Nightblade (Darkest night)

The festivities were interrupted by the sound of a deep horn, its somber note echoing across the city.

The sonorous horn blared once, then twice,and then a third time.

Almost instinctively, Morgan instinctively turned his gaze to the distant gates.

"Father..."

His mouth moved on its own, whispering the word.

Morgan froze.

His eyes widened slightly. He blinked, then bit down on the inside of his cheek, until the sharp metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

The word lingered in the air, unmistakably foreign yet every so wistfully familiar.

The sharp pain brought a sense of clarity.

"Father? I don’t have a father unless..."

His breathing grew shallow, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

His pulse quickened.

Something stirred in the depths of his mind.

For a brief moment, Morgan felt a powerful gaze peer back at him from within the depths of his mind.

The sensation lasted a mere instant before vanishing almost entirely but it left behind an unmistakable certainty.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Modric..."

Despite his high mental defenses, he quickly realized it was becoming much more dificult to distinguish between his thoughts and those of the phantom prince.

The phantom of the Prince was becoming less and less illusory and more corporal with every passing moment.

The sombre note of the trumpet reverberated through the mountain valleys with a commanding resonance.

Morgan slowly lifted his gaze.

Every soldier immediately straightened, their gazes instantly becoming sharper and more alert.

The palace guards simultaneously lowered their spears before striking their armored fists against their breastplates.

"His Majesty."

The murmuring crowd slowly went silent.

Every citizen turned toward the northern gates.

A few moments later, the massive obsidian doors slowly began to open, a reverberating groan echoing through the city in their wake.

After months away from the city, the King of Elaris had finally returned.

An enormous procession entered the city.

At its head rode a magnificent white stallion adorned in ceremonial barding embroidered with golden thread.

Upon its back sat a middle-aged man clad in immaculate white armor. His silver hair was neatly tied behind his head, while a simple golden circlet rested upon his brow.

He carried himself with quiet confidence, his eyes slowly sweeping over the people in the crowd.

A gentle smile touched his lips, his eyes brightening at the sight of the people.

Morgan immediately noticed the striking similarity between the man on the horse and the one in his vision.

Except...

This one was much, older than he’d appeared back then...

A moment later, their eyes met and another flood of memories poured into his mind. Morgan’s lips parted from the rush of memories, his nose flaring slightly.

This man was his father.

King Aldren.

The Lion of Elaris.

The man who had united the Seven Great Houses without plunging the kingdom into civil war. The man who had ruled for nearly four decades.

The man Modric admired more than anyone.

Morgan felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest.

Morgan felt a mixture of foreign emotions.

Respect. Pride. Love.

Morgan closed his eyes, silently gritting his teeth.

"My name is Morgan Thane. Morgan Thane."

With every passing moment, it was slowly becoming harder and harder to maintain his sense of self.

A moment later, rhe king dismounted before the palace steps.

Rather than allowing servants to attend to him, he greeted the gathered soldiers first, exchanging a few quiet words with several veterans before making his way toward the stage.

The citizens cheered him on with genuine affection, the cheers turning into one guant roar that reverberated throughout the city.

Morgan quietly stared at the crowd feeling and inexplicable emotion, before turning to the man that was silently approaching him.

"These people...they trust him..."

King Aldren embraced Morgan without hesitation.

Morgan awkwardly returned the embrace, feeling a pang of regret.

The King stepped back, staring at him with a glint of unmistakable pride in his golden eyes.

"You’ve grown into quite the speaker,"

Morgan smiled warmly, shrugging slightly.

"I had an excellent teacher."

The older man laughed heartily, shaking his head.

"Excellent answer."

He rested a hand upon Morgan’s shoulder, turning to face the crowd.

"The people adore you."

"They adore us," Morgan corrected.

The king’s smile widened.

"Good answer."

Lysara bowed respectfully.

"Your Majesty."

"Lady Lysara."

He inclined his head warmly.

"I trust my son hasn’t overworked himself preparing tonight’s festivities."

"Only a little."

"I’m standing right here," Morgan protested.

Their quiet laughter blended effortlessly with the celebrations continuing around them.

For a fleeting moment...everything felt perfect.

The city pulsed with life beneath the endless canopy of stars. Music drifted through the streets, blending seamlessly with the laughter of children and the cheerful chatter of merchants.

Crystal lanterns floated lazily overhead, bathing Elaris in a warm golden glow.

It was peaceful. Beautiful. Alive.

But despite that Morgan couldn’t shake the cold sense of dread deep within him. He glanced around at the smiling faces in the crowd and the imposing procession of the King.

But even then, his heart was filled with a cold sense of foreboding.

Morgan couldn’t shake the cold knot tightening deep within his chest. His smile slowly faded. Something was wrong.

He simply couldn’t tell what.

His heart hammered loudly in his chest, the world seemingly going silent around him.

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

A strange unease settled over him.

Lysara noticed the subtle change in his expression.

Without a word, she slipped her hand around his arm, offering him a reassuring smile.

"Your Highness?"

Her voice was gentle.

"You’ve gone pale."

Morgan forced a faint smile in return.

"...I’m alright."

The lie felt hollow even to his own ears.

"Damn it..."

He slowly turned, his eyes sweeping across the enormous plaza.

His instincts had saved him countless times in the past and now they screamed at him in a hysterical frenzy.

Every time,he’d learned sometyjing new about the past of the Ralm Between, the past of the Zeregran Ranges and at this point, he was more than sure that something significant was going to happen at this point.

Morgan furrowed his eyebrows, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Thousands of smiling faces greeted him.

Children sat upon their fathers’ shoulders, waving tiny crystal lanterns through the air.

Couples laughed together beneath the starlight nightsky.

Old veterans shared drinks with young recruits.

Nothing looked out of place.

Nothing at all...

His gaze lingered on the royal procession.

The musicians continued their performance without missing a single note.

Everything...

Everything was exactly as it should be.

"So why..."

Morgan frowned.

"What am I missing?"

The sensation intensified.

After a while, an invisible weight slowly settled over the city.

Morgan slowly inhaled, closing his eyes.

"My Prince?"

He could almost imagine Lysara’s concerned gaze but he ignored her.

His breathing slowed. Then he opened his eyes.

His instincts continued to tingle restlessly even as he scanned every face in the crowd until...

His jaw tightened.

"No..."

He whispered.

"I’m looking in the wrong place."

Almost instinctively...his head tilted upward.

Toward the distant heavens.

The moment his eyes met the dark night sky—

A violent chill shot through his entire body.

His pupils contracted. His breath caught in his throat.

The celebration carried on, the people blissfully unaware.

Almost at the same time, the King’s gaze hardened, his eyes shifting to the heavens as well.

"...Father?"

King Aldren didn’t answer.

His gaze remained fixed upon the stars.

Several members of the Royal Guard followed his line of sight.

Tnen by one...their expressions hardened.

After a while...the entire atmosphere had changed.

The mountain breeze died without warning.

The lantern flames flickered eerily, ominously even.

Even the distant chime of the city’s bells seemed to fade into an unnatural silence.

The constellations remained unchanged. The moon still shone brightly.

And yet...

Something had appeared beyond them. At first it resembled another star. Then another. And another.

Tiny points of brilliant white light. Far too bright. Far too numerous.

And they were moving.

"What is happening..."Lysara whispered, voicing the thoughts of many those present.

The king’s jaw tightened.

A grim silence settled over the palace balcony.

A elderly member of the council stumbled forward dropping an ornate chalice to the ground.

Morgan spared him a cursory glance.

The old man’s face had gone deathly pale.

"Impossible..."

The old man’s voice trembled.

"They’ve returned."

The words were scarcely louder than a whisper, yet they struck the king like a physical blow.

King Aldren closed his eyes for the briefest moment.

When he opened them again, every trace of warmth had vanished.

He looked toward his son. Toward Prince Modric.

A moment later, he spoke with a calmness that frightened Morgan more than any shout could have.

"Modric. Find your mother. ""...Father?"

King Aldren didn’t answer.

His gaze remained fixed upon the stars.

Several members of the Royal Guard followed his line of sight.

One by one...

Their expressions hardened. Take Lysara...And leave the palace."

Morgan’s heartbeat quickened.

From Modric’s memories, Morgan was well aware of just howmonsrrous the king’s power was. But for him to simply tell him to leave...

Morgan’s turned back to the distant sky.

"Just who are they..."