The royal palace of Xezar had never been louder.

  Not in sound, but in whispers.

  Tension hung in the air like a storm cloud, gathering in every corridor, in every glance exchanged between servants and nobles alike.

  It had been only two days since Darius declared Resonance would be introduced to Xezar.

  And already, the kingdom was beginning to fracture.

  Some saw him as a visionary. Finally, a king who understood that peace was not an unshakable constant, but a fleeting luxury.

  Others saw him as a traitor. A ruler who was tearing down the foundation of everything Xezar had stood for.

  The weight of it all pressed on Darius as he sat alone in the royal council chamber.

  Before him lay a dozen scattered documents. Reports of unrest. Letters of disapproval from nobles. Pleas from advisors urging him to reconsider.

  He clenched his jaw.

  "I will not reconsider."

  His father’s era was over.

  Peace had not been shattered by his decree.

  It had been an illusion, and Kael had been the one to rip the veil away.

  The doors creaked open.

  Arthur stepped inside.

  Darius exhaled, rubbing his temple. "You look like hell."

  Arthur smirked, but it was weak. He stepped further into the chamber, his movements sluggish, heavy.

  "And you look like a man who hasn’t slept," Arthur countered.

  Darius ignored the remark. His gaze flickered over the dust on Arthur’s boots, the faint bruising along his arms.

  "Rellmoor?"

  Arthur nodded.

  Darius leaned forward. "Tell me."

  Arthur took a breath.

  Then, he spoke.

  He spoke of burning homes, fallen soldiers, and the absolute, crushing futility of Xezar’s army.

  He told him of Kael’s forces—men who weren’t men anymore. Soldiers who bled corruption instead of blood, who moved as if they had no need for flesh and bone.

  He spoke of Resonance being wielded in ways he had never imagined.

  And then, his voice faltered.

  Darius caught the shift. "What?"

  Arthur hesitated.

  And then, in a quieter voice—

  "There was a man."

  Darius frowned. "A man?"

  Arthur swallowed. His hand instinctively tightened at his side, as if grasping for his sword.

  "I saw Kael’s army tear through our forces like we weren’t even there." His voice was strained. "I saw them break men with nothing but a breath. I saw our soldiers run, die, or worse—become something inhuman."

  His eyes darkened.

  "And then he walked onto the battlefield."

  Darius straightened.

  "He didn’t fight like the others," Arthur continued. "He didn’t use Resonance the way Kael’s men did. He—" Arthur exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It was like he didn’t just use Resonance. It was like the world itself obeyed him."

  Darius narrowed his eyes. "Who was he?"

  Arthur opened his mouth—

  Then froze.

  The doors to the chamber swung open.

  Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.

  The moment the hooded man stepped into the chamber, he felt something in his chest clench.

  His mind rebelled against what his eyes were seeing.

  "No."

  This wasn’t possible.

  He had seen this man before.

  Not in the halls of Xezar. Not in court or in noble houses.

  But on the battlefield.

  Walking through smoke and ruin.

  Standing alone against an army.

  Tearing through Kael’s forces like they were nothing.

  And now, that very same man—**the phantom who had broken the battlefield with his presence alone—**was standing in front of Darius.

  Calm. Unbothered. Like nothing had happened.

  Arthur staggered back before he could stop himself. His fingers tightened around his sword hilt.

  Rodric, who stood beside him, went pale.

  "By the gods," he muttered.

  Arthur turned sharply. "Rodric, who is he?"

  Rodric’s fingers twitched, and Arthur could tell—he knew something.

  Something he wasn’t supposed to know.

  Rodric swallowed, keeping his eyes on the cloaked man. His voice was low, cautious.

  "I read about him."

  Arthur blinked. "Read about him? Where?"

  Rodric hesitated. Then—

  "In the restricted library. In one of the forbidden texts on Resonance."

  Arthur’s blood ran cold.

  Xezar had spent centuries erasing all traces of Resonance. Any records that remained were locked away, hidden where no one could find them.

  Yet Rodric—always the scholar, always digging where he shouldn’t—had read something no Xezarian should know.

  Arthur exhaled. "And?"

  Rodric hesitated, as if the weight of the knowledge itself was too much to speak aloud.

  Then, finally—

  "Orion Duskbane. One of the Wardens of Resonance"

  Arthur’s stomach dropped.

  "He was born here. In Xezar."

  Arthur stared at Rodric.

  "That can’t be true."

  "It is," Rodric said grimly.

  Arthur’s thoughts raced.

  How could a man like that—the one he had seen **bend the battlefield itself to his will—**be from Xezar?

  Rodric continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "The texts said he was one of the last to openly oppose the ban on Resonance. When the Champions decreed that Resonance had no place in Xezar, he refused to follow it. He left before they could stop him."

  Arthur felt a shiver crawl down his spine.

  "Why?"

  Rodric looked at him.

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  "Because he knew one day, Xezar would pay for its ignorance."

  Arthur exhaled sharply.

  "But what is he now?"

  Rodric swallowed.

  "A Warden of Resonance."

  Arthur frowned. "What does that mean?"

  Rodric took a breath.

  "The Warriors of Resonance are the highest level of Resonance mastery below the Champions. While the Champions rule, the Wardens enforce. They're chosen for their skill, for their knowledge, for their understanding of balance."

  Arthur listened intently.

  "They’re not kings. Not rulers. But they are masters of battle. Whenever a kingdom oversteps, whenever Resonance is abused, the Wardens are the ones who intervene."

  Arthur’s pulse pounded.

  "And Orion?"

  Rodric exhaled.

  "He is one of the first to ever receive that title."

  Arthur turned back to Orion, studying him again.

  Not just a warrior. Not just a soldier.

  A Warden.

  Arthur’s breath shook.

  "Then why is he here?"

  Darius finally spoke, his tone measured.

  "So Aurex has sent you."

  Orion removed his hood, his gray eyes sharp as steel.

  "To extend an offer."

  Arthur felt something shift in the air.

  "Benad recognizes that Xezar is unprepared for what is coming," Orion continued. "Kael has already begun his conquest. Xezar stands as it always has—strong in defense, yet blind to the world beyond its walls."

  Darius’ expression remained unreadable.

  "And what exactly is this offer?"

  Orion turned his gaze toward Arthur.

  "Arthur must come to Benad."

  Arthur stiffened.

  "Why?" Darius demanded.

  "Two reasons." Orion’s voice was smooth, certain. "The first is simple. If Xezar is to survive, it must learn Resonance. And to do that, it needs someone willing to learn first."

  Arthur swallowed hard.

  "And the second?"

  Orion’s gaze didn’t waver.

  "The sword."

  Arthur felt his breath catch.

  "Word has reached Benad of a young warrior from Xezar, wielding a blade that should not exist."

  Arthur’s pulse hammered.

  "Aurex wishes to see it for himself," Orion continued. "And he believes the answers lie with you."

  Arthur’s fingers twitched toward the hilt at his waist.

  "Your sword is not ordinary," Orion said. "We do not yet understand why. But if it is what we believe it to be… then its existence alone changes everything."

  Arthur’s throat felt dry.

  He had forged this sword with his own hands. It was just steel and fire—wasn’t it?

  But ever since Rellmoor…

  Ever since it reacted to the world around him—

  Had it ever truly been ordinary?

  Darius studied Orion carefully.

  "You’re asking me to send my best warrior into a foreign kingdom?"

  "I am asking you to trust that he will return stronger than when he left," Orion replied.

  Arthur hadn’t spoken a word.

  His mind was still trying to catch up.

  But he already knew the answer.

  Everything he had seen in Rellmoor had shattered what he thought he knew about war.

  He turned to Darius.

  "I’ll go."

  Orion nodded.

  "Then prepare yourself. In three days, you leave for Benad."

  The sky above Stonetide was blacker than ink.

  No stars.

  No moon.

  As if the heavens themselves had recoiled from what was about to take place.

  The ruined cathedral stood as a jagged corpse, its shattered spires reaching for a sky that would no longer acknowledge it. Once, centuries ago, it had been a place of worship. A beacon of hope for those who sought the light.

  Now, it had become a tomb for the old world.

  At its center, Kael stood.

  His ashen-white hair shimmered beneath the eerie glow of corrupted Resonance that pulsed through the ruined pillars. His **golden eyes, once sharp and focused, now flickered with a darker energy—**a growing presence beneath his skin, behind his thoughts.

  And before him, seven figures knelt.

  The chosen.

  The Dread Sovereigns.

  The ones who would carry his will into the world.

  They were warriors, killers, zealots.

  Each had been touched by corruption, reshaped by it—but not consumed.

  Not yet.

  Tonight, that would change.

  Kael raised a hand, and the air trembled.

  The ruined cathedral’s broken windows rattled, their jagged edges vibrating as a pulse of Resonance swept through the chamber.

  The candles that had been placed in a ritualistic circle flickered, their flames unnaturally still.

  Then, Kael spoke.

  "You kneel here tonight not as men, nor as the weaklings the world once made you."

  His voice was steady, controlled—but beneath it, something else whispered.

  A second voice.

  Deeper. Older.

  "You kneel as those who have shed their past selves, those who have cast aside the chains of false morality, false gods, false peace."

  His golden eyes swept across the kneeling warriors.

  "You are here because you have seen the truth. And you have accepted it."

  A low hum of corrupted Resonance filled the air, thrumming like a heartbeat beneath their feet.

  Kael’s fingers curled slightly, and a darkened glyph appeared beneath the kneeling warriors, lines of pulsing red seeping into the stone.

  A ritual.

  A binding.

  "This night, you take your first step toward Ascension. You will become something beyond the mortal, beyond the limited. You will become the Sovereigns of the new world."

  He unsheathed his blade.

  It was not the same weapon he had once wielded in the name of Xezar.

  This one was different.

  Forged from the remnants of the corrupted Resonance that now coursed through his body, its steel was dark, shifting, almost liquid in the way it caught the light.

  He raised it high.

  "Swear yourselves to me, and rise as my Dread Sovereigns."

  One by one, they lifted their heads.

  And one by one, they spoke their oaths.

  The Ashen Tyrant (Leader of the Dread Sovereigns, Pure Destruction)

  A towering behemoth of a man, wrapped in charred, battle-worn armor. His breath alone smoked like embers, his skin cracked with the heat of a never-ending inferno beneath. His very presence made the air thicker, suffocating.

  "I swear myself to the flames of this new world. I will burn the old kingdoms to their foundations, and from their ashes, we will build anew."

  Kael’s blade touched his shoulder, and the flames surged.

  The Hollow Saint (Master of Blood Resonance, The Unseen Hand of Death)

  A woman wrapped in red-stained robes, her face hidden beneath a cloth veil. The air around her felt colder than it should. She did not move like the others.

  She hovered.

  "I swear myself to the blood that binds us, to the veins that will run dry for our cause. Life and death are but tools to be shaped."

  Kael’s blade touched her shoulder, and the veil darkened.

  The Veiled Phantom (Master of Phase Resonance, The Shadow That Walks)

  A thin, wiry figure, his body constantly flickering, as if he was never fully here. His face was a shifting blur, impossible to fully perceive.

  "I swear myself to the spaces between moments, to the echoes of a world that cannot see me. I will be the knife in the dark, the whisper before death."

  Kael’s blade touched his shoulder, and he vanished—only to reappear at Kael’s side.

  The Howling Executioner (Master of Weapon Resonance, A Living Blade of Carnage)

  His armor was rusted, dented, battle-worn. His fingers twitched against the hilt of the massive, serrated blade on his back. He was a warrior who had long since stopped caring for anything but the thrill of the kill.

  "I swear myself to war, to the blade that never rests. The old world will fall beneath my steel, and I will cut down those who dare resist our reign."

  Kael’s blade touched his shoulder, and his weapon pulsed in response.

  The Broken Prophet (Cursed by Astral Resonance, The One Who Sees Too Much)

  A blindfolded man, his body covered in intricate golden tattoos. Though he could not see, he laughed, a quiet, knowing sound.

  "I swear myself to the path already laid, to the future that calls to us. I have seen what is to come, and I embrace it."

  Kael’s blade touched his shoulder, and his golden markings burned brighter.

  The Crimson Harbinger (Master of Mind Resonance, The One Who Sees Through Lies)

  His form was draped in flowing crimson robes, his face hidden behind an ornate red mask—smooth, featureless, with no visible openings. And yet, the weight of his gaze could be felt by all.

  "I swear myself to the unraveling of illusions, to the breaking of falsehoods. The weak will kneel not because of force, but because they will see no other path."

  Kael’s blade touched his shoulder, and a pulse of invisible force spread outward, lingering in the minds of all who stood near.

  The Black Gale (Master of Speed & Wind Resonance, The Storm That Hunts)

  He stood with a restless energy, his lean frame wrapped in segmented cloth and lightweight plating. Even in stillness, the air around him stirred, shifting in response to his presence.

  "I swear myself to the storm that never settles, to the hunt that never ends. No king, no god, no army will ever outrun me."

  Kael’s blade touched his shoulder, and a sudden gust of wind howled through the ruins, sending dust swirling into the night.

  As the final vow was spoken, Kael drove his blade into the ground.

  The glyph beneath them flared to life, burning crimson, spreading outward like cracks in reality.

  The air shuddered.

  A low whisper echoed through the cathedral.

  Not Kael’s voice.

  Not the voices of the Sovereigns.

  Something older.

  Something watching.

  For the first time, Kael hesitated.

  Then, just as quickly, he forced the moment aside.

  A mistake. A fleeting thought.

  Nothing more.

  He turned to the kneeling warriors.

  "You are bound now. Not as soldiers. Not as men. But as Sovereigns."

  The corrupted Resonance sealed their oaths, and as the energy faded, the seven rose to their feet.

  Kael smiled.

  "Let the world tremble."