Monumental decision- to shape the new world

The royal gates of Dravos creaked open, their towering wooden beams parting with an almost ceremonial grace. The emblem of House Vale—a fierce dragon—stood proudly on the gates, unfurling its wings as if to challenge the world. Above it, the flag of the Vale family rippled in the cold wind, its dragon symbol still commanding reverence. It was a reminder of their victories, their history, their pride. But for King Darion Vale, the sight was bittersweet. The pride he felt upon seeing his homeland once again quickly crumbled under the weight of the people's anger.

The city, bustling as ever, was no longer the place he had left. People lined the streets in angry mobs, their faces gaunt and eyes filled with rage and hunger. The city watch worked desperately to maintain order, holding back the crowd as the King and his small party made their way toward the palace gates. The people were restless, and Darion could feel their resentment cutting through the air like a blade. His chest tightened, the proud feeling he'd had moments ago slipping through his fingers. If the people were given a chance, the King knew they would tear him apart, and the city would likely burn with it.

Kaelor, walking silently by Darion's side, scanned the crowd with a keen eye. He saw what the King couldn't quite grasp: the hunger, the desperation, the deep-seated bitterness. Kaelor's gaze softened with an old ache—he, too, had once been among them. The common folk. Those who had no power, no influence. Those who went hungry during war, those who lost everything when a kingdom crumbled. He could still remember the look in their eyes when they spoke of war's toll, of a life lived on the edge of survival. The feeling was all too familiar. He had felt it before, a lifetime ago, and now, he felt it again.

The Commander's shoulders sagged slightly as they passed the crowd, his shame gnawing at him. They had promised so much, told them they would return victorious. They had told the people that the war would be over, that prosperity would come. But now they had returned in defeat, their words empty. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

At last, they reached the palace, and the sight of his brother waiting at the gates lifted Kaelor's spirits. His brother's face lit up when he saw him, and he rushed toward him, his arms wide. The two embraced in a tight hug, one of those rare moments of warmth in an otherwise cold world. Kaelor, relieved to see his brother safe, clapped him on the back before pulling away. But then he noticed something—his brother wasn't the same. He was missing and arm

"What happened?" Kaelo's brother asked, his voice trembling with concern.

His brother's face hardened. "Nothing," kaelor replied. It happen when i accidentaly sliped my finger while sraping some fruits.

"Kaelor brother said now's not the time for jokes," , a slight edge in his voice.

Kaelor, trying to mask the awkwardness, shrugged. "It's not a joke. Said the commander Kaelor lost his arm trying to save me." He looked at his brother, his words laced with gratitude and guilt. "He sacrificed it for me."

The moment hung heavy in the air, and Kaelor's brother fell silent. They all walked into the palace together, the sounds of the angry crowd outside fading as they moved deeper into the heart of the castle. But even inside, the weight of the unrest still loomed large. The tension in the air was palpable.

Later that day, King Darion called for an urgent meeting of the King's Council. The room was heavy with the presence of powerful men and women, each of them crucial to the kingdom's survival. The council was made up of Darion's most trusted officials: the Commander of the King's Guard, the General of the Army (Kaelor), the Hand of the Kingdom—who had once served Darion's father and had been left to manage the capital in his absence—the Master of Finance, and, of course, Darion himself.

The meeting started with Darion's declaration, one that sent ripples of surprise through the room. "I'm going to wield Kuroketsu," he said.

A sharp silence followed, thick with disbelief. Kaelor stood up immediately, his brow furrowing as concern overtook him. "Are you out of your mind, boss?" he asked, his voice rising with alarm. "You can't wield it. It'll kill you!"

The Hand of the Kingdom, the Master of Finance, and everyone else in the room exchanged uneasy glances. They all understood the significance of the King's words. Kuroketsu was no ordinary weapon. It was a cursed blade, a black katana of unimaginable power, and its spiritual aura—its orin—was beyond anything any man could bear. The sword was alive, in a sense, and it chose its master. If it did not deem you worthy, it would kill you.

The King's eyes narrowed, his voice steely with resolve. "It's our only option."

Kaelor shook his head, his worry deepening with every passing second. "You know what happens if the sword doesn't choose you. It'll drain your life. Kuroketsu has a will of its own. If it doesn't see you worthy, it will break you."

The King's gaze was unyielding. "This is my final decision. I will wield Kuroketsu tonight. Meeting dismissed."

As the room emptied, Kaelor walked quickly to Darion's side, his voice quieter now. "You know your father was a great warrior. Even he wasn't chosen by the sword. He tried to wield it on his deathbed, just to confirm that he was the one... but it didn't choose him."

The King paused, his face tightening with emotion. "So, you think I'm not a great warrior?" His voice was quiet but sharp.

Kaelor exhaled, his voice softer now, filled with unspoken regret. "That's not what I meant, boss. And you know it."

Later that night, in the stillness of the palace, Darion stood before Kuroketsu. The sword lay on the table, its black blade glinting faintly in the dim light. Kaelor stood at the corner of the room, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. The Hand of the Kingdom, ever vigilant, watched in silence, his expression unreadable.

The King reached out with one hand, gripping the hilt of the blade. His other hand hovered over the sheath, as if preparing to make the final decision. The room was thick with an unsettling energy. A tense, suffocating silence filled the space. Darion whispered something to the sword, words that only the blade could understand. The pressure in the room increased exponentially. The Hand of the Kingdom staggered, unable to bear the weight of the spiritual force emanating from the sword. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air.

Kaelor squinted against the rising darkness. Black smoke poured from the sword, filling the room with an oppressive aura. The candles flickered and then went out entirely, leaving them in complete darkness. Kaelor's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel it. The air itself seemed to thicken. The tension was unbearable.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Kaelor opened his eyes and saw Darion standing tall, the sword in hand. The black katana had chosen him.

Kaelor's mind raced. What would this mean for the kingdom? What would happen now? The future felt uncertain, and Darion's survival was no longer guaranteed. Yet, in that moment, all Kaelor could do was watch—his future, their kingdom's future—resting on the edge of a sword.