PHASE I – When Blood Awakens
The figure standing in the throne courtyard wasn't human. Nor ghost. Nor anything that fit among the living.
It didn't stand like one ready for battle— But like one too weary even to defend.
Kalidor, Lord of Lumania, Who rose from the abyss without command or call, But through the will of the crystal that refused to let him be forgotten, Now stood in a place that was once his.
And now, here he was again— A stranger to his own echo.
The Monster Knight knew neither mercy nor permission. It was the fury of the buried whose names were never spoken. Its dragging sword tore through time itself.
It charged.
In that moment, Kalidor did not move by will. But his body remembered.
The body turned, At an angle as precise as if etched in bloodline. The sword rose— A sword untouched for a thousand years— With the stillness of death… And struck.
One strike.
It sliced the air, Stopped time, And its hum echoed in the bones of the castle.
The Monster Knight froze. Didn't fall. Didn't cry. Just… ended.
Its body collapsed belatedly. As if it couldn't believe it had been defeated. As if the courtyard itself couldn't believe its master had returned.
Kalidor stood still for moments, Staring without seeing.
Then slowly… He approached the body. Beneath the shattered sword, He saw something.
A green cloak.
Embroidered in faded golden threads, Torn at the edge, But still bearing the shape of old loyalty.
He lifted it. Shook it gently. Dust scattered— But the air remained pure.
It had a hood. Enough to hide a crown, And reveal intention.
Kalidor put it on.
He wrapped it around his shoulders, Pulled the hood over his head slowly. It was like slipping back into a glorious absence— Like clothing himself in silence again.
Then… He took the sword in reverse grip, Placed the blade before him, Head bowed, Sword tip touching the ground.
The stance of a king who doesn't want the crown— Only that his name not be lost to the dust.
And there… In the moment when all stilled, A human shadow approached the courtyard gate.
A presence unwelcome, Out of time, As if exiled from another era… And mistakenly entered this one.
And the castle… Whispered in Kalidor's heart before he saw who came:
"Someone crosses your gate, O Lord of Night… Will you speak? Or seal it shut for all?"
PHASE II – The Human Visitor Under the Throne's Gaze
The gate to the courtyard didn't swing open. It parted slowly, As if still debating whether the one outside was worthy to enter.
The light behind him was dim and gray, But the shadow of the figure was sharp.
A man— Draped in a royal Western robe, But lacking the nobility's grace… Carrying only the exhaustion of one who walked long toward something only he could see.
Kalidor didn't move. Still standing, sword planted, head bowed. His hood still hid his face… But he was watching.
The visitor stopped at the threshold. As if the air itself struck his chest— Something unseen, yet heavier than anything faced before.
He stepped forward.
The castle… breathed. Kalidor… opened his eyes.
Something in this visitor made him pause. The pale smoke cloaking the hall— Carried an old memory.
Kalidor slowly raised his head, Stared at the man.
A human face… But standing with a weight that resembled neither fear nor courage.
The visitor spoke for the first time. His voice wasn't loud or weak— But steady, like echoing from across centuries:
"Here I stand… where I have no right to."
No reply.
He stepped forward again. And again. Until he stood in the courtyard's center, Before its master.
More aware now, he said:
"I carry no sword. I represent no crown. But I came… because the promise still lives."
Kalidor didn't speak. But he looked.
A gaze heavy with something unreadable— A mixture of suspicion, memory, and sorrow.
The visitor knelt.
Slowly. In submission not demanded—but deeply known.
"O Warden of the Unburied, O name recorded in the scrolls of forgetting, I… who was not born then, Have come, not to claim place—but to ask… To remember you."
The castle's voice changed. As if the walls held their breath, And the throne itself… awakened.
Finally, Kalidor moved.
He raised the sword slowly. He didn't strike. Just pulled it from the earth, Brushed the blade gently— As if dusting off something only spirits could see.
He whispered one word:
"Why?"
The visitor didn't raise his head. He answered, voice cracked:
"Because you once said: When mankind forgets your blood… Your shadow will return."
A long moment passed.
Then… Kalidor's voice came from beneath the cloak:
"And your name, human?"
The visitor looked up for the first time without flinching.
"Christian… Valside."
PHASE III – Mutual Recognition: Words Over Dust
Time passed after the visitor spoke his name, But it wasn't silence—it was something like the moment before a storm… Or the breath after a wound.
The name "Christian Valside" Dropped into the chamber like a stone into still water. But the stillness didn't break. It… shifted.
Kalidor didn't speak. But something inside him trembled— Without showing.
His eyes remained fixed on the kneeling man. Not just seeing a person, But the living face of a forgotten past.
A face like those who betrayed him… Eyes echoing the breaks of those who believed—and died. A voice with the tone of nobles who smiled… then stabbed.
He didn't move. But a slow ache crept into his chest. The presence of this man— In this place— Was an admission of what was never forgiven… nor spoken.
He spoke in a hushed, unexaggerated tone:
"Valside..."
He repeated the name— Like memory trying to form behind the wall of forgetting.
"An old name… more uttered in vengeance than honor."
Christian said nothing. He remained kneeling— Watching those cold eyes that never revealed their heart.
Kalidor stepped forward. Just one step. But the air grew heavier between them.
"You don't understand." He paused.
"You don't know what it means to open this gate, And enter the throne court… uninvited."
Christian inhaled and replied:
"I was not called… But I followed your shadow."
Silence.
Kalidor stepped closer. Each footfall felt like the entire hall bowed beneath him.
"What shadow?" He asked slowly. "I left no shadow… I was buried whole. Without a marker."
Christian lifted his head slowly. And for the first time, their eyes met.
There was no defiance. No submission. Just… two truths unsure how to touch.
"But we… remembered your vow." Said Christian.
Kalidor stopped.
"What vow?"
"I shall return after a thousand years. When mankind forgets my blood—my shadow will rise again."
The words pierced like arrows. As if spoken by death itself.
Kalidor didn't flinch. But he felt a wall within him crumble.
"Foolish of me to leave them hope." He whispered. Then said, colder:
"Did you come out of love? Out of greed for salvation? Or fear of what you couldn't understand?"
Christian answered, still kneeling:
"I come in no one's name. I serve no king. I am… the son of those without voices, But I heard yours… between the lines."
Kalidor looked at him, And through him, As if his eyes didn't see his face, But what lay beyond.
"Do you think I am a savior?"
"No." Christian replied. "But I believe you were the truest— Even in your curse."
Quiet words. But they struck hard.
Kalidor turned away— As if afraid something inside him might be revealed.
"You believe you came here by choice, But you don't know… This castle only opens its gates when it awaits someone."
Christian trembled. Not from fear, But from that strange sensation— Like destiny breathing beside you.
"Then… who was it waiting for?" He whispered.
Kalidor gave no answer. But his gaze drifted toward the abandoned stone throne.
And he whispered, as if to himself:
"Perhaps… it wasn't the throne that waited— But the one who lost it."
PHASE IV – The Gift and the Risk
The distance between them was short— But to Kalidor, It stretched like another lifetime.
He didn't see a young man before him— He saw a distorted reflection of himself.
Centuries ago, he too had stood like this: Head held high, Asking ancient power to grant what could not be earned.
He hated what he saw in Christian… But he couldn't turn away.
Kalidor took a step forward— A soundless step, As if the earth no longer dared protest.
"Your heart is transparent." He said it without praise— As if diagnosing an incurable condition.
"I know that look. You don't ask permission… you seek salvation."
Christian replied, steadier: "Is that a crime?"
Kalidor didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer. Now only a few breaths separated them.
"Salvation doesn't come from shadows. Nor is it taken from ruins."
He raised his hand slowly— Weighing the moment more than the body.
Then, He placed it atop Christian's head.
The touch… wasn't merely flesh. It was as if history itself rested on his skull.
"Take it."
A pulse surged. A strange sound rang in the void— As though Kalidor's crystal exhaled.
Something dark red seeped from Kalidor's fingers— Into the visitor's skull. It caused no visible pain… But Christian felt something within him change forever.
Kalidor pulled his hand away slowly. Then said coldly:
"I gave you an incantation carved from the crystal's core. But every time you use it… you will lose something."
Silence.
"You will lose a sense, a memory, a piece of yourself— Until you may become a man without a face."
Christian closed his eyes for a moment, Then opened them.
In his voice… no heroism. No stubbornness. Only clarity.
"I have one sun… And it lights my path. The rest is shadow I do not need."
The words made Kalidor step back. Not in fear. Not in surprise. But… as if looking at himself.
He stared long at the man's face, Then whispered, not aloud—but with his eyes:
"Was I once… like this?"
He turned away, And walked toward the back of the throne. As if the conversation had ended. Not between them— But within him.
Christian remained kneeling, Then lowered his posture, And rose… Not as if standing— But as if something within him had risen.
In that moment… Neither of them knew— The entire castle had awakened.
And the blood that now stirred… Was the beginning of something that would upend all balance.
PHASE V – The One Who Returned Was Not Him
The sea wasn't calm. Nor was the wind fierce. But something on the northern shore—where the ship waited—knew: Time had shifted.
The footsteps came first. Not heavy, Not hesitant, But strange… not belonging to the earth they walked on.
They didn't know he had returned— Until his shadow stretched from the mist, As if it had arrived in his heart first… Then his body followed.
Christian.
He wasn't weary. He wasn't wounded. But he wasn't the same.
He approached the ship— The remaining soldiers stared in silence. Each carried a question they dared not speak.
"Is that him?" "What did he do in there?" "What's in his eyes?"
He said nothing. His eyes searched for no one. As if they scouted only his inner self.
He boarded the ship without asking— As though a stranger to the place, Or as though the ship had become his new home.
He sat at the edge, Gripped the wooden mast with a trembling hand, But his face… remained stone.
Then… he smiled.
Not a smile of joy. Nor of relief. But that kind of smile you find on a marble statue— A smile that conceals the man within.
One soldier dared approach. Asked:
"My lord… did you find what you were searching for?"
Christian answered without turning:
"I found what I was not."
Then he pulled his right hand back, And hid it in his coat— As if it carried something no one should see… not even himself.
Inside him, Echoed words still fresh:
"This power was not made for you… You were not the vessel for this crystal."
"Your body will reject you… Or reshape into something unknown."
"You may become a shadow. Or remain human… without memory, without senses, without purpose."
He felt his hand tremble. Then go cold. And for a moment… His soul felt like something new.
"I have but one sun…" He whispered inside. "The rest… may burn."
Someone watching from the ship's edge said: "Did he smile? No… that was not a human smile."
They didn't know that Christian— Whose face once brimmed with life, doubt, and wonder— Had returned with a face resembling an old portrait…
The smile, The gaze, The subtle tilt of the head…
All of it was the unconscious echo— Of a man named Kalidor.
PHASE VI – Coffin Road: When the Pulse Speaks
The castle no longer whispered. No creaking doors. No breathing walls. As if, after briefly speaking… it chose silence.
But it wasn't quiet. It was listening.
Kalidor was no longer the figure from the courtyard— Nor the one who wore a cloak stained in a thousand years of dust.
Now, He walked. Not in search of anything— But as if the path itself remembered him.
Every corridor he crossed, Every extinguished torch he passed— Lit up briefly, Then returned to quiet.
The castle's heights murmured, Its passages stilled, Its stairs parted.
But only one sound remained: His crystal. Beating slowly. Calling, Then falling quiet… As if it walked ahead.
Down— To the lower crypt. Where there was no light, No breath, No shadows— Only walls that still remembered.
And at the end of the hall, He stood before it.
The coffin. Carved of stone unlike any rock— Gray, nearly black, As if chiseled from mountains that had forgotten how to pray.
At its center— A crystal embedded. Still… but not dead.
He stood without speaking. Everything in him watched.
Then… He raised his hand. And touched the crystal.
What he felt wasn't warmth, Nor pain— But a feeling beyond words:
"This… is mine."
A dull red glow awakened, Seeping through the coffin's cracks, Illuminating symbols unread for a thousand years.
He saw a vision— No face, Only a boy standing at the edge of a noble hall rug. His eyes unfamiliar with belonging— But his heart knew his place was beyond the ceiling.
Then a voice. Not from outside— But within:
"You are not one of them. But you will not remain in shadow."
The vision vanished. Only the pulse remained.
The crystal's rhythm told him: This coffin now waits to close— Not to end him, But to remake him.
He opened the lid. Lay down within. Closed his eyes. And didn't sleep— He retreated from reality, As one entering their own reflection.
Outside, On the coffin's surface, The stone began to breathe.
The runes shifted, Glowed, Then etched new letters.
One word… Then another…
Until the carving was complete:
"Kalidor Arvalor" Lord of Lumania, Son of silence and blood, The one who returns when forgotten.
The glow ceased. The stone stilled. The castle quieted.
But it did not shut its eye.
For the one who sleeps within… Has not spoken his final word.
🕯️ End of Chapter Three – A Throne of Memory's Dust