The Disappearances

The Cardanian Royal Court was louder than usual, a storm of voices crashing against the gilded walls of the Grand Hall. Nobles stood in clusters, their silken robes rustling, jewelry glittering beneath the chandeliers. Yet, today, the air was thick—not with the usual courtly games, but something far worse.

Fear.

At the head of the chamber, King Thomas Cassavine sat upon his high-backed throne, a silent observer to the growing unrest. His fingers rested against the gilded armrest, the only sign of his displeasure the faint tightening of his grip.

The murmurs in the chamber told him all he needed to know—his nobles were afraid.

"Your Majesty," a voice rang out above the noise — full of urgency.

Lord Alric Greaves, the official responsible for civil security, stepped forward at the center of the floor. His leather-bound ledger clutched tightly to his chest. "I bring grave news that requires immediate attention." He looked exhausted, dark circles marring his otherwise sharp face. "In the past two days, over fifty people have vanished—men, women, even children. Entire families, gone without a trace."

A ripple of unease passed through the nobles. Some exchanged glances: others muttered hurried prayers under their breath.

"Vanished?" came a voice from the crowd.

"In two days?"

Greaves gave a grave nod. "We have investigated each case thoroughly, but the scale of this… it's unprecedented."

The murmurs turned to shouts. Voices clashed from every corner of the room.

"Fifty? How can fifty disappear without a trace?"

"Could it be a rebellion?"

The murmurs rose into frantic whispers. 

Then, a sharper voice rang out, cutting through the mounting panic.

"This is no ordinary crime."

The nobles turned to face the speaker.

"It's them," Marquess Halvard Hestain declared with certainty. He was a grizzled man with salt-and-pepper hair and a permanent scowl etched into his face. "This is exactly what happened during the Black Vale Incident ten years ago. The disappearances… the silence... it's the same pattern."

A beat of silence. Then, chaos.

"Impossible!" a noble shouted.

"I thought the demons were long gone!"

"Gone?" The Marquess let out a hollow laugh. "You think they simply faded into the dark? They were never gone—only waiting."

King Thomas raised his hand, gesturing the crowd to be quiet. Then, he asked, "Lord Greaves, have you found evidence of demon activity?"

Greaves shook his head grimly. "No, Your Majesty. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Just… emptiness. Houses left untouched, meals still on tables, fires still burning in hearths."

"That's what makes it worse," the Marquess hastily exasperated. "The demons never leave traces. They simply… take."

The tension snapped like a taut string. The air thickened with dread, voices overlapping.

"I propose we dispatch our soldiers immediately," Halvard added, turning to the king. "Sweep the outer territories, seal the city gates, and—"

"That would be a waste of time." A single sound rang out--a low, lazy chuckle.

All eyes turned to Berith as he stepped forward from his place near the king's council. He had worn a dark, fitted coat embroidered with silver detailing, the crimson sash across his chest marking his station as The Duke of the Cardania Empire. 

"Your Grace," Marquess Halvard sneered, "if you have something to say, I suggest you make it worthwhile."

Berith's lips quirked into a smirk as his gaze flicked to him. "That's exactly what I intend to do." He turned to address the king directly. "Your Majesty, while the Marquess is eager to raise his sword and charge blindly into the unknown, I believe a more... measured approach is required."

"You speak as if this isn't urgent," Halvard barked.

Berith tilted his head, quirking a brow. "Oh, it is. But throwing soldiers at shadows? That is a fool's strategy." He paused, then added, "And I don't make a habit of indulging fools."

The insult landed. A few nobles inhaled sharply.

"Careful with your tongue, Your Grace," Halvard spat.

The Marquess bristled, but Berith had already turned back to the king. "If demons are responsible, Your Majesty, then we must be smarter than them." His face grew thoughtful. "Instead of scattering our forces across the empire, we need to identify where these disappearances are centered. Demons don't strike at random. They follow patterns—veins of old magic, weakened veils between worlds. If we study the locations of these disappearances, we will find their trail. And their weaknesses." 

Some of the more rational nobles nodded at his words.

"And what of the people still at risk?" Halvard snapped. "Do we let them vanish while you play strategist?"

Berith let out a short laugh, flinging his head back. "If you wish to send your men charging into the dark with nothing but torches and prayers, I won't stop you. But do not waste my time mourning them when the abyss swallows them whole." 

Halvard's hands curled into fists.

The tension thickened, curling through the air like smoke before a storm.

"Your Majesty," Berith stroked his chin with his hand. "I suggest we send scouts to key border towns — particularly those near abandoned shrines or old war sites. If demons are involved, they'll be drawn to places where past bloodshed lingers. In the meantime, restrict unnecessary travel and tighten the curfews."

"Letting them pick us off one by one is a death sentence," Halvard muttered bitterly.

Turning towards the Marquess, Berith glared him down with his dark black eyes. "Rushing headlong into darkness without understanding what you're fighting? That is a death sentence." 

For a long moment, the court held its breath, watching the tension coil between the two men.

A charged silence.

Then—the king spoke. "The Duke's reasoning is sound."

Halvard's face twisted in frustration, but he said nothing.

The king's gaze swept over the room, his voice carrying like a sharp blade slicing through the air. "We do not fight the unknown with blind steel—we fight it with precision. Duke Berith's plan will proceed. Those who object may find themselves answering for the lives we lose to folly."

His words settled over the court like a decree etched in stone.

The king gave a curt nod. "Send scouts to the border towns near abandoned shrines, old war sites—anywhere demons might gather. Increase patrols around the capital. No one leaves or enters without approval."

Lord Alric Greaves bowed deeply. "It will be done, Your Majesty."

And with that, the court was dismissed.

The nobles filed out, some whispering, others brooding in silence. 

The hunt had begun.