Morning breaks over Terra Neralis. A kingdom so ancient that even the sun seems to rise slower in reverence.
Golden light spills through the mist.
The sacred bells of the Temple ring out, awakening the kingdom. Birds cry in unison. Wild creatures stir in distant forests. The river flows calmly beside the hill where the temple sits, mirroring the sky's soft hues.
Within the temple grounds, the Brawns begin their sacred duties.
Some chant prayers beside ancient trees, eyes closed in surrender.
Others kindle the temple's flame with scented oil. A few prepare Bhog, the blessed meal.
Pilgrims bathe in the river, reciting prayers. Rosaries click rythmically in the hands of monks.
The stone floors are swept clean as if wiping away sins of yesterday.
A slow stream of nobles and dignitaries arrive with offerings.
A steam of nobles and dignitaries arrive with offerings.
Silks rustle. Gold coins clink. Smiles veil silent ambitions.
Amid the procession arrives King Veylor, radiant in ceremonial robes, flanked by General Ovrek, Advisor Kirn, and several courr members. Soldiers in ceremonial armor stand at attention.
Suddenly, murmurs ripple through the gathered crowd. Not for the king or its men, but for the guests no one expected there to be.
Emerging from the temple's side gate is Zerem, the foriegn emmisary of Richha, accompanied by his men– tall, veiled in white and red robes, moving with eerie synchronization.
The king and general Ovrek halt in surprise. King Veylor taken aback. "Zerem? What brings you to our Temple of Lord Nera at sunrise?"
Zerem bowed slightly and answers in a soft and clear voice.
"To honor the spirit of your land, my king. Richha respects all divine traditions, especially those that hold a kingdom together.
I've come to show reverence... and perhaps learn."
Advisor Kirn smiles grandly.
"How noble it is that a man from across the seas offer respect to our gods.
A glorious gesture indeed! Is it not, my lord?"
King Veylor chest was puffed with honor. "Yes... a most unexpected one."
The crowd exchanges whispers– some in awe, others in doubt.
Veylor, eager to be admired, gestures to one of the High Brawns nearby.
"Come. Speak to our guests. Share with them the tales of Nera and the sacred creation of Terra Neralis." King Veylor commands.
High Brawn bows to the king. "As you command, my king."
The Brawn begins to chant softly, reciting tales of Gods, Wars, and Ancient peace.
People gather in a circle. The king walks ahead, smiling, followed by his court.
As they walk down the marble steps, Ovrek looks around. He sees joy... respect... unity.
He wants to believe it.
But he hears another voice– one not spoken aloud.
The Hermit's voice echoes in his memory:
"The snake has already made his move..."
He furrows his brow. His grip tightens around his ceremonial blade.
Ovrek whispers to himself in a cold and low voice.
"Why now, Zerem... why such humility?
Ten million in gold, the finest women, sacred beasts of war...
And three of the ancient swords... like mere tokens at a game of dice?"
He whispers, voice nearly trembling with intution.
"Even a king of gold wouldn't give this much for peace.
Unless what he wants... is something more than peace."
Advisor Kirn notices it and speaks cheerfully to Ovrek.
"Is something the matter, General Ovrek? You seem... far away."
Ovrek jolts slightly, forcing a composed expression.
"No... nothing of concern."
"Surely you're not still troubled? We stand amidst blessings.
Our enemies respect us, our coffers overflow. Even the gods seem pleased."
General Ovrek gives a tight smile.
"Yes. Perhaps I'm just unused to this much... fortune."
King Veylor turns back, jovial.
"A good warrior never drops his guard, eh, General Ovrek?
Even when the war ends, his heart keeps marching."
"It is my duty, my lord."
King Veylor places his hand on his shoulder.
"Then allow yourself a moment of peace. We have won something great. Let us feel victorious."
Ovrek bows respectfully to the king.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. Perhaps I am simply overthinking."
- - -
Upon reaching the palace gates, Ovrek stops.
"My king... I would like to inspect the three ancient swords. Immediately."
A hush falls. King Veylor halts, turning back with a flicker of confusion.
"Now? Why such urgency, Ovrek?"
"I have not laid my eyes on them since they were brought.
As Commander of the army and Warden of the Vault, I believe it is my duty to verify their condition.
After all... they are priceless relics of Terra's soul."
The king studies him for a second– too long.
King Veylor says in a low tone. "You doubt their safety?"
Ovrek replied firmly. "I doubt nothing, my lord. But certainity is the foundation of strength."
The king pauses for a second. Then he smiles again. "Very well. You've earned such rights a thousand times over, commander."
He waves to the royal guards. "Take General Ovrek to the vault immediately. Show him the swords that came here yesterday. I give him full command for now."
Guard Captain salutes the king. "At once, Your Majesty."
As the guards begin moving, a shadow falls across Ovrek's face.
He steps forward, but not before casting one final look back–
Towards the Temple, towards Zerem, who now stands among monks, eyes closed...
But smiling ever so faintly.
A smile that chills the blood.