Chapter 141: Destiny
Compared to the chaos brewing outside the castle walls, the interior of the royal Eldros stronghold exuded an eerie and unsettling calm—like the eye of a hurricane.
Guards clad in polished, ornamental armor stood at attention, their spines as rigid as spears, eyes blank behind visors that gleamed under the soft glow of enchanted chandeliers. They were like statues—beautiful but empty, their stillness mocking the turmoil beyond the walls.
Within the grand halls, ministers and courtiers wandered freely, dressed in layers of silk and jewels that caught the flickering firelight. Their laughter rang through the gilded corridors, echoing off marble columns and stained glass murals. Goblets filled with rich, spiced wine clinked in celebratory toasts. Murmurs of gossip and indulgent banter passed from one smiling face to the next, as if the capital wasn’t on the verge of annihilation.
It was almost as if they existed in a bubble sealed off from reality—a realm where death was merely a rumor, and despair, an unpleasant myth.
At the heart of this illusion, in the inner sanctum of the royal chambers, sat Roosevelt Eldros—the king of Eldros and father of Darius. Draped in flowing robes laced with golden thread, he reclined on a high-backed throne shaped from blackwood and obsidian, his posture as relaxed as if he were overseeing a festival, not a kingdom in collapse.
An indifferent smile curved his lips, but his eyes, sharp and calculating, betrayed a storm of thoughts beneath.
In his hands, he cradled two slender wooden sticks—each inscribed with faintly glowing runic symbols. The air around the sticks shimmered faintly, charged with a mysterious energy.
As Roosevelt gently rubbed his fingers along the surface, the runes began to shift—rearranging, reforming, aligning with a will of their own. Bit by bit, the fragments fused into an abstract image.
Lines extended and intersected, and what first appeared to be nothing but gibberish slowly transformed into something more focused... something insect-like. A long, curved shape took form—narrow and sharp at the tip.
A mosquito’s proboscis.
The king narrowed his eyes, bringing the strange relic closer to his face. The subtle scent of old wood and spiritual residue wafted up as he studied it in silence.
"What is this?" Roosevelt muttered, voice edged with confusion but also a flicker of unease. His tone was calm, yet the frown that crept onto his face betrayed otherwise.