“You called for me.”
Sapphira’s voice glided through the hallowed air of the sacred hall, soft yet unyielding. She moved with the grace of a swan and the silent weight of royalty, her long black hair trailing like starlight behind her. Her wings—iridescent with a faint shimmer of gold, due to the candlelights—were folded neatly against her back, giving her the look of a statue carved from divine marble.
Alexander’s breath caught as she passed. For a moment, his practiced composure cracked, unable to withstand the sheer radiance of the woman before him. Sapphira wasn’t simply beautiful—she was transcendent. And it vexed him that even after all this time, her presence still had the power to stagger him.
He straightened, voice sharp with a mix of passion and frustration.
“I honestly don’t see why you remain in a land where your wings are nothing more than ornaments! Back home—in your true homeland—you would soar above the clouds. You were never meant to be caged among mortals, bound to earth like a commoner. Can’t you see? All you do here is walk… when you were born to fly!”
Sapphira inhaled slowly and made her way to the throne at the end of the hall, its ivory inlays catching the light like frost. She sat with the dignity of a queen, her eyes cold and unreadable.
“Is this why you summoned me?” she asked, her tone devoid of surprise.
Alexander’s brows drew together.
“If you come with us willingly, the child in your womb will be spared. Not only spared—he shall be born into greatness, given the title of prince.” He stepped forward, a grin playing at his lips like the edge of a blade. “Surely, a prince of the empire is a greater legacy than the heir to a mere duke?”
Shing!
The edge of Galanar’s greatsword sang as he drew it partially from its sheath, the air itself recoiling from the steel’s presence. But before he could act, Sapphira raised a single hand, her fingers elegant and unmoving. The unspoken command halted him at once.
Her gaze did not waver.
“My answer remains unchanged.” Her voice was calm, but a hard edge crept in, slicing through the air like a blade. “And God knows—your words, spoken here, before the eyes of my men, have earned you a death sentence. You would dare lay claim to the Duke’s wife… and his child.”
“Such audacity,” Mia hissed from beside the throne, her eyes blazing with fury.
Sapphira rose with slow deliberation, her wings flaring slightly as if in warning.
“Leave. And do not return.”
Alexander’s eyes twitched, a flicker of emotion darkening his expression.
“I feared you’d say that.”
A tremor ran through the hall. The distant echo of war—steel clashing, cries erupting—grew louder, crashing through the silence like thunder.
Gasps rang through the room. Knights reached for their weapons. All save one.
Alexander.
He stood perfectly still, watching her as though he had already won.
“What have you done?!” Sapphira demanded, her voice shaking with fury.
He chuckled, stepping back, his eyes glinting.
“What I must. To take back our brainwashed future ruler.”
BOOM!
The massive oak doors exploded inward, ripped from their hinges and hurled across the floor as though made of parchment.
Framed by the broken entry stood a towering figure—eight feet of hulking muscle, clad in weather-beaten plate armor etched with jagged runes. His long white hair spilled down his back like a snowy river, and a trimmed white beard framed his chiseled jaw.
In one hand, he dragged a broadsword with a blade as wide as a man’s chest, its edges gleaming with a dull, unnatural light. In the other, he held the limp body of a Gray Knight—his armor cleaved clean through as if it were paper. Blood dripped onto the sacred tiles.
Galanar’s heart clenched. His brothers—his comrades—lay behind the giant, their bodies still and broken. Not even their famed dwarven-forged armor had saved them.
Shing!
With a roar, Galanar drew his sword fully, a violent wind swirling around him as his fury took form.
“How dare you?!” he bellowed, his eyes ablaze with raw grief and fury.
The massive man sneered.
“How dare I?” he echoed mockingly. Then his voice dropped, grave and slow. “Do you not know who I am… child?”
He stepped forward, his aura crashing down like a tidal wave. But before he could reach Galanar, a shield wall of Gray Knights surged in, flanking their commander, blades drawn and faces grim.
Behind them, Sapphira stood frozen, one hand clutching her chest. Her pupils quivered as she felt the man’s presence press down on her soul.
‘His force… it’s like a vast river…’
And then, before their eyes, the man shifted.
His form twisted, cracked, and shifted until he stood wearing a different face—Galanar’s face.
The hall trembled with murmurs and gasps. Mia covered her mouth. Even the knights flinched.
Still grinning, the imposter chuckled.
“I am the Nameless Knight,” he declared, voice booming like a drum of war. “I stand at the top of this world in might—and for that, Boundless has crowned me the Fifth Titled Knight.”
He turned to Sapphira, his tone softer, almost reverent.
“I have come for you, My Lady.”
“My Lady!” Mia cried, pointing toward the great stained glass window behind them.
Sapphira turned—and her blood turned to ice.
Above the city, a monstrous flying ship hovered in the sky like a mechanical god. From its many glowing ports, beams of destructive energy shot downward, raining fire and annihilation.
Boom. Boom. Boom!
Explosions tore through streets, temples, gardens—entire blocks reduced to rubble and flame. Screams filled the air as white stone turned black with soot and blood.
The beams of the magical cannons swept across Paradise like the hand of divine wrath, and though thousands of Templars and Gray Knights surged forward to defend their home, the ship hovered too high—untouchable, a monster from the age beyond.
Sapphira’s face twisted in agony.
“You’re killing thousands of innocent people!” she cried, her voice raw and torn.
Alexander’s face was maddeningly calm.
“A necessary distraction… to keep your troops and your city occupied while we claim what is ours.”
“ARGH!”
Galanar roared, launching himself at Gerald with fury that cracked the stone beneath his boots. A dozen Gray Knights charged with him, their armor shining, their spirits blazing—ready to give everything.
And behind them, Sapphira stood still, her wings slowly beginning to rise, her eyes locked on the enemy who dared to destroy the dream she built with Asher.