Chapter 58 - History of KiorIapestry of time, where empires rise and fall like the tide of ic seas, Kior's tale unfurls—a symphony of shadow and fme, etched in the very marrow of history. Its story, a serpentine dance of poeril, weaves through the fabric of reality, leaving in its wake a trail of shattered dreams and splintered bones. Born from the womb of an Azone empress, whose name now dances on the precipice of oblivion, Kirew into a behemoth that devoured nds with an insatiable hunger. Magice shunned and feared, became the lifeblood of an empire that pulsed with are energy, its cities gleaming with an otherworldly radiahat both beed and repelled. The first Empress, they whisper, wore power like a sed skin, her footsteps leaving frost-bitten roses in their wake. Under her pierg gaze, kingdoms crumbled like autumn leaves, gathering at her feet in a carpet of surrendered s. The Azones and Alizahs, those blessed—or perhaps cursed—by magic's capricious kiss, found sanctuary in her shadow, never daring to question why their protector's smile never quite reached her eyes. Kior's cities rose like fever dreams carved in stoheir spires pierg both cloud and sce. Magic flowed through its streets like bck honey, sweet and thick with promises that stu the throat. Battlemages stood sentinel on walls that whispered secrets, their eyes bright with borrowed power that demanded payment in slow installments of sanity. Yet, even as Kior's might stretched across the nd like a lover's possessive embrace, a malevolent shadow lurked at its borders. The Forest of Mun, a primordial nightmare seven hundred heartbeats distant, pulsed like an open wound in the world's flesh. It birthed horrors that cwed at the empire's edges—the Tons, creatures of nightmare and flesh, surged forth in waves of terror, their hunger as insatiable as the empire they sought to devour. The Tons were not mere beasts, no. They were nature's refle in a shattered mirror, wearing faces almost human enough to make their acts unfivable. In response, Kior fed its knights, Azones and Alizahs wreathed in magid steel. These sentinels stood against the encroag darkness, their very existence a defiance of nature's ws. The Azone knights who fought the Tourned ged, their victories carved into their flesh in scars that glowed under moonlight. With each campaign, they spoke less, as if words were luxuries they could no longer afford, their sileestament to horrors beyond mortal prehension. Then came the night of the Empress's fall—a symphony of silence where evears held their breath. Her body y like a discarded poem in the mud of a ravaged vilge, and her sister's scream birthed new colors of grief into the world. The Monis s's ughter that followed was a sound that had no business existing in a sane universe, cutting through the night like a bde fed from cruelty itself. War, that insatiable beast, awoke with a roar that shook the foundations of reality. The aunt's decration of vengeance against the Monis house echoed through Kior like a death knell. As the empire turned inward, tearing at its own flesh, vultures circled overhead, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Hades, emperor of the Dominions, desded upon Kior with the fury of a thousand storms. Oh clever Hades, who khat empires fall hardest wherip over their own shadows. The once-mighty Kior crumbled like sand before the tide, its magiuffed out like dles in a hurrie. Iermath of this cataclysm, Kior's children found themselves adrift in a world that had bee their enemy. Azones and Alizahs, onited uhe empire's banner, now faced each other across a chasm of betrayal and broken trust. They circled each other like wolves sharing a den too small, their magic turning inward like poisoned daggers. The aunt, her eyes burning with the fires of vengeance, rallied the Azoo her cause. The Alizahs, sensing opportunity in the chaos, sought to cim the throne for themselves. And in this maelstrom of ambition and hatred, even the bonds of friendship were severed. Roxana and Rudbeckia, onseparable, now stand on opposite sides of a divide as wide as eternity. Their eyes, once filled with ughter, now reflely the cold light of destiny's cruel joke. Their sundered friendship bleeds neters into history's pages—a remihat even love, that most stubborn of lights, be devoured by ambition's elegant darkness. As the remnants of Kior's legacy struggle to rise from the ashes, a terrible truth whispers in the wind: rebirth es at a price paid in blood and tears. In the end, only one fa will emerge victorious, their triumph built upon the bones of their kin. They say Kior will rise again. But some thrones are better left as ruins, some s better left shattered. For in the space betweebeats, a magics still whisper of debts unpaid and prices yet to be extracted—each sylble a smile with too mah. The history of Kior, a tale of magid madness, power and loss, tio unfold. And as it does, the very fabric of reality trembles, for in the rebirth of an empire, worlds may burn. In the annals of universal history, few empires have left as indelible a mark as Kior, its legacy a dark jewel that bled magi wounds we carved into reality itself.-Back to Present, Late Afternoon, Corridor in Helia Pa Domino- Iwilight hours of a fading day, Helia Pace stood as a sileinel, its golden-hued corridors bearing wito the unfolding drama within. The sun's dying rays, snting through arched windows, paihe marble in a chiaroscuro of amber and crimson, as if nature itself sought to mirror the tempest brewing within the pace walls. Through this corridor of light and shadow strode Hades, Prince of Domino, his presence a palpable force that seemed to bend the very air around him. His midnight cloak billowed behind him, a dark banner of barely tained fury. Each footfall echoed like thunder, a portent of the storm to e. Kyle Brunte, a step behind, moved with the careful precision of a man treading on thin ice. His face, a mask of stoic resolve, betrayed nothing of the turmoil that surely ed beh. Hades' voice, when it came, cut through the silence like a bde of ice. "Kyle. You do uand that if your father were here, I wouldn't have to waste my time with this, don't you?" The words hung in the air, heavy with implication and thinly veiled threat. Unshaken, Kyle's response was measured, each word carefully chosen. "Yhness, I assure you, all of your children and wives are resting in their allotted chambers within the Paces of Domino."The lie, for lie it was, tasted bitter on his tongue. In a heartbeat, the tension in the air crystallized. Hades halted, his turn so abrupt it seemed to defy the ws of motion. His eyes, twin pools of molten ruby, fixed upon Kyle with an iy that could have melted stone. With serpentine speed, Hades' hand shot out, grasping Kyle's colr. The fabric creaked in protest as he dragged the younger man closer, their faces mere inches apart. "Luxana and Roxana." The names fell from Hades' lips like a curse, each sylble dripping with barely tained rage. "Where are they?" Kyle's silence was damning. His gaze, flickering downward, spoke volumes more than words ever could.The moment stretched, taut as a b, before snapping with brutal finality. With a snarl of frustration, Hades shoved Kyle away, sending him stumbling back like a discarded toy. As Kyle fought tain his bance, Hades had already turned, his movements sharp and predatory. The hunt was on, and woe betide those who stood in his path. In the wake of his passing, the corridor seemed to exhale, the very stones of Helia Pace trembling in anticipation of what was to e. For in the game of empires and magic, even the mightiest could fall, and the echoes of this day would resound through the annals of history fes to e.-Shrine of the Hidden Springs Temple- The Shrine of the Hidden Springs Temple, a bastion of a power and mystical secrets, now trembled on the precipice of chaos. As the assembled figures stood in tense silehe air itself seemed to pulse with the weight of impending disaster. The grand hall, once a sanctuary of pead reverence, had transformed into an arena of barely tained fury. T pilrs, their surfaces etched with fading prayers, stood as sileio the unfolding drama. The flickering dlelight danced across the obsidian floor, casting long, restless shadows that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. At the far end of the hall, perched upon a raised ptform, the eldest of the elders cut a formidable figure. His wizened hands gripped the carved wooden railing with such force that his knuckles had turned white. When he spoke, his voice cracked through the air like a whip. "WHERE IS THE HEAD PRIEST?!" The bellow echoed off the temple walls, a physical force that made even the bravest among them flinch. His eyes, dark pools of unbridled wrath, swept across the assembled crowd. "Summon him at once!" The gathering—a potent mix of priests, nobles, and knights—shifted uneasily. Vi Lobis, Head of the esteemed Lobis family, stepped forward. His stance was steady, but his voice carried an undercurrent of tension. "Your Holiness, what shall we do when His Majesty asks about the Artifact of Lirania?" The elder's response was immediate and explosive. "Unimportant!" he roared, causing Leena, Vi's daughter, to visibly recoil. Lord Heron, standing amidst his knights, remained a study in trolled detat. His eyes, however, betrayed a keen awareness of the precarious situation. A younger priest, his voice trembling with barely suppressed panic, broke the tense silehe prophecy was clear! The Goddess was supposed to desd tonight! The entire kingdom was expeg it—the Romanian King, the Monis Household, all of them! A, she did not e!" Another elder, his gnarled fingers curling into a trembling fist, spat out, "And whose failure is that? Who among you dares expin this to the Alizahs? To the Monis family? Do you know what they will do to this temple ohey realize we have given them nothing but empty words?" A wave of fearful murmurs rippled through the hall, the gravity of their situatioling like a heavy shroud.It was Lord Heron who finally broke through the rising tide of panic. His voice, cold and precise, cut through the whispers. "Perhaps we should sider an alternative approach." Viuro him sharply. "And what would that be?" Heron's lips curled into a smile that held no warmth. "Deception built upoion is bound to crumble. We must decide whether to weave another lie—or prepare for war." His words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the precipice upon which they stood. The Shrine of the Hidden Springs Temple, once a bastion of faith and power, now teetered on the edge of an abyss. As the assembled figures grappled with their dire circumstances, ohing became clear: the deade within these hallowed walls would shape the fate of kingdoms.The Artifact of Lirania A legend whispered through the annals of time, the Artifact of Lirania was not simply an object—it was the embodiment of divine reing. A tear, shed by the Goddess herself, destio fall upon the nd during the Hunting Grouival, its dest marking the kingdom’s salvation from the Unholy. A single, crystalline droplet, rumored to be born of celestial sorroable of reshaping fate itself. Prophecies spoke of its boundless power—to purify the nd, to anoint rulers, to unmake and remake reality at a whim and much more, but it was all still unknown to mankind. With the Artifa their grasp, kingdoms could rise or fall, the ws of men and magit beh its radia was not merely a symbol of high power; it ower inate. A, oed night when the heavens were supposed to weep, no tear fell. Now, the Temple of Domino—Shrine of the Hidden Springs—stood on the precipice of ruin. Having promised its arrival to the Romanian Kingdom and the Monis Household, their failure to produce the Artifact meant only ohing: their very existence hung by a thread. For the Alizahs, for the Monis, for Romania—this was not a minor setback. This was treason. And treason, in their world, demanded only one answer: blood.-Night ihereal Basilica of Blood; Romania- The gothic hall stretched upward with high, arched ceilings supported by stone ns. Tall, narrow windows lihe walls, filled with stained gss panels depig fragmented ses in muted colors. Intricate architectural details carved into the stone revealed geometric patterns and subtle religious iography.Red light filtered through the stained gss, casting angur shadows across the polished marble floor. The light transformed the spato a crimson-tinted chamber, creating sharp trasts between deep shadows and illuminated surfaces. Dust particles drifted visibly in the light streams, suspended like tiny specks of suspeime. Wooden benches lihe sides of the hall, their surfaces weathered and marked with years of use. Fragments of broken gss and splintered wood were scattered across the floor near a raised tral ptform, suggesti disruption or flibsp;At the far end of the hall, a single hung from the ceiling, its metal links refleg the red light with a dull metallic sheen. The terminated above a raised ptform, its surface tarnished and marked with scratches and old stains. On this raised ptform y Luxana, her body motionless and her hands bound by the grey desding from above. Her long bck hair spilled over the edge of the ptform, mingling with the debris on the floor below. The red light cast deep shadows across her face, atuating the stillness of her features. Luxana was wearing a bck dress with a high-low hemlihe front ending at her knees while the back trailed to her ankles. Crimson ruffles adorhe bodice, their edges catg the light. Off-shoulder sleeves puffed out before g above her elbows with bck ribbons. Scattered across the dress were orterfly designs in red and bck, their wings appearing to shimmer slightly in the uneven light. A choker encircled her neck, its dark stones barely distinguishable from the shadows. On her feet were bck heels ed with red ce that wound up her ankles. Despite the grandeur of her attire, Luxana's prone form and bound hands created a stark trast with the opulence of her dress and surroundings.To be tinued...