A sinister notion

The air crackled with tension as leaom halted the spear in it's deadly trajectory, the tip mere inches away from the center of his brow. With a calculated movement, he turned his head, his cold gaze piercing through the room, locking onto the source beyond the window.

"Your jests have grown rather audacious, Teress." Leon's voice reverberated through the room,

In response to his statement, the air seemed to part as a figure glided into the scene, entering through the window with effortless grace. The captain's office, perched on the third floor, posed a challenge to most, but for this woman, such obstacles seemed a mere trifles.

She stood tall and proud, a vision of strength and elegance against the backdrop of billowing curtains. Her long, silver hair cascaded like a waterfall of moonlight, framing a face both beautiful and austere. But it was her eyes that truly captivated; a mesmerizing shade of ocean blue, deep and unfathomable, like the depths of the sea on a moonlit night.

Her face was both beautiful and alluring, but beneath her delicate features lay a fierce determination, a fire that burned as brightly as the emblem adorning her shoulder – the blazing sun, a symbol of her formidable rank as one of the seven Thrones, The Blue Throne—Teress Silver.

Every movement she made was a dance of precision and purpose, a testament to the years of training and discipline she had undergone as a knight of renown. Her silver-white uniform hugged her form with regal poise, accentuating her graceful figure, while her dark blue shoulder cloak billowed behind her like a stormy sea, bearing the emblem of her station.

"What? Got scared by just that..." Her voice carried a hint of mischief, a playful melody that danced through the room like a whispered challenge as she closed the distance between them with measured steps.

Approaching Leon, she continued, "Did you already slain the Wyvern? That was remarkably fast." The camaraderie between them resonated, a bond that went beyond the shared titles as Thrones.

"It wasn't me that killed it. It was already dead when I arrived," Leon said with a serious tone.

"Dead? By who?" she asked, her expression reflecting the same seriousness as Leon's.

"I was just about to find out. Join me in watching," he said, gesturing towards the enchanted scroll.

Teress stood beside him, and together, they resumed the playback. The recording displayed the very moment when the black-haired mage succumbed to the Wyvern's fiery breath. Leon and Teress watched in silence, dissecting every harrowing detail without flinching.

Teress's eyes shook as she witnessed the devastation and loss of life. "You shouldn't bear guilt for this. I know this all might bring bad memories for you. But you have to realize that we are in no position to think about the past, the things that can't be changed. Especially since we had lost one of us...we are racing against time now," Leon spoke softly, his gaze still locked on the scroll.

She bit her lower lip and nodded, their attention remaining on the scroll. Together, they bore witness to the Wyvern's terror engulfing the city.

"Those damn cowards! not helping even in evacuation," Teress said in disdain as she thought about the hunters' inaction.

Leon offered no immediate response, staying focused on the recording. Their patience was rewarded as they reached the crucial moment. Suddenly, an ice spear materialized out of nowhere, impaling the Wyvern's jaw and freezing a portion of its fiery maw, sealing it shut momentarily.

As the ice magic expanded, transforming burning structures into pillars of frost, Leon and Teress were riveted, captivated by the immense display of power. Intrigued by the magnitude of the ice spells, both Thrones focused intently on the unfolding scene within the scroll.

The recording shifted, tracking the source of the icy spear. It revealed a lone figure cloaked in rugged, dark-red fabric, its hue bearing the stains of countless battles. His face was concealed behind a striking white mask, adorned with intricate golden-red patterns.

His piercing gaze emanated fearlessness, daring the Wyvern to challenge him. In his grip, he held a steaming spear of ice, its razor-sharp tip gleaming ominously in the dim sunlight. Despite his apparent confidence, his posture remained poised, ready for the Wyvern's next move.

"Quite audacious to lock eyes with that beast, attempting to provoke it and draw it away from the city. A good move, but it appears he didn't succeed," Teress remarked, her voice edged with a mix of admiration and critique.

Leon's eyes narrowed as he absorbed the scene. The masked figure's boldness and the sheer power of his magic were undeniable. This confrontation was far from ordinary, coupled with the disfunction of the dimensional gate, this entire event appeared more than simple beast invasion.

Leon remained deep in thought, the intricate dance of intelligence and chaos within the nature of dragons and Wyverns played through his mind. "While dragons possess a higher level of intelligence compared to other beasts, Wyverns are still feared for their wild and berserk nature," he contemplated, recognizing the inherent challenges in confronting such formidable creatures.

"If it were me," Leon continued to pounder, "I'd have chosen the same approach—luring it away from the city right from the start." His tactical mindset acknowledged the sound strategy employed by the mysterious figure. Yet, a subtle hesitation crept into his thoughts. "So this man should have succeeded as well, unless..."

"Unless all of this was an elaborate act," Leon pondered further, and an absurd notion unfolded in his mind, revealing a possibility that the mysterious figure might be the very orchestrator of the dimensional gate issues—a puppet master manipulating events to incite rebellion. A hero's facade, swooping in to save the day when the authorities faltered. It was a far-fetched notion, yet in the midst of the empire's turmoil, Leon couldn't dismiss the possibility that this mysterious figure was intricately entangled in the unfolding events, weaving a web of conspiracy of his own.