The Meeting

When I grow up, I want to be part of the royal guard!" Zion declared, his voice brimming with excitement.

The King's strongest Royal Guards, known as "The Three Wings of Darkness," are formidable warriors in the king's alliance. Ruthless and unwaveringly loyal, they showno mercy and obey without question. Rumors whispered that they reveled in bloodshed and always accomplished their missions, no matter the cost. It was no wonder that few dared to defy the king.

"That's why people like me would never dream of overthrowing him," said Yasuo Kyomu, a tall, muscular man with pale skin and jet-black hair. A skilled blacksmith from Emberfall, Yasuo now traveled the nation in search of better opportunities.

"Satsuki Shinra is my favorite," Zion said enthusiastically. "They say he uses a spear that can pierce through anything."

Azare snorted. "The royal guard? Why would you want to join those pretentious losers? All they do is strut around in fancy uniforms. When's the last time a war broke out between kingdoms?"

Zion, four years younger but just as stubborn, glared at him. "The royal guard are the strongest warriors in the kingdom! Don't talk bad about them!"

"Zion's right," Edmond interjected, his calm tone cutting through their bickering. "You shouldn't speak ill of the royal guard, Azare."

Azare shrugged. "Whatever. It's not like they care about people like us."

"How about this," Edmond said, a knowing smile on his face. "We go to the city today."

"You guys can go. I'm getting ready to leave for the Kingdom of Sierra," Yasuo said.

"Take me with you!" Zion blurted out.

Azare frowned. "For what? All the people in the city do is look down on us like we're beneath them."

Edmond's expression turned serious. "Azare, intelligent minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Weak minds discuss people. Don't waste your energy on what others say about you. They lack the wisdom to see your worth."

Zion grinned. "Wow, Uncle Edmond, you're really smart!"

Azare sighed. "Fine, we'll go. But we're not staying long."

As Edmond, Zion, and Azare headed toward Celeste, the capital of Avarice and the nearest city to Emberfall, Yasuo began his journey to the Kingdom of Sierra.

The dirt road to Celeste was quiet, lined with ancient trees whose branches wove together like a canopy. As they approached the city gates, the air grew heavier, carrying the hum of distant voices and the metallic tang of industry. The golden crests of the gates gleamed in the sunlight, a stark reminder of the kingdom's wealth and power.

Meanwhile, in the council chamber of the royal palace, King Vlad Tenebris sat at the head of a long table, his expression unreadable. The room buzzed with tension as his advisors debated the kingdom's future.

"Sire, as you know, the economic state of the city has been declining," Count Todo said, his long mustache twitching with every word. "We are in a dire situation."

"I am aware of that fact," Vlad replied coldly. "But let us not exaggerate. Our city is far from ruin, Count Todo. We are still wealthy beyond measure."

A severely obese man leaned forward, his rings clinking against the table. "I say we do something about those villagers near the forest. They come here to steal and contribute nothing to the city's economy.

I say we turn them to slaves that way they can contribute to our city."

Vlad's expression darkened. "No one will be enslaved in my Kingdom? They are part of the Kingdom of Avarice. That is where I stand. If you disagree, you are in the wrong council Clovus. Do I make myself clear?"

Clovus swallowed nervously. "Y-yes, my liege."

Vlad leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. Nearby, a white owl with four black eyes perched silently, tilting its head as if judging the room.

As the council meeting concluded and the members dispersed, Vlad remained seated, his hand resting on the arm of his throne. The words of the prophecy echoed in his mind: a figure cloaked in black flames, bringing ruin to the world. He clenched his jaw. "No prophecy will dictate my fate," he muttered under his breath.

The trio passed through the grand marble gates into the heart of Celeste, immediately feeling out of place. Polished streets, glittering storefronts, and bustling crowds painted a picture of opulence far removed from their reality.

"Welcome to Celeste, boys," Edmond said, forcing a cheerful tone. "How about we find something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," muttered Azare, his eyes darting to the well-dressed citizens passing by. Their judgmental stares bore into him like knives, making him shift uncomfortably.

Zion remained quiet but clenched his fists, his jaw tight with frustration.

They rounded a corner and stopped in front of a bakery, the warm glow from its windows spilling onto the street. The aroma of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the air, but Azare already felt unwelcome.

The bell above the bakery door jingled as they entered. Behind the counter stood a tall, wiry man with sharp features and a scowl that deepened as his gaze fell on them.

"I'm sorry," the man said curtly, his disdain evident. "We're sold out. Not that you could afford anything here, anyway."

"Excuse me?" Edmond asked, his voice tight as he struggled to contain his frustration.

"I think you heard me," the baker sneered, his eyes sweeping over their tattered clothes before turning away dismissively.

Without another word, the trio left, the door slamming shut behind them.

"This is exactly what I said would happen," Azare muttered bitterly, clenching his fists.

As they walked back through the streets, their stomachs empty and spirits low, they came across a grand carriage parked nearby. Inside sat a corpulent man, his face buried in a slice of cake. Baskets of bread and pastries surrounded him in decadent excess.

The man paused mid-bite, noticing them staring. "What are you looking at, peasants?" he barked, crumbs flying from his mouth.

Azare froze, his blood boiling at the insult. The man's audacity—gorging himself while others starved—sent a surge of anger through him.

Before Azare could react, Zion stepped forward, seething with rage. He picked up a rock from the street and hurled it with all his might. The stone struck true, landing squarely in the man's face.

A sickening thud echoed as the man yelped, clutching his nose as blood began to seep through his fingers.

"You filthy brats!" he screamed, his voice muffled by pain. Nearby guards turned toward the commotion, their eyes locking onto the trio.

"Run," Edmond hissed, grabbing Azare and Zion by the arms.

They darted into a nearby alley, disappearing into the shadows as the sound of pursuing footsteps grew louder behind them.