The Burn Down Palace

In the frigid north of the Solyria kingdom, where the chill cuts deeper than any blade, the Oceris Palace stood as a beacon of both beauty and peril. Its once grandeur now marred by the ferocious wildfire that ravaged its walls, casting a sinister glow upon the snow-covered landscape. Red flames, fueled by the relentless gusts of wind, danced mercilessly across the palace, devouring everything in their path.

The air was thick with acrid smoke, mingling with the scent of burning timber and the sweet fragrance of the surrounding garden, now tainted by the tragedy unfolding within. Panic and terror gripped the hearts of the palace servants as they fled for their lives, their frantic footsteps echoing against the roar of the flames.

Commander Zand, a towering figure with a grim countenance, stood at the forefront of the chaos, his armor gleaming in the fiery light. With a deep frown etched upon his face, he led his army towards the besieged palace, their determination unwavering despite the odds stacked against them.

As they approached the palace gates, they were met with staunch resistance. A lone guard, known as Bishop, stood defiantly before the heavy gates, his muscular form a testament to his unwavering resolve. Despite Zand's authoritative commands, Bishop remained steadfast, his grip on his axe unwavering.

Tensions reached a boiling point as Zand and Bishop faced off, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. With swords drawn and words sharp as steel, they clashed in a flurry of defiance and determination.

Zand gritted his teeth, his hand on his sword, as he spoke hatefully, "Get out of my way!" His voice was filled with an intimidating power, but Bishop stood his ground. "What is your business here?" Bishop asked in a deep, guttural voice.

Zand replied, "By the order of Emperor Azorius Coral, I am here to protect the Crown Prince, and anyone who stands in my way will face the consequences." He drew out his sword without a hint of reluctance and placed it by his throat in a blink of an eye trying to induce fear into him but it seemed to not affect Bishop at all.

Bishop replied, "I am afraid I cannot let you pass these gates. It is the order from the General." Despite Zand's blade piercing his skin and drawing blood, Bishop stood his ground, his grip on his axe never loosening. "Back off! You must not trespass!" he declared.

There was an intense aura burning within them as they looked at each other ready to split each other's necks.

However, a voice from above silenced the confrontation. A woman, cloaked in the regal hues of maroon, stood upon the palace walls, her presence commanding attention. "Let them pass, Bishop!" With a single decree, she quelled the rising tension, her authority undeniable amidst the chaos below. And as Bishop reluctantly stepped aside, his disappointment palpable, the promise of future conflict hung heavy in the air, a lingering reminder of the turmoil that gripped the kingdom.

Zand, the commander of the Solyria army, stood before the charred remnants of the palace, his expression twisted with disappointment and simmering rage. It was as if he lamented not shedding Bishop's blood, yet the weight of his duty pulled him back from such desires. With a steely resolve, he sheathed his weapon, his voice barely above a whisper as he uttered his contemptuous words, "I hope that we will have the chance to face each other in battle someday." He threw those words showing his contempt. 

As the gates behind Bishop swung open, Zand's soldiers surged forward, accompanied by water mages desperately attempting to quench the relentless flames. "Search for the Prince!" Zand's command echoed through the desolation, his soldiers scattering in search of any signs of life amidst the smouldering ruins. Hope dwindled with each passing moment, especially for the cursed Prince, cursed to be trapped in eternal slumber.

 Zand's mind churned with unease as he grappled with the ramifications of the ill-fated marriage alliance. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was a grave mistake on the part of the king to entangle the Prince with the war beast from the Nuria Empire. The very thought of the vulnerable heir being tethered to such a monstrous figure sent shivers down his spine. Memories of past wars had stained Zan's mind and the horrors he had witnessed served as a grim reminder of the cruelty that lurked within the heart of the Nurian Empire. The demonic General Noori, with her merciless tactics and insatiable thirst for blood, haunted his every waking moment. 

To see the Prince, the last hope of the Solyria dynasty, bound to such a perilous fate seemed nothing short of folly. Zand knew all too well the fate that awaited anyone who dared to cross paths with the General. It was a fate steeped in flames and agony, a punishment befitting those who dared to defy the will of the Nurian Empire. Zand was afraid that all this was just a mere play and the marriage was not an alliance but actually a hate act from their side to finally overthrow Solyria.

 Before the ink could dry on their marriage contract, tragedy struck – the Royal Palace, once a bastion of hope, lay in ruins, consumed by flames. In the wake of the inferno, despair gripped Solyria's heart. The Crown Prince and his bride were nowhere to be found, lost amidst the ashes and rubble. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the war-torn land, the kingdom's warriors rallied, their swords ringing out like a clarion call to arms. "Dispatch word to His Royal Majesty!" bellowed the commander, his voice carrying the weight of vengeance. "The Nuria Empire has crossed a line that shall not go unpunished. Prepare for war!" And with that solemn decree, the kingdom braced itself for the impending storm, its fate hanging precariously in the balance.