Far to the southeast, nestled among the terraced hills of Region 6, the gardens of the Emerald Palace glowed under a saffron sun. Vines laced with moonbell flowers curled along the marble columns, and peacocks strutted lazily through the courtyards.
Inside, Prince Jaden, second-born of the royal house, stood in a sunlit veranda overlooking the lotus ponds. With him was his younger sister, Princess Jerusha, a quick tempered seductress and sharp-tongued critic of court politics. They spoke in low tones about the upcoming Gathering—its alliances, its dangers, its opportunities.
Then the doors burst open.
A servant stumbled in, panting, his tunic slightly damp with sweat. His face bore the look of a man unsure whether he was bringing a gift or a curse.
Jaden turned slowly, brows raised. He didn't speak at first—he simply studied the intruder as one might a rabbit that had wandered into a lion's den.
Then, softly, almost conversationally:
"Did you follow the trail of the black dragon again? I asked you guys to let him be for now! Are you preparing to die?"
The servant paled. "N-no, my lord," he stammered, bowing deeply. "I wasn't following him. I swear. I was merely—merely minding my business when it all happened."
Jaden stepped forward, gaze sharpening. "You mean you saw him," he said. "The Black Dragon."
The servant nodded frantically. "Yes, sire. In the market square… the crowd parted like waves. He was there. I—I saw him with my own eyes. I wouldn't lie. Not about this."
Princess Jerusha folded her arms, leaning against the pillar with cool interest. "And what did you see, exactly? Another manticore falling to its knees? Or did he raise mountains this time?"
"No, Princess. It was the Scarlet Raven. He stood toe to toe with it. The man... no..the creature that lived only in stories—he fought it, and lived."
Jerusha raised a brow but said nothing.
Jaden tilted his head, watching the man tremble. "And the people? What did they do?"
"They cheered, my lord. Cried. Some knelt in the street. Traders are already spreading the tale across the regions. They say... they say the Black Dragon cannot die."
Jaden turned away, expression unreadable as he looked out at the pond. A koi fish leapt from the water in a shimmer of gold, then vanished beneath the surface again.
"The man wears a mask, and the world calls him legend," Jaden said softly. "We wear crowns, and they call us privilege."
Jerusha sighed, walking beside him. "You're not jealous, are you?"
He smiled faintly. "No. Jealousy is for men who fear they've been forgotten. I've only just begun."
Then he glanced back at the servant. "Find out everything. Where he went after the battle, who he spoke to, what he touched. If a child so much as offered him water—I want their name."
The servant bowed again, this time nearly kissing the floor. "Yes, my lord."
He paused and added, "I don't need to tell you to be careful. If he notices your trail, you might end up like the others..."
"Yes, my lord!"
The servant bowed in appreciation and took his leave.
As the man scurried out, Jerusha gave her brother a side glance.
"You think he's a threat?"
Jaden didn't answer immediately. He watched the water ripple, the sun casting golden waves on the white walls.
"I think," he said finally, "we're all standing on the edge of a chessboard we didn't set... and someone just moved the queen."
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It was early in the morning on a pleasant day, the air blew with pleasing rush around the compound. Incense burned quietly in copper bowls, and the wind carried the scent of lavender and salt from the southern sea. Priestess Kendra had just finished the final chant of her long prayer when the sky broke open.
A shadow swept across the spire, enormous and swift—wings as wide as rooftops, feathers the color of stormclouds. Gasps echoed from below. A great eagle, glowing faintly with magical runes, descended in a whirl of wind and force.
Then, it landed.
In a single fluid motion, the eagle transformed, feathers becoming fabric, talons becoming fingers, wings curling inward to form a cloak of black and gold. Where the creature once stood now emerged a tall, ageless woman, eyes sharp as daggers and hair shimmering like starlight.
Archmage Amber Nois.
A name that belonged to history.
Kendra took a single, involuntary step back. "She returned? Why has she…?"
Before she could mutter another word, the Archmage dropped a body onto the marble floor—a man, bruised, unconscious, and still twitching from recent battle.
The Scarlet Raven.
The most feared outlaw in the region.
For a moment, the silence of the courtyard returned, thick and heavy like velvet. Then the Archmage turned to Kendra, her voice calm but layered with something deeper—resolve, perhaps, or prophecy.
> "Kendra," she said, as if they'd only spoken yesterday, "I have returned. And I intend to re-establish the Oradonian Order."
Her cloak shimmered as she turned, gesturing toward the battered figure at her feet.
> "Starting with him."
Kendra's breath caught. She looked from the Archmage to the fallen outlaw and back again.
> "I plan to reform the rejects, the menaces, the ones the world has thrown away. They will be reborn as guardians of peace, not just tools of fear."
The wind stirred the Archmage's cloak as she continued, voice tightening.
> "This time, the Oradonian Order will not serve in the shadows. We will rule beside the monarchy. What happened a hundred and fifty years ago—the betrayal, the fall—it will not happen again."
The words settled heavily in the priestess's chest like a warm, bitter drink. It took her a moment to swallow them.
> "My lady," Kendra said softly, "the Scarlet Raven is no ordinary man. He's a beast… a scourge. Can such a soul truly be redeemed?" She glanced around, lowering her voice. "And the Emperor... he will never allow the Order to rise. He'll crush it, as he always has."
For a heartbeat, the Archmage said nothing. Then she stepped forward, raising one pale hand and placing it gently over Kendra's eyes.
> "Then let me show you why I've returned."
As her fingers made contact, Kendra felt the world slide away.
---
The vision came not as a dream but a storm—violent, sharp, and terrifyingly vivid.
She saw a man—unmasked, unburdened—standing tall on a stone platform, his voice echoing across a sea of people. Josh Aratat. The Scarlet Raven... without his mask.
The image flashed again going back to the past. The Emperor screamed, a rod smashed against him, with lightening and fire burning through and on him, starting with the expensive folds of his royal robe. Aratat stood over him, face unreadable, but hands steady.
Then backwards still.
War. Princes and princesses wielding weapons of light and fire. Cities falling. Thrones splintering. She saw faces she recognized—some broken, some triumphant, most bloodied. The taste of ash filled her mouth.
Then darkness.
---
Kendra gasped as the vision snapped away. Her knees buckled, and she caught herself on the marble bench behind her. Sweat clung to her brow.
> "That man…" she whispered. "He's the Black Dragon? The one in the prophecies?"
Amber's eyes were calm, luminous with restrained power.
> "Yes," she answered. "I saw his face, though I still do not know his identity, nor his name. But the vision was clear. He will destroy the monarchy. And under his shadow, the Oradonian Order will rise again."
Kendra stared down at the unconscious man on the floor, at the blood caked along his temple, the faint flicker of his chest rising and falling.
Then, slowly, as if unlocking a long-sealed vault in her memory, she whispered:
> "I know who he is…"
Amber's eyes narrowed.
> "What did you say?"
Kendra looked up, her voice trembling not with fear, but awe.
> "I know him, Archmage Amber. I've seen that face before."