The rhythmic "clink, clink, clink" resonated through the sweltering desert, capturing the essence of a journey that was far more than physical. A solitary figure, draped in ebony robes that danced with the desert wind, was approaching the sun-bathed hilltop. The unyielding sun, in all its radiant glory, painted the horizon with a brilliant sheen, casting long, dwindling shadows behind the robed traveler. His every step was accompanied by the metallic chime, a sound both foreboding and strangely harmonious in the vast expanse.

  Beyond this desolate horizon, approximately eight miles away, stood the city once known as Babka. Now renamed Copper-Pyl under Pembroke's dominion, it was merely a shadow of its illustrious past. Once a seat of Giant's rule, it was now reduced to a mining outpost, lingering on the fringes of civilization. And yet, vestiges of its former grandeur persisted. The mammoth figure of Jostein, the last of the giants in the region, was testimony to that. His towering eight-foot frame, a monument of raw power, was tirelessly at work, mining the precious metals that the land yielded.

  The surrounding sandstone hills bore silent witness to the giants' reign. Intricate tunnels, chiseled to perfection, whispered tales of their subterranean existence, a refuge from the blistering desert heat.

  The black-robed traveler's entry into Copper-Pyl was anything but discreet. As the sunlight caught strands of his raven-black hair and shimmered in his piercing blue eyes, murmurs ran through the gathering crowd. The staff he held was not just any staff. It bore the crescent emblem of mixed copper and zinc, intersected by the golden insignia in the age-old script of Neriah. Such a staff could only belong to the prime protector of the Pembroke king.

  Behind him, King Jericho Blood-dragon made his grand entrance. Mounted on a splendid dais carried by bearers adorned in robes of deep purple and gold, he was an image of resplendent royalty.

  Beneath the dignified exterior, doubts and burdens roiled within Jericho. He felt less a king than a boy playing dress-up in his father's armor, unequipped to face the enemies breeding in the shadows of his court.

  The fiery hue of his hair, paired with eyes that bore an intense gaze, exuded an aura of majesty. Yet, within those piercing eyes, flickers of sadness and wisdom lay beneath the royal aura. Jericho carried haunting fears that the noble ideals of his forebears were crumbling. Could he live up to their legacy with corruption secretly spreading through the ranks sworn to serve the kingdom?

  The city's inhabitants had turned out in droves. For many, their young king was a figure of legends, spoken of in hushed tones and held in the highest reverence. The streets were alive with eager anticipation, each individual jostling for a better view, yearning to catch a glimpse of their enigmatic ruler. Voices raised in adulation, hands outstretched with offerings, all sought the king's benevolent attention.

  Jericho met their adulation with a practiced smile, hiding the melancholy it provoked within. More than glory, he yearned to rule with the wisdom of his father who had shouldered such burdens before him. Would the people still worship if they knew of the decay in the hearts of those around the throne?

  Yet, for all the adoration, there was an undercurrent of something more, a collective inhalation of respect that seemed almost instinctual, as if an unseen hand was directing the populace.

  Jericho's passage through Copper-Pyl wasn't just a ceremonial visit; it was symbolic of a juncture in time. It represented the confluence of its historical magnificence with the promise of a new dawn.

  Amidst the city's distant cries and cheers, a certain secluded parapet rooftop played host to a trio shrouded in palpable tension. Gumi, with hair the color of bleached bone and eyes like liquid silver, stood looking out over the teeming masses, her lips curling in disdain.

  "They're like sheep, praising a shepherd they've never met," she scoffed, her voice barely more than a whisper yet heavy with disdain.

  Beside her, Kisou, a figure as enigmatic as the waning moon, remained unfazed, his entire being absorbed by archaic scrolls. They fluttered like distressed birds in his hands, an unsettling aura pulsating from the cryptic symbols etched deep into their ancient parchment. Shadows clung to him as if yearning for his company, casting a chilling embrace around his form. For Gumi, he was the silent epicenter of her world, a beacon of dark clarity in the pervasive chaos of her life.

  In stark contrast, Nevin exuded unbridled restlessness, a tempest incarnate. He maneuvered a spear with fluid dexterity, his fingers dancing along the shaft, the metallic surface glinting sharply under the starlit sky. Every roll of his muscular shoulders, every flash of his fiery eyes, ignited the space around him with an electric anticipation. His presence was a wild, crackling fire, too complex to be merely feared or adored.

  This eerie tableau, set high above an unsuspecting city, was a quiet predator lying in wait. Then, as if responding to some unseen signal, Gumi's body tensed, her gaze sharpening, silver eyes reflecting a purpose newly found.

  "He's here," she declared, her voice deceptively soft, heralding an undertow of events that bubbled beneath the city's raucous surface. With her words, the wind seemed to hush, acknowledging the gravity now set to unfold from this den of whispered conspiracies and shadowed intentions.

  Nevin, forgetting he was supposed to keep himself concealed, pushed himself up and dusted himself off; he crunched coarse flakes of sand between his molars and cracked his neck.

  The spyglass was warm to the touch, which was a stark contrast to Nevin’s cold red fingers. He adjusted the spyglass and zoomed into Jericho’s face.

  Nevin let out a low whistle as he took in the man’s features: his square jawline, his high cheekbones, and his piercing blue eyes.

  “So this is the unlucky bastard, huh?” Nevin asked himself aloud. He turned to Gumi and held up the spyglass so she could see too; she had been standing behind him, waiting for her turn with it.

  Gumi shoved him aside with her hip and snatched the spyglass out of his hands. She peered through it before returning it back to him with a satisfied smile on her face.

  “Don’t miss," he bellowed towards the fragile -looking girl, in a surprisingly serious way. His faith in others was one of his more agreeable traits.

  Gumi looked down to where she had hidden her bow, just under the ridge of the wall. She grabbed the bow and quickly loaded the arrow. Gumi took a deep breath in and another out. She pulled the arrow back to her face, pointing it at Jericho. The King of the Empire was sitting on his throne, smiling widely as a young girl brought him a tribute from her family.

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  "Kisou turned his eyes from his scroll to Gumi, his gaze as detached as the words he spoke. 'Gumi,' he began, 'that is the King you are aiming at. Your part in this is merely a means to an end. I cannot feel the weight of it, not as you do.' He paused, the silence hanging in the blowing wind. "Before you release that arrow, know this is your choice—I won't hold it against you if you have a change of heart." His voice was a hollow echo, devoid of the warmth or coldness one would expect; it was just words on paper, a stark contrast to the charged air around them."

  Gumi bit her lip in a second of contemplation. After realizing that she had never made the decision of having Jericho as her king, she relaxed her bite.

  “I’m sure," she said.

  Taking a deep breath, she held steady and released the arrow. Jericho smiled.

  An arrow whistled through the air, but before it could reach Jericho, a brave guard leapt into its path, the arrowhead burying itself in his chest. Almost instantly, his skin turned a ashy gray — the unmistakable mark of a witch's poison. Panic swept through the crowd as guards quickly rallied around the king, ushering him away from the plaza.

  Gumi, Nevin, and Kisou watched as the guards rushed the king out of sight. "We have to go after them," Gumi said, her eyes blazing with determination.

  "Mee first," Nevin said, grabbing his spear.

  Kisou nodded, tucking the scroll into his cloak. "We can't let the king get away."

  The trio ran down the staircase leading from the roof, dodging the panicked citizens as they made their way to the street. The guards had a head start, but the assassins were relentless in their pursuit. They pushed through the throngs of people, leaping over obstacles and killing guards who tried to block their way.

  Nevin grinned menacingly at his companions. "Soon, the kings gonna be dead."

  As the assassins caught up to the king and his knight under the shade of a building, Kisou pulled out the scroll and unrolled it. He began to chant in a low, guttural voice, and the scroll began to glow with a strange light. The words on the scroll began to change, morphing into a language that no one could understand.

  Kisou raised the scroll above his head and shouted, "Ouroboros!" The scroll burst into flames, and with malevolent grace a ghostly snake appeared in the air. The snake was long and sinuous, with scales that gleamed in the firelight. It began to circle the king and his men.

  The king kicked his knight out of the circle just before the snake's tail disappeared into its mouth of sharp teeth. The snake began to eat itself, working its way towards its head.

  Water gathered from the air, coalescing into the fragile yet intricate shape of an arcane egg. Shimmering with an iridescence like a serpent's underbelly, the magick began to shift, transforming the liquid into a barrier of pure energy. It encased the king, its radiant surface undulating with a subtle, mesmerizing glow.

  This was the moment of truth—the fulcrum upon which the future would tip. The barrier held the king in its grasp, a delicate balance between creation and control, as the caster poured every ounce of will into maintaining the spell. One misstep, and the fragile arcane structure could shatter.

  Moses, momentarily stunned by the king's selfless act, steadied himself, his heart a drumbeat of determination. With the echo of his king’s peril thrumming in his ears, he raised his staff high, and with a resolute cry, he struck the ground. A deep rumble answered, the very stones of the chamber bearing witness to his resolve.

  In the moment his staff made contact with the earth, a surge of magic unfurled, a spectacle of power and earthbound grace. The floor beneath him cracked and heaved as if the very roots of the world were answering his call. From these fissures, rich, dark mud oozed and spiraled upward, drawn to Moses as iron filings to a lodestone.

  Mud swirled around Moses, each grain pulsating with his indomitable spirit. It climbed over his boots, encased his legs, and spiraled around his torso, crafting a living armor of earth. With each layer that solidified on his frame, the mud transformed into a formidable golem shell, animated by a warrior’s unyielding will.

  As Moses rose, now a titan clad in earthen armor, the assassins recoiled, their faces etched with shock. Their eyes, wide with a mix of fear and disbelief, fixed on this unexpected avatar of the battlefield, a golemic knight charged with the raw essence of the land.

  “Gumi, Nevin, you can't beat that thing, but keep him busy,” Kisou's voice cut through the tension, laced with urgency. “I just need a bit more time for the spell.”

  The weight of his new form was a comforting presence for Moses, a tangible reminder of the strength granted by the king's staff.

  Nevin, sliding the tip of his spear across the ground in a calculated display of defiance, approached Moses. With a sneer, he taunted, “Screw this, I'm taking him down.”

  With the swiftness of a storm, Nevin lunged, his spear bursting into flames, a visual echo of his burning resolve. But Moses, with a calm flick of his staff, called forth a stone hand from the earth. It burst forth, its fingers wrapping around Nevin’s spear with the inevitability of an ancient landslide. The flames sputtered and perished in its stony grip, overwhelmed by the implacable force of nature. Moses, embodying the relentless strength of the earth, stood unshaken.

  Gumi’s cursed arrow, loosed with lethal intent, found its target not in flesh but in the sturdy wood of Moses’ staff, held by the golem. The impact echoed with a deep, resonant thud, the arrow quivering, its deadly purpose denied.

  Moses sprinted towards Kisou.

  “Don't let that bastard move!” Nevin's voice roared in a mixture of command and frustration. He planted his feet firmly, muscles straining as he wrestled his spear free. With a powerful heave, he ripped it from the stone grip, dragging up a trail of earth and rock. The mud and rock encasing the spear shattered, fragments scattering across the ground, as Nevin reclaimed his weapon with a triumphant growl.

  “Shut up and fight, I'm running out of arrows,” Gumi snapped back, her voice a calm counterpoint to Nevin’s fiery outburst. Her fingers danced with the precision of a skilled harpist, swiftly nocking and releasing a trio of arrows, each imbued with a deeper curse than the last.

  As the arrows sliced through the air towards Moses, his golem form instinctively reacted. A barrier of mud rose like a wave in front of him, each arrow thudding into the earthen shield with muffled impacts. The cursed tips, designed for lethality, were rendered harmless against the dense, unyielding mud.

  Meanwhile, Nevin’s spear, ablaze with a wrathful inferno, threatened to engulf Moses. However, before the flames could sear, Moses' will manifested through his golem form. From his back, two massive clay arms unfurled like the wings of some primordial creature. They reached out and seized the blazing spear, their iron-like grip smothering the fire in an instant. Then, in a defensive surge, spikes of hardened mud shot from Moses’ back, like the stingers of an agitated hive, forcing Nevin to relinquish his weapon. With no choice left, Nevin executed a tactical retreat, his feet skimming over the sandy ground in a swift glide.

  Kisou’s voice gushed out, a macabre resignation to the grim tableau unfolding before them. “It's too late. Your king is dead. But I'll give you a moment to say goodbye,” he intoned, a hollow echo in the cobble stone.

  The snake ate its way closer to the back of its head, the egg’s shell crumbled from King Jericho’s face, revealing the grim truth of Kisou’s words. No!" Moses cried out, letting the golem crumble away as he rushed to Jericho's side.

  “Moses, run to him!” King Jericho’s voice, weakened but urgent, broke through Moses' tunnel vision.

  “Run to who?” Kisou’s voice was sharp, demanding an executioner’s call.

  “Please, take my life instead. Just let Jericho go,” Moses' plea was a last, desperate offer, the knight’s code etched into his very soul.

  Kisou’s gaze did not waver, his eyes locked onto Moses with the dispassion of cruelty itself. “The king is of no more use,” he concluded with cold finality.

  Jericho's form became a fire into the harsh truth of the moment, his body ripped apart with the shell of the egg, eaten by reality. His final breaths etched into Moses's vision through a veil of tears.

  Nevin hurled his spear at Moses, and as it soared through the air, flames erupted from its tail, turning it into a blazing projectile.

  Moses drove the staff into the cobblestones and through the staff's magic a blinding sandstorm erupted, engulfing the scene and stopping the spear. As the tempest settled, the assassins had vanished along with Moses, leaving behind the ripped form of King Jericho, his deep red essence staining the street.

  Moses fled the assassins, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned a corner and found himself in a narrow alleyway. He ducked into the shadows and waited, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  He was alone.

  But Jericho's last words echoed in his mind - "You must go to him..." Moses knew his friend had meant Lord Siorus, their mentor and the wise man of Pembroke.

  Moses sat down on the ground and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. He had to think.

  Moses' eyes flickered open, revealing a gaze clouded with failure. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled uncontrollably. The realization of his powerlessness washed over him in waves of despair. He had failed King Jericho, failed to shield him from harm.

  His gaze drifted to his sleeve, stained with the king's blood—a stark, crimson testament to his failure. "This is all that remains of my oath to you," he whispered to himself, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

  With resolute determination, Moses took a knife and carefully sliced off the bloodied sleeve. Tying it around his wrist, he transformed it into a symbol of his unfulfilled duty. "I may have failed to protect you, Jericho, but I swear, your death will not go unavenged."

  He rose to his feet, his resolve hardening. Squaring his shoulders, Moses set his sights on retribution. Jericho's death would not be in vain; he would hunt down the assassins and bring them to justice, whatever it took.

  But before he could embark on this path of vengeance, there was one crucial step he needed to take—he had to seek counsel from Lord Cade Siorus.

  "I will not fail you again, my friend," Moses vowed. If Lord Siorus could help avenge Jericho's death, he would find a way. Gripping his staff, Moses set out to find the man Jericho had entrusted in his final moments. He would not rest until justice was done.

  Moses took a deep breath and stepped out of the alleyway. He made his way through the city streets, his mind racing. He didn't know what to expect from Lord Siorus, but he was determined to see him.