Chapter 24

The grand dining hall of Velmor was deathly silent. The torches flickered uneasily, casting long, restless shadows across the towering stone pillars. King Eldors sat frozen at the head of the table, gripping the edge as if the polished wood might anchor him in reality.

Because reality, as he knew it, had just collapsed.

For years, he had navigated fragile alliances, played political games, and avoided outright destruction by balancing on a knife's edge. But nothing—not diplomacy, not strategy, not even divine blessings—had prepared him for this moment.

"You're serious?" he finally managed, though his voice came out strained, barely more than a whisper. "You truly believe you can win?"

Krios, ever the warrior, flashed a grin. "Would I joke about war?"

Eldors squinted. "I don't know. Would you?"

Krios gave an exaggerated shrug. "Fair point."

The king exhaled sharply and turned his gaze to Raezel and Nyssa, but his fingers tightened against the wood, his knuckles paling. He had ruled for decades. Commanded armies. Signed pacts that determined the fate of thousands. But under Medusa's gaze, he felt small.

Still, he forced himself to speak.

"I do not question your strength… but Arathis is not some backwater kingdom." He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Their trade alone is valued at two trillion gold coins annually. Their soldiers are trained beyond human limits, their rulers backed by divine favor. Their merchants control half the continent's economy, and they are blessed by Apollo himself. If they wish to crush Velmor, they will crush Velmor."

He hesitated, then added, voice lowering—

"They have done it before."

Nyssa's gaze sharpened. "Explain."

Eldors exhaled, his grip on the table turning his fingers bone-white.

"Arathis is not a nation." His voice dropped to something quieter, heavier. "It is a machine."

The hall seemed to shrink around them.

"In the last war, they slaughtered an entire city in a single night." Eldors' breath hitched, his eyes flickering as if recalling something best left buried. "No survivors. No resistance. Just fire and silence."

A long pause.

Then—Medusa spoke.

"Eldors."

The room dimmed. Not from magic, but from something far worse. The air grew heavier, thick with an unseen force that made the very stone walls seem to bow in submission. The flickering torches withered in their sconces, their flames shrinking as if afraid.

A cold bead of sweat slid down Eldors' temple.

He willed himself not to react, but his fingers trembled against the polished wood. His instincts screamed at him to look away. To lower his gaze and submit. He nearly did.

But some fragile, foolish part of him resisted.

"You doubt them?" Medusa's voice was soft, yet it sliced through the silence like a blade pressed to his throat.

Eldors swallowed. His tongue felt like sandpaper. Medusa leaned forward, resting her chin on the back of her hand, her gaze never leaving him. The table between them felt insignificant, as if it offered no real barrier to the force of her presence.

"Tell me, King Eldors," Medusa murmured, indulgent yet warning.

She did not need to prove her children's worth. She only needed to speak it into existence. Yet beneath her poised expression, something else lurked—something colder. Something wounded.

Her fingers curled against the polished wood. The torches flickered again. The storm in her golden irises deepened.

Nyssa and Krios exchanged a glance—they recognized the warning signs. Even Raezel, unreadable as ever, tensed slightly.

Then, Medusa smiled.

It was slow.

It was knowing.

And it carried doom.

"Very well, King of Velmor," she said, voice like silk woven around steel. "Since you doubt my children's ability, allow me to give you a demonstration."

She turned her gaze to Raezel, Nyssa, and Krios. ""You will reclaim Velmor with your own hands, without the weight of my name to shield you."

The air shifted. The silence thickened. Even the torches seemed to recoil.

"My name will not be used. My influence will not be your shield. You will complete this task on your own. And when you succeed…" Her eyes flickered back to Eldors, unreadable, powerful. "…the world will learn that the children of Medusa are not feared because of me. They are feared because of who they are."

Nyssa exhaled slowly, smirking. "Very well."

Raezel's golden eyes gleamed. "Understood."

Krios chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Now this? This is a challenge."

And just like that—the game had begun.

***

Velmor was worse than they had imagined.

Nyssa, Krios, and Raezel had prepared for obstacles—corrupt trade routes, political instability, maybe even economic struggles.

Instead, they found nothing.

No resources.

No allies.

No army.

Velmor was not a kingdom. It was a failed project held together by luck and prayers.

Nyssa sat in the so-called Royal Strategy Hall, which was really just a dusty old chamber with a cracked table and some maps that looked like they had been drawn by a drunken toddler.

She pressed her fingers to her temples. "You mean to tell me… there is nothing to sell? Not even salt?"

King Eldors, looking oddly proud, straightened. "We have… hope?"

Nyssa blinked. Then, very calmly, she said, "Hope isn't a tradeable commodity."

Raezel, rubbing his temples, exhaled slowly. "Alright. How do you feed your people?"

One of the Velmorian officials hesitated. "…We… try our best?"

Nyssa' eye twitched. "Try your best?! TRY YOUR BEST?! That's not a strategy—that's a death sentence!"

Nyssa buried her face in her hands. "How… HOW have you survived this long?!"

King Eldors, still dead serious: "Because no one wants to waste time conquering us."

Meanwhile, Krios inspected Velmor's army—or what passed for one.

Ten of them were old farmers holding pitchforks.

Twelve were kids, none of them armed.

Twenty-two were barely trained, most of them visibly terrified.

And the remaining one was a retired mercenary—the most powerful soldier, and also the Commander of Velmor's army.

Krios folded his arms, his gaze sweeping over the ragtag group. "Where… where is the rest?" he asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

The General shuffled awkwardly, his gaze flickering from side to side. "Uh... This is all we have."

Krios blinked, his eyes widening in shock. "Wait. WAIT. WHAT?!"

He sank down onto a nearby rock, clearly in need of a moment to process what he'd just seen.

Later that day, Raezel, however, remained eerily calm. He had known Velmor was weak, but even he hadn't expected it to be this dire. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, his expression unreadable.

The challenge ahead hadn't changed.

"We'll fix this," he said, his voice unwavering, carrying a weight of quiet resolve.

Nyssa gave him a sharp look, one eyebrow arched as if she didn't quite believe him. "And how, dear brother, do you propose we fix a kingdom that is—by every definition—a disaster?"

Raezel's smirk spread slowly across his face, his golden eyes gleaming with an almost dangerous confidence. He stood taller, the weight of his words making his next statement all the more potent.

"Fix it?" He echoed her question with a quiet laugh. "No, sister. We will make Velmor something worth fearing."