
---
Arthur joined the battle. A legend of his youth, sword in hand. Cutting through left and right, with Romil beside him.
But they were few. The enemy, endless.
Graham pushed forward, unstoppable. Face soaked in blood. Laughing. "More! I want more!"
Homes burned. Children screamed. Zuuranism was dying.
---
Martha kept searching. Through smoke. Through rubble. Her bones trembled, eyes wide.
Were they dead? Had the earth swallowed them?
She had known this day would come. But she never imagined the pain.
---
Malik ran. Joanna behind him, clutching Henry's hand. Looking for shelter. Any safe corner.
An enemy soldier blocked their way. Malik drew his sword.
Malik (commanding): Run! Take him! Don't look back!
Joanna: But—
Malik: NOW!
She ran with Henry. Malik charged. Swords clashed in fire and death.
---
Arthur bled. He had slain many, but the wave never stopped.
Then—Graham. A beast of death. Face drenched in blood. Eyes burning with delight. Smile... inhuman.
Arthur (whispers): So this is how kingdoms fall?
Romil joined him. Graham raised his hammer. Arthur dodged. Romil struck from behind. Graham turned fast, blocked, and punched Romil to the ground.
Arthur tried to reach him. But then—a blade.
From behind.
Cold steel. He turned… and saw His aide.
Betrayal.
Arthur's eyes emptied. The wound wasn't from a sword. It was from trust.
He collapsed.
And then—Graham stomped Romil's skull.
The sound echoed like a funeral bell.
Zuuranism... had fallen.