Twelve days into my reign, I sat with Ma'am Julie and Ma'am Nadette, sipping warm tea and enjoying the lively scene before me. My son, Ulrich, stood toe-to-toe with his father in a sparring duel amidst the crisp winter snow. Ulrich's grip faltered, his posture betrayed his exertion, and his swings mirrored his breathless gasps. Like any greenhorn, his skills could not yet match his father's, but his determination was unwavering. He often confided in me, his voice brimming with resolve to surpass the legacy of Vaelarion von Saphlia, a legendary knight from a century past.

“Come on!” Ulrich yelled, yet slightly wept over his rashness. “I shall smite thee with my mighty blade!”

“Try me as hard as thou desire,” chuckled Frank, parrying across Ulrich’s shoddy strokes. “But thy sword cannot even lay a touch on an inch of my garment.”

"Grah!"

"En garde!"

After braids of simple dodging, Frank brought forth a final blow that sent Ulrich’s waster flying across the air, then kicked him down onto the ground, but not as rough as the drunk father booting his woesome child out of the house.

“Ouch,” groaned Ulrich, struggling to raise his head and stand his feet up. “N-Not again… I shall not be defeated.”

“Thou art failing like this again?” Frank looked down on him, faintly scoffing. “Now, in front of thy mother…. Shouldst thou never make me sweat, thy might may be in vain to serve.”

Ulrich took a glance at me, then pushed himself up further till he finally arose, gasping in silence.

“We must conclude our day’s fostering,” continued Frank, then walked out of the wortton. “Thou art already dead on thy feet. So take some rest, and do thine wonted taskwork.”

Ulrich flinched at his father's words, but his fiery spirit would not be cowed. He charged forward with a raw, animalistic drive, his body straining to keep pace with his determination. Each breath rasped in his throat, and sweat beaded on his brow from the exertion. From afar, I could almost make out his lips moving, muttering a silent protest against his father's relentless training. It was harsh, I knew, but necessary. He would not grasp the weight of a crown, the countless burdens it placed upon your shoulders, until he learned to bear the weight of his own first.

Thereafter, as I finally emptied my steap of tea, I rose up from the seat and approached Ulrich who then frowned upon witnessing my being.

“I art sorry, mama,” gasped Ulrich, bowing his head down. “Seems I art weak enough to fight.”

“Raise thy head, my sweet child,” I raised my two fingers and pushed his chin up, exchanging our gazes together. “A young erfward like that wouldst never never bend their head and stare deep into the abyss.. Instead, he must look after the folk in need, the land in danger, the Gidden in bidding, and thyself in grit. Boding thou art weak wilt also maketh thee see this rich woesome, and henceforth, light wilt no longer shine upon our lands, but darkness looms. Shouldst thou wish that the rich be dwelled strong and maketh happy, heavens wilt bless thee forevermore.”

“M-Mh,” Ulrich nodded whilst slowly forming a smile, then suddenly jumped with his fist raised. “A-As an erfward of Sileland, I must be mighty… and hardy, no worry how intolerable it seemed!”

“I art proud of thee, my mighty erfward,” I took out a cloth from my pocket and wiped across his clammy brows. “Thank the heavens that thou’st grown thyself… quite a sharp young man without my being. Now go forth, bathe, then rest well.”

Two castle stewardesses approached and walked Ulrich into the bathing chamber within the hoff.

As I turned to leave the snowy field, a sudden, sharp ache bloomed across my forehead. Pulsing pain lanced through my eyes, blurring my vision for a moment. Ma'am Julie and Ma'am Nadette's worried voices reached me faintly, muffled by a roaring in my ears.

A horrifying thought flickered – blindness, deafness, even death itself. But then, just as abruptly, the world resolved into sharper focus. Before me stretched a sky darker than night, yet dotted with shimmering orbs I could not grasp. The ground beneath my feet glinted like polished steel, and the surrounding walls were transparent, their structure strangely harmonious yet alien. It felt like a celestial gateway materialised before my very eyes. Yet, amidst this otherworldly scene, a single, jarring detail stood out – a dead man. He lay sprawled on the ground, his hair a cascade of silver, strangely familiar, reminiscent of the men of Saphlia.

My gaze drifted forward, landing on a colossal, shimmering stone, its surface an otherworldly purple. As I focused on it, a blinding flash erupted, searing my vision. When the light subsided, I found myself back in the familiar snowy field, shaken and disoriented.

“Art thou well, Thy Majesty? ” the voice of Ma’am Julie asked me.

“O-Oh,” I groaned and gasped. “.... Worry not, the pain was at a braid. My entire body art still able.”

But what was it?

The darker, yet sparkling sky?

Dead man lying?

And also a giant purple stone?

These sights, for some reason, might tell me something, but I could not understand them, not even recalling them from my mins. O, Lady, what art the meaning of these?

“I shall go back to my own working chamber now,” I said. “For I still have some loads of writs to sign.”

“Aye.”

We entered the grand hall, heading northeast towards the working chamber. The tedious walk was punctuated by portraits of my ancestors, their stern gazes seeming to measure the distance between our feet and our destination. This vast hall, it seemed, was built solely to house a lineage of Coaserns and their keepers. While the endless corridors never failed to test my patience, today brought a welcome distraction.

A clamour erupted from outside, a wave of sound that slammed against the windows. Fear hung heavy in the air

Was it a mass raid of wrake from those Norsian fiends?

Or a massive spell of darkness that would storm throughout the Himel city?

Driven by a surge of urgency, I raced to the window and peered through the glass. And beyond the northern wall, an ominous depict unfurled. Something massive, a whirling ball of dazzling light, swirled menacingly in the distance. It was both majestic and horrifying, a forbidden beauty that foretold unending disaster.

“A portal?” I gasped. “No… no, this cannot be.”

“Thy Majesty! Thy Majesty!” the voice of a panicking man suddenly echoed across the hall, coming from behind. Thus, turning our heads, there we saw a damp-faced knight kneeling before me, announcing with a stuttering voice. “A strange portal has appeared outside the northern gate. C-Couldst be an unearthly spell that will soon siege the city!”

Indeed, it was strange. The colossal portal hummed with an otherworldly air, yet remained eerily void of any recognizable creatures. Unlike the brutish fiends who announced their arrival with war cries, this swirling gate promised something entirely different. We needed to formulate a plan, and quickly, to face whatever might emerge from this forbidden gateway.

“My sworn sisters,” I boded. “Heed my biddings!”

“Aye,” Ma’am Julie anqueathed, whilst Ma’am nodded.

“Thou must assist evacuating the folk to south as farther as they can be, and pray, thou shall abandon thy worries unto me for the time being, for my duty is to wipe out any threats upon us and our land.”

My words hung heavy in the air, met only by stunned silence from Ma'am Julie and Ma'am Nadette. Their worried expressions spoke volumes, a conflict between loyalty and concern etched on their faces. It pained them to abandon their Coasern in accordance with my biddings, as I was none other than their Coasern myself.

So I cried, “Understood!?”

They suddenly flinched and bowed, “Thy will be done!”

Hence, they hurried away from my sight, doing what I bid.

“Sir Knight, ken thy fellows to dight themselves, then shall we shield a swath around the northern wards. Ensure all folk, but not volunteers from the great guild, do not abide there.”

“Aye, Thy Majesty. As Thou bid!”

Steel clattered as I donned my armour, sword grasped firmly in hand. The northern gates beckoned, and I marched towards them with resolute strides, the chill of impending danger a mere whisper against my resolve. The swirling portal pulsed with an otherworldly energy, a silent warning that sent shivers down my spine. Yet, my mind buzzed with questions, a relentless storm eclipsing the fear that threatened to engulf me.

Reaching the gates, I found my fellow soldiers, their faces grim but unwavering. A wave of relief washed over me – I would not face this battle alone. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a united front against whatever horrors lurked within the forbidden gateway, prepared to fight, and if need be, die together.

Beyond the gate, a lone figure stood defiant before the churning portal. Sir Jegard, his twilight years etched on his face, held his gaze steady. No tremor of fear marred his resolve, a stark contrast to the eerie hum of the gateway. As Kinhallow of Grit, I felt such grit from within him, greater than mine. Yet, a sliver of envy pricked at my conscience. Was it the nobility of his stance, or a yearning for such unwavering valour in this uncertain hour?

“Sir Jegard,” I called whilst approaching, then he turned his head and his horse behind. “Dost thou sense anything from the gate?”

“Nay, my sovereign lass,” he shook his head, then returned his gaze upon it. “In sooth, ‘tis only outlandish, for I sense neither greater evil nor peril there. Its looks bides shrouded in rown, however… as to how this canst be as it is.”

“Outlandish,” I slowly alighted from my horse, my gaze locked on the spectacle before me. It pulsed with an otherworldly force, a dazzling dance of light and shadow. By the heavens, who on this earthly plane could have imagined such a thing? It felt like the Gidden Herself, wanting to enter our world. Awe anchored me to the spot, a silent reverence for its majesty. Yet, with each passing moment, a subtle temptation bloomed within me, an urge to inch closer, to unravel the mysteries it held.

“So is this for naught… but beauty alone?” asked Sir Jegard.

“What if…”

As I drew closer, a bright star burst amidst the swirling vortex, stretching tendrils of light across the void. Sir Jegard's urgent cry reached my ears, but an unseen force held me rooted to the spot. The cries from behind faded into a faint murmur, and a silver of regret crossed my mind.

Answers, I craved, answers at any cost. Yet, the closer I ventured, the more a chilling premonition gnawed at me. Then, a blinding flash erupted, engulfing my vision in a sea of white.

'Twas too late.