Ep 1: The Night Of Flames

The icy winds of Eryndor's northern highlands howl through the ruins of a forgotten fortress. Inside a torchlit chamber, a shadowy figure kneels before an ancient altar. Symbols of forbidden magic glow faintly on the stone walls, their meanings lost to time.

The figure places a dagger—a wicked, serrated blade—onto the altar. The air thickens as a raspy voice echoes:

"The time has come. The Throne must fall, and with it, the light that binds us. Go now, my servant, and let the Night of Flames mark the beginning of my return."

The figure rises, gripping the blade. Their face is hidden beneath a blackened iron mask, their purpose clear: to bring ruin to the realm.

...****************...

The High King’s Council:

In Veltharion, the jewel of Eryndor, the sprawling palace of the High King stands atop the ruins of ancient dragon forges. The Throne of Ashes, a towering black seat made of charred dragon bones and infused with faint embers, sits in the Grand Hall.

High King Kaelion the Just, a man of noble bearing with streaks of silver in his hair, gazes down at his gathered council. Beside him, his dragon, Emberbane, lounges, its molten-gold eyes surveying the room with an almost human intelligence.

Representatives from the five noble houses are present:

- Lord Hadric Valenvar of the icy north, a towering figure wrapped in wolf pelts.

- Lady Aeris Aerowen, the cunning matriarch of the western isles, adorned with pearls and sea-green silk.

- Lord Garret Myradin, portly man with rings on every finger, representing the wealth of the central plains.

- Zerath Drakfyr, a younger, fiery warrior with golden eyes that hint at his dragonkin heritage.

- Archmagister Nael Caerys, an aging scholar whose every word carries the weight of the eastern highlands’ vast knowledge.

The air is tense. Rumors of dark creatures attacking northern villages and the growing unrest among the houses weigh heavily on the room.

Kaelion raises his hand for silence.

"Darkness stirs in the north. My scouts report shadowed beasts—creatures thought lost to time. Yet while our people cry for unity, I see only division. Will this council serve the realm, or will we tear it apart?"

His words are met with silence. Then Zerath Drakfyr speaks, his tone sharp:

"Weakness breeds chaos, Your Grace. The north should defend its borders, or perhaps Valenvar's famed honor is a myth?"

Lord Hadric Valenvar rises, his voice like a thunderclap:

"The north holds, as it always has. But perhaps the southern deserts are too busy feeding dragons to send aid."

The chamber erupts in shouting as old grievances resurface. Kaelion slams his sword into the stone floor, silencing them.

*“Enough*!” His voice echoes. “We are not enemies. If this council cannot stand together, the Throne itself will fall.”

...****************...

The Assassin Strikes:

As the council disperses, Kaelion retreats to his private chambers, troubled. Emberbane follows closely, its claws clicking softly on the marble floor. Ser Alric Velmont, Kaelion’s most loyal knight, enters, his face pale.

"My King, the defenses have been breached. Someone is in the palace."

Before Kaelion can respond, the door bursts open. A dark figure enters, cloaked in smoke and shadows. The assassin’s blade hums with unnatural energy. Emberbane rears, unleashing a jet of flame, but the blade absorbs the fire, dimming the room.

Kaelion draws his sword, engaging the assassin in a brutal duel. Ser Alric tries to intervene but is thrown back by a wave of dark energy. The assassin is no ordinary killer; their movements are inhuman, their strikes precise.

With a final, devastating blow, the assassin plunges the cursed blade into Kaelion’s chest. Emberbane roars in agony, its connection to Kaelion severed. The dragon collapses, its body crumbling into ash.

...****************...

The Night of Flames:

The Grand Hall erupts into chaos as fire consumes the palace. The assassin vanishes into the shadows, leaving only whispers of a sinister purpose.

The houses flee Veltharion, each blaming the others for the death of the High King. Lady Selyne Valenvar, just sixteen, clings to her father’s arm as they escape through a hidden passage. Her eyes linger on the Throne of Ashes, glowing faintly amidst the destruction.

In the chaos, Zerath Drakfyr orders his dragon to carry him south. Lady Aeris Aerowen boards her ship, swearing revenge. Lord Myradin flees to his fortified city, vowing to claim the throne for his own. Archmagister Nael Caerys disappears into the shadows, his thoughts consumed by the prophecy of the Dark Sovereign.

As the flames die, Veltharion stands in ruins. The Throne of Ashes remains untouched, its faint embers glowing as if mocking the carnage.

...****************...

In the aftermath, a crow lands on the cracked throne. It caws once before taking flight, disappearing into the smoke-filled sky.

Miles away, in the north, Selyne stands on the deck of a ship bound for her homeland. She tightens her grip on the sword her father handed her, her mind filled with a single thought: "The truth will be mine, no matter the cost."

And far below Veltharion, in the forgotten depths of the city, a dark voice whispers:

"The first piece has fallen. Let the game begin."

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