On the balcony of a towering castle, a cripple sat motionless upon a wooden wheelchair, his black garments melding into the shadowed stone behind him.
His gaze drifted beyond the battlements, over the sprawling city that stretched like a sea of gray and gold to the distant walls at the horizon’s edge.
The endless blue sky above, dotted with languid clouds, was mirrored in his black-flecked eyes—eyes lost in the memory of a strange encounter from only moments before.
The man he had seen… could it truly have been Him?
Step. Step.
The soft, deliberate tread of polished shoes against stone pulled Vladimir from his reverie.
He turned his head stiffly, and the tension in his sharp-featured face softened slightly at the sight of the man approaching—a butler, cloaked in quiet dignity.
It was Ned, the stalwart servant who had once tended to his father, and now, to him.
Shoulder-length brown hair streaked with the faintest gray, a neatly trimmed beard, and a dark coat draped over immaculate butler’s attire—he carried himself with the kind of gravity that could only be earned through decades of service.
“My Lord, you seem troubled,” Ned said, voice calm and heavy with seasoned wisdom.
Vladimir chuckled bitterly, a sound more hollow than amused. His fingers flexed faintly atop the arms of his chair.
“Why shouldn’t I be, when a great army bears down upon our gates?”
He lifted his gaze to the drifting clouds again, his eyes flickering with a hidden fire.
“Who would have thought… that my father, great as he was, could fall so easily?”
Ned stepped to the parapet’s edge, the wind pulling faintly at his coat as he gazed out over the bustling castle grounds.
“Anyone can die, My Lord. Anywhere, at any time. It matters not your personal strength, your command of thousands, or your standing among kings. Death is no respecter of power—and that is what makes it the most fearsome force in this world.”
Vladimir’s brow tightened, his jaw clenching.
“You mean to tell me… there’s no such thing as absolute strength?”
Ned exhaled slowly, a grim smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
“If there were, your father would still sit upon his throne. Duke Asher—the warlord feared across the empire—would not have fallen, nor would his fabled floating city have been torn from the skies by a cabal of fairies. King Reuel himself would not have knelt, surrendering his ambitions to serve another.”
Ned’s gaze shifted downward, to the castle gates.
Below, a river of black surged outward—the Dark Skies.
Over four thousand elite archers, clad in studded leather so fine it gleamed even under the muted sun, marched with mechanical precision toward Castle Black—the last bastion standing between the Nubis domain and the approaching United Army.
The enemy had already conquered two cities; now, they marched for the gates of history itself.
Castle Black, the oldest fortress in their lands, second only to Castle Nubis, would hold fast.
Even in victory, the enemy would pay dearly in blood—and in time bought, enough perhaps to turn the tide.
The Nubis Dukedom had stood for over eight centuries, its roots buried deep in the earth. Its people were resilient, shaped by hardship and bound by tradition.
House Ashbourne was also that old, but they had never possessed the raw, searing pride that House Nubis wielded like a weapon.
It was that unbreakable spirit that had drawn the gaze—and fear—of Prince Aaron.
It was why Nubis bled now.
“Ned…” Vladimir’s voice was low, laden with the weight of a decision not yet made.
The butler turned, his eyes soft with concern.
“I saw Duke Asher,” Vladimir said slowly, each word like a stone thrown into a still pond.
“This was the first time I entered another’s subconscious… and found them unconscious. By all signs, he is close to death.”
Ned’s eyes widened, shock flashing through his seasoned composure.
Vladimir continued, his voice almost a whisper.
“So tell me… now that I have seen the man who struck down my brother, lying defenseless, a single sword stroke away from oblivion… what should I do?”
For a long moment, Ned said nothing. The only sound was the sigh of the wind.
Then he spoke, his voice steady as the stones beneath them.
“Help him.”
He paused, ensuring the word sank deep.
“We both know—through all the years your brother lived—you were disregarded. Even by your own father. Your brother mocked you before the banners of our house, laughing at your limp, your chair, your supposed weakness. And we both know…” Ned’s eyes sharpened, “that when he died, you found a grim sort of relief.”
Vladimir’s eyebrow arched faintly.
“You’re… astute.”
Ned snorted, folding his arms.
“I simply know you well, My Lord. If you save Duke Asher, you’ll do what no Duke before you dared—you’ll end the blood feud between Ashbourne and Nubis. And beyond that… his military genius is beyond reproach.”
Vladimir said nothing, his gaze drifting back to the departing army.
From this height, they looked like a vast black serpent slithering through the golden fields, a living tide of iron and leather.
He narrowed his eyes, his mind sharpening like a blade on a whetstone.
“I see.”
In the next heartbeat, his pupils faded, leaving only pale white sclera in their place.
The world blurred—and when his senses returned, he stood once more in the frost-bitten cavern, staring at the prison of ice.
But something had changed.
The wall had thickened.
More layers of ice had formed since he’d left—dozens, maybe hundreds.
The figure of Duke Asher was still visible… but only barely, swallowed slowly by the relentless, devouring cold.
Time was slipping through his fingers.
“Thaw.” Vladimir uttered just one word and the ice all over the cavern began to melt and as it did, water gathered beneath his feet.
It kept on increasing until the water rose up to his knee level and that was when the white haired man fell on all fours. His hair clung to his bare back and shoulders.
Vladimir calmly watched the muscular man rise to his feet, only to discover this man was like a towering giant.
It was like he stood over 9 feet tall or was he just too short?
Vladimir was slightly confused but still spoke to the even more bewildered man.
“Welcome from the dead, Lord Asher.”
Almost immediately, a strange cold wind blew into the cavern, howling as it moved through the hollow hallway.
Upon hearing that, Vladimir turned toward the exit. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Who are you?” Asher asked, staring unwaveringly at Vladimir as his body grew faint.
“Vladimir Nubis, Lord of House Nubis.”
___
“Quick! Inform Lady Sapphira that His Lordship’s fingers are moving!” Mia, stared wide eyed at Asher’s twitching fingers with emotions bustling in her heart.
Just then, Asher’s eyes opened, and he turned his head toward her.