Chapter 12

Whispers of the Past and the Fear of the Unknown

The Royal Court of the Golden Kingdom was a grand hall, an embodiment of power and tradition, where only the highest in rank and wisdom gathered. The walls stretched high, adorned with golden murals of ancient battles and celestial blessings, bathed in the flickering light of enormous chandeliers. The air was thick with authority, the kind that pressed upon the shoulders of all who dared to enter.

At the farthest end of the chamber, upon the Golden Throne, sat King Aldric. His face, carved with the weight of a thousand decisions, was unreadable as he listened to the murmurs of his court. Beside him, Queen Dowgar, her gaze sharp as polished steel, sat in her adorned seat, her presence as commanding as the King himself.

Below them, two smaller thrones were positioned on either side of the hall.

On the right, Prince Derek sat rigid, his back straight, his piercing blue eyes surveying the gathering like a soldier studying the battlefield. His dark blue robe, trimmed in gold, clung to his broad frame, a silent symbol of his status as the Crown Prince.

On the left, Prince Cason lounged, though his casual posture was deceptive. The quiet gleam in his emerald eyes betrayed the sharp mind beneath, ever watchful, ever calculating. His fingers tapped idly against the armrest, as if already predicting how this meeting would unfold.

Fourteen Court Officials sat below them in two parallel rows, their robes of deep crimson and silver marking their status. These were the minds behind the kingdom's governance—strategists, scholars, advisors—all present to discuss matters of state.

The murmurs of low conversation hushed as Mawi, the King's messenger, entered.

The atmosphere shifted.

Something was wrong.

Mawi walked with the weight of a man carrying troubling news. His dark robes swayed as he knelt before the throne, pressing his forehead to the gleaming marble floor.

"Your Majesty. Your Highnesses. Esteemed council." His voice, though steady, carried an unmistakable urgency. "I bring grave news."

A deep silence settled over the chamber.

The King's expression remained unreadable, but his voice was firm.

"Speak."

Mawi took a steadying breath.

"There has been a disturbance," he began, his gaze flicking to the officials. "The wendigo spirits have infiltrated the human kingdom."

The words sent a ripple of unease through the hall. Some officials stiffened; others exchanged quiet, uncertain glances.

Derek's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, resting against his side. "That is impossible," he stated, his voice cold with disbelief. "The Moon Goddess sealed the mystical realm from the human world a thousand years ago."

"And yet, Your Highness," Mawi said, "they are here."

A hush fell over the court.

"The attacks began on the eastern outskirts," Mawi continued, his voice grave. "Villagers whisper of people consumed by an insatiable hunger, their eyes turning black as they feast upon the flesh of their own kin."

Someone gasped.

A few officials looked away, muttering prayers beneath their breath.

Cason, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his voice calm but edged with knowledge.

"The Wendigo is a malevolent spirit, one that does not simply kill but possesses." His emerald gaze swept over the court, calculating. "It feeds on hunger—turning man into beast."

Derek's jaw tightened.

"How many have been afflicted?" he asked.

"We do not know the full number," Mawi admitted, "but already, bodies have been found. Ravaged beyond recognition."

A murmur of alarm spread through the officials.

Then the King spoke.

His voice was quiet, but the weight of his authority silenced the room.

"How did they get in?"

Mawi hesitated.

Then, carefully, he said, "The border has been breached."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Derek's head snapped toward Mawi, his blue eyes sharp and alert.

"What did you say?"

Mawi straightened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Someone crossed the border from our world into the mystical realm."

The King's expression darkened, and a slow, heavy tension settled over the court.

One of the older officials stood, his wrinkled hands trembling as he spoke.

"That is not possible. The Moon Goddess placed the barrier to protect us. No human can pass through it."

"And yet, someone has." Mawi's voice did not waver.

A fearful murmur spread among the officials.

The King's fingers tightened around the armrest of his throne.

"If that is true," he said, his tone grave, "then the balance is already beginning to crumble."

Another official, a man with graying hair and deep-set eyes, spoke cautiously.

"Your Majesty… we must ask ourselves who was able to do such a thing."

The King's gaze sharpened.

"The Moon Goddess's barrier was made to separate humans from the mystical world forever. It would not open for just anyone."

A heavy pause.

"The one who crosses the border… is the one destined to break the Devil's curse."

A deep, unsettling silence fell over the court.

Somewhere in the farthest corner, a candle flickered, its flame wavering as if shaken by the very words spoken.

Mawi's voice grew lower.

"There is an old legend," he murmured, "of how the Devil was born."

The officials stiffened.

"We all know of the Great War, the day Lucifer fell. His fury spread through the mystical world, driving creatures into madness, tearing the earth apart with bloodshed."

Derek's hands tightened around the armrests of his chair.

Mawi pressed on.

"But what the legends do not tell… is what became of him after."

The shadows in the room seemed to darken.

"When Lucifer was defeated, the Moon Goddess shattered his power—splitting his heart into four and burying them in the corners of the world."

"Without his heart, Lucifer could not die—but he could not live."

"So in his weakness, he found a vessel."

The air grew heavy.

"A boy."

Some of the officials exchanged confused looks.

Mawi continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

"A boy was murdered that night. Brutally slain by his own father in the depths of a forest. His body was lifeless, forgotten."

A shudder passed through the room.

"But something entered him."

The King's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

Mawi looked up, his expression unreadable.

"Lucifer's spirit did not die that day."

"It transmigrated."

"It entered the body of that dead boy—and the Devil was reborn."

A cold, heavy silence followed.

No one spoke.

No one breathed.

Because for the first time in a thousand years…

The Devil's true origin was whispered within these walls.

Derek's jaw tightened.

The King's voice was ice.

"If someone has crossed the border…" He exhaled slowly, his knuckles white.

"Then the one destined to break the curse… has already awakened the Devil."

The officials, as one, bowed their heads.

A murmur rose from them, a desperate, fearful chant.

"Don't let the Devil invade us."

"Don't let the Devil invade us."

But somewhere in the shadows, unseen, unheard…

The Devil was already here.

Watching.

Waiting.