The room was vast, circular, its walls lined with torches that flickered against the engraved murals—scenes from the War of Light, when the world had stood on the brink of destruction. Echoes of a time when the Lumens had reigned unchecked, when entire cities had been devoured by their power.
At the center of the chamber, a stone table stretched long and unmarked, save for the newly drawn map of Pruris—a kingdom yet to be fully shaped.
Three figures stood over it, each casting long shadows in the dim torchlight.
They had once been warriors.
Now, they would decide the fate of generations.
- Argos of Xezar, his broad shoulders squared, stood with his arms folded behind his back. His long, dark robes were the only concession to his new role as ruler; his body still carried the presence of a warlord. His face was carved from stone—unmoving, unreadable.
- Aurex Montfort of Benad, sharp-eyed and lean as a blade, leaned over the table, his fingers trailing across the edges of the map. A scholar’s quill rested in his hand, yet there was nothing academic about the way he carried himself. Every movement was measured, precise.
- Isolde Valkaire of Yakaria, taller than most men, with a warrior’s stance that never faltered. Her scarred armor bore the marks of countless battles, and the massive greatsword on her back was a statement rather than a weapon. She did not lean. She did not hesitate. She waited for the fight to come.
The three of them had bled together, had stood side by side in the war against the Lumens. But now?
Now they stood apart.
A heavy silence filled the chamber, thick with unspoken words.
Argos was the first to break it.
"Resonance has no place in my kingdom."
His voice was steady. Final.
Aurex sighed, tapping his quill against the table. "You speak as if we have already forgotten what saved us in the War of Light."
He gestured toward the engraved murals along the walls. Scenes of champions standing against the darkness, wielding Resonance like celestial fire.
"We sealed the Lumens because we understood Resonance. Without it, we would have lost."
Argos did not flinch. "And that understanding nearly destroyed us."
He stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the table.
"Tell me, Aurex—how many of our own warriors lost themselves to corruption? How many turned against their own brothers and sisters when their Resonance devoured them?"
Aurex’s jaw tightened. "And what happens when war comes again? When the next crisis arrives, and your people stand powerless?"
"There will be no next war," Argos said.
Isolde scoffed.
"You sound like a fool."
Argos turned toward her, his dark eyes calm, but unyielding. "I sound like a king."
Isolde stepped forward, the floor creaking under her weight. "You sound like a man who believes himself a god. You think your rule will last forever? That no enemy will ever rise against you?"
"If an enemy comes, I will handle it."
"And when you're gone?" she countered. "Your people will be nothing but sheep waiting for slaughter."
Argos was silent.
Aurex rubbed his temple, his fingers pressing into the edge of the table. "If your kingdom begs for strength, Argos—if the day comes when they are forced to fight, untrained, powerless—what then?"
Argos did not hesitate.
"Then they will die as men. Not as monsters."
The words fell like a decree.
Aurex exhaled sharply.
"So it is decided, then."
He gestured toward the map, his fingers brushing against the inked borders of the three kingdoms.
"Xezar will forsake Resonance. Benad will preserve it—studied, recorded, given only to those with the wisdom to wield it."
Isolde crossed her arms.
"And Yakaria will train warriors in it. We will not be defenseless."
Aurex’s fingers tightened into a fist. "Then we are three kingdoms, not one."
Argos turned away from the table, his final words echoing across the chamber.
"No war will ever reach my people. They will never need to fight."
The royal court of Xezar was built upon generations of silence.
For a thousand years, its halls had known peace.
Today, it roared with the fury of men who had never known fear before.
The nobles stood in clusters, their voices clashing like shields in battle.
"We must negotiate with Kael!"
"No—Kael is beyond reason! We must fortify our borders!"
"Xezar has survived a thousand years without Resonance! We do not need it now!"
Darius let them speak.
Let them shout.
Let them waste their breath.
Then, he stood.
The noise died instantly.
He had not yet earned their fear. But in that moment, he had commanded their silence.
He stepped forward, his voice even, measured.
"Kael has already won a battle against us," he said. "And we had no way to fight back."
A murmur rippled through the court.
"My father believed we would never need Resonance," Darius continued. "That his strength alone was enough to keep this kingdom safe."
He exhaled.
"He was wrong."
The words fell like stone.
Some nobles flinched. Some looked away. Others stared at him in horror.
"I will not let his fear be our downfall," Darius said, his voice rising.
"From this day forward, Xezar will learn Resonance again."
The roar of outrage from the nobles was deafening.
But Darius did not waver.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
"Resonance is coming, whether we accept it or not," he said.
"And I will not leave my people defenseless."
He turned, his decision made.
The ghost of Argos weighed heavy on his shoulders.
But for the first time, Darius was walking his own path.
While Darius handled the nobles, he had tasked Arthur with visiting Rellmoor. Messengers from Xezar’s border had reported a corrupted army advancing toward the town. But by the time Arthur arrived, he was met with a shocking sight.
Arthur’s breath was ragged.
The air smelled of smoke and blood.
Below him, the town of Rellmoor burned.
From the hillside, he could see everything. The town’s wooden walls had already collapsed, shattered under the first attack. Xezar’s soldiers, outnumbered and untrained, fought desperately, but they were not warriors. They were farmers, tradesmen, men who had never wielded anything beyond steel and sweat.
And against them stood Kael’s army.
They were not an army of men.
They were something else.
Arthur’s eyes locked onto one of them—a soldier wrapped in tattered robes, his fingers twitching unnaturally. His eyes were empty, but his body pulsed with something dark beneath his skin. A second later, his entire arm twisted into a jagged, obsidian blade, and he lunged forward, slicing a Xezarian soldier in half.
Arthur flinched.
The man beside him, an older Xezarian scout, let out a shaky breath. "Kael's Resonants," he murmured. "They're not human anymore."
Arthur’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. But what was he supposed to do?
This wasn’t a battle. It was slaughter.
A group of Xezarian soldiers charged forward, their shields raised, spears leveled.
They never even reached their enemy.
One of Kael’s warriors exhaled—and the air itself trembled. A pulse of invisible force rippled outward, and the men in front of him simply... fell apart.
Arthur felt his stomach twist.
"This isn't war. This isn't even a fight."
This was what Xezar had been shielded from.
For a thousand years, they had lived in ignorance. And now?
Now they were seeing what the world had become without them.
And there was nothing they could do.
Screams. Fire. The clash of metal.
The streets of Rellmoor had fallen into chaos.
Xezar’s soldiers were breaking apart, retreating into alleyways, homes—anywhere they could escape the slaughter. But Kael’s army had no mercy.
A man stumbled forward, his body shaking.
Arthur saw his hands trembling, saw the veins on his arms turn black.
And then, suddenly—he wasn’t a man anymore.
The corruption had spread through his body, twisting his flesh. His bones cracked as he lurched forward, his scream turning into something inhuman.
The other Xezarian soldiers froze.
"Oh gods—"
But the corrupted thing did not hesitate. It lunged at them, claws tearing through armor like parchment.
Arthur couldn’t move.
His body was screaming at him to do something—but what?
What was a sword against something like that?
This wasn’t a battle.
It was annihilation.
And then—
The air shifted.
Arthur felt it before he saw it.
A ripple through the world.
The battle did not stop. The fire still raged. The screams still echoed.
But something had changed.
Arthur looked up.
A lone figure walked toward the battlefield.
He did not belong.
He did not move like the others.
There was no urgency in his steps. No fear.
He walked as if the battle had already ended.
Arthur could not see his face.
But the world reacted to him.
The wind stilled. The flames hesitated. Even the corrupted creatures, mindless as they were, paused.
And then—
He drew his sword.
It did not glow. It did not burn.
It sang.
Arthur felt it.
A resonance so deep it shook the marrow in his bones.
The enemy nearest to the warrior lunged.
One step.
A flicker of motion.
The creature’s body collapsed inward, crushed by an unseen force.
Arthur’s breath caught.
The second enemy rushed forward—
A single slash.
The world broke.
Not the ground. Not the air.
Resonance itself had been cut.
Arthur staggered back.
"This... this isn't possible."
The battlefield had changed.
Kael’s army, which had slaughtered so easily before, hesitated.
They feared him.
Arthur felt something cold spread through his chest.
"This man—"
"—he is not human."
The warrior exhaled.
The very air rippled, as if reality itself was adjusting to his presence.
"You have already lost," he said.
Kael’s warriors, who moments ago had torn through Xezar’s forces without resistance, now stood frozen.
They were not afraid of Xezar’s soldiers.
They were afraid of him.
Arthur could see it in their hesitation, in the way their bodies flinched involuntarily when the warrior so much as shifted his stance.
And then—
One of them screamed and charged forward.
A woman clad in shattered armor, her left arm twisted into a blade of blackened bone, her face contorted in rage. She moved faster than humanly possible, closing the distance in an instant.
She swung.
A killing blow, aimed directly for the warrior’s throat.
Arthur’s mind barely had time to process it—
Before she fell apart.
Not cut.
Not broken.
Erased.
Her body seemed to fold into itself, like she had never truly been there at all.
Arthur couldn’t breathe.
"What... what was that?"
The warrior had not moved.
At least, not in a way Arthur could see.
The other soldiers panicked.
A second charged him. Then a third. Then ten at once.
Arthur blinked—
And the warrior was gone.
Or rather—
He was everywhere at once.
He stepped forward, and the ground rippled beneath him. His blade sang through the air, and the battlefield bent in response.
No light. No fire. No theatrics.
Just absolute, unrelenting devastation.
In the span of five heartbeats, it was over.
And Arthur had not even seen what happened.
He only saw the aftermath.
The broken bodies.
The silence.
He had never feared Resonance before.
Now, he feared it more than anything.
The man had moved too fast.
Not just in speed—but in existence itself.
Arthur couldn’t explain it.
The enemy had been charging, then they were gone.
The warrior stood at the center of the battlefield, his sword lowered. He did not seem tired. He did not seem victorious.
He simply was.
Arthur's heart hammered in his chest.
He had always thought of war as something glorious—something his father’s generation had been too cowardly to face.
But this?
This was not war.
This was annihilation.
And the man standing before him was its architect.
Arthur forced his feet to move.
Step by step, he descended the hill, his legs trembling, his fingers white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword.
The warrior had his back turned to him.
"He hasn't even acknowledged me."
Arthur swallowed. His voice came out hoarse.
"Who are you?"
The man didn’t answer.
He simply turned his head slightly, just enough that Arthur could feel his gaze settling on him.
Arthur’s fingers twitched against his sword.
"I asked you a question."
No response.
Arthur’s teeth clenched.
"Are you even human?"
A slow breath. The faintest hint of movement.
Then—
"Does it matter?"
The words hit Arthur harder than a strike ever could.
"Does it matter?"
Arthur staggered back.
No name. No explanation. No grand speech.
Because to this man—
Arthur did not matter.
He was a boy, playing at war.