Late in the evening…
Desolate Desert of the 7th realm…
Today is the day of the second trident summit spear fight. A million supreme mages stood on the heated desert soil.
The hot sun is slowly dying down. Beneath this dying light, armies from the great families of the 7th Realms converged, their banners fluttering against the evening sky.
The Stick family was the first to arrive with large numbers. Their forces moved in disciplined formation lines, dragging with them explosive Inferno Towers. These towering obsidian inferno towers glowed with an eerie red glow, radiating an almost unbearable heat.
The very air around them cracked in heated air, a testament to the destructive firepower they carried.
At the head of this force marched Princess Sony Stick. Her crimson battle robes flowed behind her as she gripped an ancient, bone-shaped staff tightly in her hands.
This bony staff was a mythical weapon, a treasured heirloom of the Stick family. Her face was a mask of determination, her thoughts focused on one name—Kent.
“This time, no excuses,” she murmured to herself, her gaze locked on the falling sun.
Moments later, the roar of magical sirens announced the arrival of the Doom family. Their soldiers marched in synchronisation, accompanied by sleek Lightning Blasters, their mechanical bodies crackling with arcs of bright-blue electricity.
Each blast from these magical structures could reduce an army to ashes, and they cracked continuously, as if eager for destruction.
Joon Doom stood proudly at the forefront leading all the allegiance families. His recent alliance with Prince Maxwell had swelled his ranks, giving him the numbers and resources to match the Stick family.
The Lin family arrived soon after. Their approach was quiet, almost silent, but no less intimidating. Prince Scott Lin led his small number of supreme wizards with a focused expression, his eyes scanning the battlefield with cold precision.
Behind him, carts brimming with thousands of glowing Spell Balls trailed in neat rows. These artefacts, capable of unleashing devastating magical energy, were his answer to Kent’s formidable spell arrows.
“This is the moment I prove my worth to Lily and the 7th realm.” He clenched his fists as his resolve hardened.
Finally, the Frost family arrived very late without any noise. But an uproar erupted from the crowd.
The Frost soldiers moved silently into shield formation. They brought no towering weapons, no glowing artefacts. Yet their mere presence grabbed a lot of unwanted attention.
But Kent was absent, leaving the Frost forces under strict orders to stand down. Not single outsider knew about this.
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The crowd that had gathered to witness the spectacle buzzed with excitement. Whispers of Kent’s absence had not yet reached them, and bets were being placed feverishly on Frost family.
“Mark my words,” one observer said, slapping a pouch of coins into the bookkeeper’s hands. “The War God inheritor will show up. He always does.”
“Yes… Late, just like last time,” another chimed in.
As the anticipation reached a fever pitch, the royal family members appeared in the skies in their golden flying treasures. But queen soya was absent.
The first prince Maxwell stood at the forefront, her gaze sweeping over the assembled forces like a hawk sizing up its prey. After formalities, with a wave of Emperor hand, the second phase of the Trident Summit officially began.
—
While the armies prepared for battle in the desert forest, King Ragnar was far from the fray, making his way toward the ancestral hall of the Quinn family.
The ancestral hall is situated deep in the Fire Mountains. The five mountains glowed faintly in the distance, their molten veins visible even in the fading light of the evening.
Ragnar’s expression was grim as he approached the hall’s massive stone doors. The hall was in deep silence, and the only sound was the crunch of his boots against the rocky ground.
“Father,” he called out loudly. But there is no response.
“Father!” Ragnar’s voice echoed through the empty ancestral hall. He continued to call loudly in an urgent tone.
After a long wait, a screech answered him. From the back, a tiny hawk fluttered down landing on a nearby stone pillar.
“Well, well… If it isn’t the prodigal son, who can visit the master at this hour. What brings you here, Ragnar?” the bird chirped, cocking its head.
“I don’t have time for your games, Skybreaker. Where is my father?” Ragnar asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The hawk puffed up cockily. “Skybreaker, yes. But to you, that’s Master Skybreaker Hawk, one of the last of my kind. You’d do well to remember that.”
“Fine, Master Sky-breaker,” Ragnar said impatiently. “Where’s Father?”
The bird clicked its beak thoughtfully. “Not so fast. What’s the urgency? You owe me a spirit fruit. Did you forget that?”
Ragnar groaned, reaching into his spirit ring. He pulled out a shimmering blue fruit and tossed it toward the hawk, who caught it deftly.
“Now, What’s the big deal?” Skybreaker asked, pecking at the fruit.
“It’s about my Mother…” Ragnar began in a heavy tone.
But the hawk froze mid-bite. The lighthearted teasing vanished from its tone. “Wait here…” it left before Ragnar finished.
In a blink, the tiny bird began to grow, its body expanding until it was a towering, majestic creature with wings as wide as a ship’s sails. With a single, powerful flap, it launched itself into the air, disappearing into the fiery peaks.
Minutes later, the sound of mighty wings flapped its return. On its back was Drona Lionheart, his golden armor catching the last rays of the sun. He dismounted with practiced ease, his piercing eyes locking onto Ragnar.
“What do you know of my wife?” Drona’s voice was deep, steady, but laced with an emotion he rarely showed.
Ragnar took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly. “Father… Mother passed long ago. But I’ve found her tomb.”
Drona’s stoic expression faltered. “Wait, when did she die?”
“I don’t know the exact details, father. But I found her tomb location recently. On the Blue Planet, Silver Leaf Town, in the Golden Bamboo Province. It’s marked with an antelope symbol.” Ragnar replied.
Drona’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked like a man carrying centuries of grief. “All these years… I thought…”
“Father, we must go now. We can secure her resting place before anyone else can defile it.” Ragnar hurried his father.
Drona’s gaze sharpened, his resolve returning. “Are you certain, Ragnar? After all this time… could it truly be her?”
“I’ve verified it,” Ragnar said firmly. “It’s her.”
