12
The morning after the disastrous birthday banquet, the grand halls of Aurum were eerily quiet. Princess Sophia sat draped in a pale blue robe, the gold embroidery on her sleeves reflecting the muted candlelight. Her usually sharp eyes, which had always carried warmth and curiosity, now darted nervously at every sound. The laughter and music that had filled the castle just the night before were replaced with hushed whispers of the court and the low hum of servants moving cautiously through the corridors.
The royal doctor, an experienced physician with calm hands and gentle voice, attended Sophia continuously. He measured her pulse, observed her breathing, and administered calming tonics, yet nothing could completely ease the visible tremor in her hands or the way her gaze lingered on every shadow. Each time she tried to close her eyes and rest, images of the crimson-clad noble, the dagger, and the eruption of insects replayed with vivid clarity. The trauma of witnessing such an unnatural death left her hollow, as if part of her innocence had been violently stripped away.
Meanwhile, the sword gifted to her—the one that had seemed so perfect and elegant—was quickly confiscated by the kingdom’s chief mage. He and his apprentices examined it with meticulous care. They tested for magical residue, elemental enchantments, and hidden curses, yet found nothing overtly sinister about the blade itself. “It is a weapon of great craftsmanship,” the chief mage noted, “but it is not the source of the calamity.” The sword was stored securely in the royal vault, with wards set to prevent any misuse, while speculation about its origin spread quietly among the court.
Security across the kingdom was tightened to unprecedented levels. All incoming and outgoing traders were subjected to detailed inspections. Caravans were delayed as guards examined every crate and chest, questioning merchants and scribes about their origins and cargo. Patrols increased along the city walls, gates were reinforced, and royal messengers were sent to neighboring kingdoms requesting vigilance. Fear lingered in every corner of Aurum, the echoes of the banquet incident seeping into daily life.
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The news of the deceased noble traveled swiftly, reaching distant lands within days. Couriers spread the story of the insect eruption, the mysterious curse, and the dramatic declaration of allegiance to “the Great Barang.” Nobles and commoners alike whispered in fear and awe, unsure whether it was a magical phenomenon, a divine punishment, or a portent of a new threat.
High Mage Galen called together a council of the most renowned mages in the kingdom. Each was summoned to provide insight, to confirm whether any ancient texts, forbidden scrolls, or historical accounts contained anything resembling a man whose death released swarms of insects. The council gathered in the Grand Library, poring over tomes covered in dust, manuscripts written in long-forgotten scripts, and magical journals chronicling centuries of unusual occurrences.
Hours turned into days, and yet no record was found. “I have never seen anything like this in all my studies,” one mage admitted, frustration tightening his voice. Another added, “Not even the war chronicles mention insect manifestations upon death.” Every magical theory was tested—necromantic curses, elemental anomalies, demon infestations—but none could account for what had transpired.
The conclusion was chillingly simple: this was unprecedented. The kingdom faced a phenomenon unlike anything recorded in the annals of Maharlikan history. While the council debated next steps, Princess Sophia remained confined to her chambers, haunted by shadows, guarded by loyal attendants, and tended with care by the royal doctor.
In the silence of her room, Sophia whispered occasionally, her voice trembling, “What was he… what was he?”
Outside, Aurum’s streets continued to bustle with life, yet beneath the surface, fear and suspicion festered. The kingdom had survived wars, plagues, and the shadows of the Dark Lich, but now it confronted a mystery that defied history, magic, and reason—and no one could predict what it would bring next.
