The evening was going well; everyone was enjoying it.
The magical lights on the ceiling were creating dancing shadows across the grand hall of the Auric Spire.
The initial shock of Lorian's introduction had worn off, and now it had turned into a buzzing excitement, a mix of curiosity and relief.
Guests, both the high-ranking dignitaries from other city-states as well as the prominent figures of Veridia, were mingling away. However, more than trade deals and political scenarios of the continents, their conversations were now catered around their speculation about the 'idiot prince' who was anything but a simple or traditional guy.
Outside, the common people of Veridia continued their own celebration on the vast lawns. Their cheers and laughter were echoing faintly, as they were unaware of the subtle shift in the air.
Lorian was still somewhat dazed by the sudden spotlight. He found himself at his parents' side, accepting congratulations and polite, if sometimes awkward, greetings.
He saw the knowing smiles of Grand Scholar Elara, High Druid Oakhaven, Lady Justice Serena, and Drengen Sihar. Their smiles were telling him that they were aware of his identity since the beginning and they were just playing along. Also, he could notice their eyes were holding a hint of approval of him.
He also noticed the less amused expressions of Thane Borin Stoneheart and First Trader Zara, and General Marcus Ironclad's continued confusion.
And then there was Cassian, his uncle, whose genuine smile seemed to hold a strange, unsettling warmth that continued to send a shiver down Lorian's spine whenever their eyes met.
The festive hum continued as night grew older, but suddenly a subtle discord began to weave through it.
There was a distant, muffled scream, which was then quickly swallowed by the music.
There was a flicker in the grand hall's magical lights, although it was barely noticeable.
Commander of the Thorne Guards, Valerius Lucian's face was now grim. He exchanged a quick, silent signal with his lieutenants.
The earlier assassination attempt had left them on edge, and now, a new, colder dread began to creep in.
The grand hall's massive oak doors, which were usually guarded by two imposing Thorne soldiers, suddenly, without warning, burst inward with a splintering crash.
Through the shattered openings suddenly poured a wave of figures. They were cloaked and armed, and their faces were hidden by dark cloth.
It was clearly understandable that they were not common thugs, for their movements were swift, coordinated, and brutal.
These were no mere thieves but a disciplined, ruthless force.
Chaos erupted like a thunderclap.
Screams tore through the music.
Goblets shattered on the marble floor.
Dignitaries, who were engaged in polite conversation moments ago, started scattering in terror, tripping over their elaborate robes.
The Thorne Guards, though elite, were caught off guard by the sheer number and ferocity of the attackers.
Valerius Lucian roared commands, and his men formed a desperate defensive line as their shields clashed against the invaders' blades.
"Protect the Lord and Lady!" Valerius bellowed, his voice straining above the ruckus.
Jax Nightclaw and Kaelan Strong looked at each other.
There was a quick silent conversation between the two retainers of Lorian.
Jax, on Kaelan's signal, moved with terrifying speed, his sharp, vicious claws tearing through the cloaked figures.
Kaelan, on the other hand, positioned himself in front of Lorian and his parents, turning his broadsword in a whirlwind of silver, deflecting blows meant for them.
Lorian, despite his lack of formal combat training, instinctively grabbed a fallen guard's short sword.
He somehow managed to parry a clumsy thrust. His calculative mind was racing, trying to find a pattern, a weakness, anything.
But there were too many enemies.
The invaders were relentless; they were pushing through the Thorne Guard lines with brutal efficiency.
Suddenly Lorian noticed one particular group of enemies. They appeared to be larger and more aggressive and seemed to be cutting a direct path towards Lord Elmsworth, Lady Seraphina, and Lady Serana.
"The lady's debt is due!" One cloaked figure snarled in a guttural voice as he lunged towards Lady Serana.
But the Lady Justicar was no helpless noble.
Her hand moved as swift as a viper and snatched a discarded ceremonial dagger from a nearby display.
With a practiced, deadly grace, she parried the pirate's blow. Her movements were fluid and precise, a testament to her renown as Valoria's greatest warrior.
The boy Sihar, one of her loyal Twin Swords, was already at her side. His own blade swung like a flashing silver arc, defending his lady with fierce dedication.
They fought as a unit, like a formidable bulwark against the encroaching chaos.
But even their combined skill was being strained by the sheer, overwhelming numbers of the attackers.
Lorian saw it all in agonizing slow motion.
His parents were cornered, vulnerable.
Lady Serana, though fighting with incredible skill, was being pushed back due to her enemies outnumbering her greatly. Her movements were becoming more strained against the relentless tide of foes.
Lorian's loyal retainers, Jax and Kaelan, were now bleeding and struggling, as they no longer seemed to be able to break free to protect his parents.
With great horror, he witnessed the terrified faces of the guests—some already fallen, others trampled in the desperate rush to escape.
He was fighting, yes, but he was, after all, a businessman, an intellectual, and not a warrior. His sword felt clumsy, and his movements were uncoordinated.
He was losing.
They were all losing.
A cloaked figure, larger than the others, raised a heavy axe, aiming for Lord Elmsworth's head.
Time seemed to stop.
Lorian lunged, but he was too far, too slow.
This was it.
This was the end.
His family, his new life—all of it was about to be shattered.
In that moment of absolute, crushing despair, as the axe began its descent, the voice, which now seemed more ancient and profound, echoed not in his ears but directly within the very core of his being.
It was the same voice he had heard before, the one that had confirmed his suspicion about Cassian, but now it was deeper, richer, and resonating with an undeniable power that transcended sound.
"Observe, Valerius Thorne," the voice began, "Your current path leads to ruin. A predictable outcome for one who relies solely on conventional means.
Your bloodline, your potential, your very future... all about to be extinguished."
Lorian's mind, despite the terror, was strangely clear.
He knew this voice.
He knew its name.
Azal'gul.
"I am, right now, offering you a choice," the demon continued; its words were weaving through his thoughts like threads of pure gold, "a partnership. A means to transcend such petty, mortal limitations.
I have seen your past, your mind.
I know the reservation you have regarding 'pact with the devil.'
I can sense your hesitation. You are still clinging to a comfortable path.
Can't you foresee the consequence of stagnation? The cost of inaction? The cost of your indecision."
The axe was still falling, like a dark blur against the glittering hall.