CHAPTER SIX: THE ELITE FOUR

Long before the kingdom of Arondel was a name known across the world, before its rivers ran red with war or its banners fluttered proud in the winds of peace, there were whispers—whispers of those who walked in shadow and silence, who moved at the king's command and carried out his will with neither question nor hesitation. These whispers told of warriors unmatched, whose blades struck before one could draw breath to pray. These figures, cloaked in legend and mystery, came to be known as the Elite Four.

Few in the kingdom had seen their faces, fewer still lived to tell the tale, for their arrival was often a harbinger of death, a silent judgment passed upon those who dared defy the crown. But it was not always so. The origins of the Elite Four, like the roots of a great oak, stretched deep into the soil of Arondel’s past, entwined with the kingdom’s very foundations.

In the days when the land was still divided among warring lords and fickle alliances, the first king of Arondel, King Aldric the Wise, found himself beset on all sides. His rule was young, his throne unsteady, and his enemies many. He was no fool, however, and knew that the strength of arms alone would not suffice to bring peace to his fractured realm. He needed more than soldiers; he needed shadows—men and women of such skill and loyalty that they could bend the tides of history with the flick of a blade or the whisper of a word.

Thus, the Elite Four were born—not warriors in the conventional sense, but instruments of the king’s will. Each chosen not merely for their prowess in battle, but for their particular gifts that set them apart from any mere knight or mercenary. They were both sword and shield, law and executioner, the unseen hand that shaped the fate of the kingdom.

First among them was Helene of the Silver Blade*, the very name that had now cast its shadow over Rosé’s mission in Windermere. Born into a noble family known for their mastery of the sword, Helene’s path was shaped by steel from her earliest days. Yet it was not her lineage that set her apart, nor even her formidable skill with a blade. What made Helene truly fearsome was her unwavering loyalty—to the crown, to the kingdom, and to no one else.

Helene was a woman who had never known hesitation. When she drew her blade, it was not merely an act of aggression but an act of conviction. Her sword, named Vigilance, was said to cut through more than just flesh—it cleaved through lies, through illusions, through the very essence of a man’s will. No one who stood before Helene could maintain their falsehoods, for she would see through to the truth, whether by the edge of her sword or the cold steel of her eyes.

Her reputation grew not from the number of foes she felled, but from the few who dared stand before her at all. To see Helene approach was to know that judgment had been passed, that the king’s will would be done, and that resistance was naught but folly.

Next came Dorian the Silent, a man whose name was as much a mystery as his face, for none living had ever seen it. Some claimed he was a ghost, others a man born without a voice, but all knew him as the master of secrets. If Helene was the sword of the Elite Four, then Dorian was the dagger, unseen until it was too late.

Dorian was not a warrior in the traditional sense. He did not ride into battle with banners waving nor challenge foes to honorable duels. Instead, he moved in the shadows, slipping between the cracks of the world like smoke through a keyhole. He was the one who listened when others spoke, who watched when others turned away, and who acted when the time was right. His presence was a whisper in the dark, a shiver down the spine, and by the time one realized he was near, they were already at his mercy.

It was said that Dorian could walk into any fortress, pass through any wall, and hear the thoughts of any man. Whether this was truth or merely the embellishment of fearful minds, no one could say. But what was known for certain was that no secret was safe from him, and no plot could unfold without his knowledge.

To those who crossed the king, Dorian was not merely a threat but a force of inevitability. Plans, schemes, and betrayals crumbled before him like sand before the tide. And when the time came, his blade was as swift and silent as his name.

Third among the Elite Four was Morgaine of the Red Flame*, whose gift was not of steel or stealth, but of fire itself. The blood of ancient sorcerers ran in her veins, and with it, the power to command the very elements. In her youth, Morgaine had been feared, even reviled, for her abilities. Fire was a force of destruction, and where Morgaine walked, flames often followed. Yet, the king saw in her not a danger, but an asset—a weapon unlike any other.

Morgaine’s fire was not the wild, untamed blaze of a common flame, but a precise, controlled inferno. She could burn cities to the ground or light a single candle with equal ease. Her mastery over fire was absolute, and with it, she became the king’s wrath, unleashed upon those who dared threaten the realm. When the banners of rebellion were raised, it was Morgaine’s flames that scorched them from the earth. When the enemies of Arondel gathered in secret, it was her fire that reduced their plans to ash.

But Morgaine was more than just a wielder of destruction. She was also a keeper of knowledge, a scholar of the arcane, whose understanding of the ancient ways ran deeper than any in the kingdom. Her power was rooted not in brute force, but in the careful balance of knowledge and control. She was the fire that illuminated as well as the fire that consumed, and her loyalty to the crown burned as fiercely as her magic.

Last among the Elite Four was Luther the Immovable*, a man whose strength was legend, but whose presence was greater still. Where Helene was the precision of a sword and Dorian the subtlety of a dagger, Luther was a fortress unto himself, unyielding and indomitable.

Luther hailed from the northern reaches of the kingdom, where the mountains rose high and the winters were long. His people were known for their resilience, their ability to endure in the harshest of conditions, and Luther was the greatest of them all. It was said that no weapon could pierce his skin, no force could move him from his path. He was a living wall, a barrier between the king and any who would seek to do him harm.

In battle, Luther was a force of nature, his great axe sweeping through enemy ranks like a scythe through wheat. But it was not his strength alone that made him feared—it was his resolve. Luther did not bend, did not break, and did not retreat. When he was given a task, he completed it, no matter the cost, no matter the opposition. His loyalty to the king was absolute, his will as unshakable as the mountains from which he came.

But for all his might, Luther was also a man of principle, a warrior who believed in justice as much as he did in strength. He did not fight for the sake of bloodshed, but to protect the kingdom he loved. To him, the king was not merely a ruler, but the embodiment of order, and Luther would lay down his life to preserve that order.

Thus, the Elite Four stood—a balance of power and precision, of stealth and strength, of flame and steel. Each one a master in their own right, but together, they were something more—a force that transcended the ordinary, that existed to serve the will of the crown without question, without fail.

And now, the shadow of that force had fallen upon Windermere.

With Helene’s impending arrival, the village would soon come under the gaze of one who neither feared the mist nor cared for the plight of its people. Her mission would be clear: to restore order, to end the threat, and to do so by whatever means necessary.

Rosé knew that once Helene arrived, the investigation would no longer be about finding the missing children. It would be about silencing the disturbance, quelling the unrest, and delivering the king’s justice, swift and unforgiving. The mist would either reveal its secrets, or it would be destroyed along with everything it touched.

And in the end, it would be Helene’s blade—not the truth—that would carve the final chapter of Windermere’s story.