The Imperial Vigil
In the aftermath of the flame wyvern's onslaught, the cityscape stands as a testament to both the fury of nature and the resilience of its inhabitants. The once bustling streets are now strewn with debris and charred remnants, painting a picture of true devastation. Among this wreckage, a haunting silence hangs heavy, broken only by the distant crackling of embers and the occasional moans of the injured.
Amidst the devastation stood a makeshift triage center where injured citizens lie on hastily arranged stretchers, their faces etched with pain and shock. Overwhelmed healers tend to wounds, their hands moving with a mix of urgency and compassion. Knights, their armor scorched and tarnished, are scattered throughout the city, working tirelessly to clear rubble and rescue survivors trapped beneath fallen structures.
The once grand buildings that stood as a symbol of art and wealth were now marred by blackened walls and billowing smoke. Here, a group of knights gathered, strategizing and coordinating their efforts to quell the aftermath. Their eyes reflected both determination and grief, aware of the monumental task ahead to rebuild not only the physical city but also its shattered sense of security.
They were all from well-known families, few among them with strength of silver mana core. Yet, even with all the magic at their command, they grappled with the monumental task of piecing together what the wyvern's wrath had sundered.
The people that went into hiding began to emerge from their shelters, their faces etched with a mixture of sorrow and anger. They picked through the remnants of their homes, salvaging what they could and offering help to those in need. Strangers became allies, sharing stories of survival and loss, forging connections amid the ruins.
In this somber moment, the city stands as a canvas of contrasts — a symphony of destruction and unity, despair and resilience. The memory of the flame wyvern's attack will forever be etched into its history, a reminder of both the fragility and the strength of the human spirit.
Between such an unstrung moment, a sudden hush fell over the battleground as a portal, shimmering with a bluish-black hue materialized at the center, hovering just a few inches above the ground. In the wake of its appearance, an uncanny calm enveloped the surroundings, extinguishing every lingering flame in an instant, leaving not even a trace of smoke in its wake.
The mages, regardless of their mana core proficiency, shared a collective astonishment as the ambient mana around them, once turbulent after the fierce battle, settled down like still water. Soon, the mysterious figure emerged from the hovering portal, each of his steps grounding a presence that sent a shiver through the air. Immediately an overwhelming pressure descended upon all present, freezing them in place. Every gaze in the vicinity involuntarily shifted toward the origin of the portal, beholding the visage of the man who brought such a presence with him.
There, stepping through the rift, stood a man, his dark brown hair framing a face adorned with resolute brown eyes. His alabaster skin and chiseled features harmonized with the muscular physique encased in a perfectly fitted silvery white uniform. A long brown cloak billowed behind him, restrained from fluttering by the great sword that's sheathed at his back.
Upon his chest gleamed a badge of the blazing sun, intricately crafted in pure gold, catching the sunlight in a dazzling display. It became evident that this figure was no ordinary warrior but a knight of the highest order, his aura resonating with authority and unwavering resolve.
His face was unamused and serious, his brow furrowed in concentration, exuding a sense of strength and purpose that was impossible to ignore in any way. Those around him could not help but feel a sense of respect and admiration as they caught a glimpse of him.
Despite his imposing presence, the man didn't flaunt his power or authority. He moved with a quiet grace, his every movement calculated and precise, while his gaze pierced through everything and everyone around.
Soon, a dozen of other magic knights followed, stepping through the portal. Immediately, they stood behind the silver knight in an orderly manner, displaying the discipline and grace of the long and harsh training of knights.
With just a moment of his hand, they started to move and surrounded the whole area in no time, restricting anyone from leaving. The pressure on people disappeared, and they were again able to move. But no one dared to look the commander or ask questions.
"Bring me the captain of the city guards," he commanded, his voice resonating with a deep and commanding timbre. In just a few words, he wielded a weight of authority and command that brooked no defiance.
"Yes, sir Adair," swiftly responded one of the other knights, his salute a testament to the unwavering obedience that echoed in the air. The knight hastened to fulfill the order, leaving the others in contemplative silence.
As the name "Adair" lingered in the air, a profound stillness settled upon the crowd. The nobility and influence of the Adair family were widely acknowledged, being one of the closest allies of the pillars of the mighty empire. However, upon the second glance upon the emblem adorning the stranger's chest, a realization struck the onlookers the onlookers like a bolt of lightning, causing widening of their eyes in disbelief.
It was the emblem bestown to the chosen few, the elite of the elite—the ones who had transcended the limits of strength and power. The badge bore the mark of the Thrones, the seven most formidable warriors in the entire empire.
A awed gasps left by the stunned onlookers, as they beheld the legendary warrior in all his glory. There, standing before their astounded eyes, was the living embodiment of legend.
The atmosphere crackled with a sense of reverence, as the realization of the extraordinary standing before them settled in, casting a transformative aura over the battlefield.
Leon Adair—the Brown Throne—had graced them with his presence for imperial vigil.