As the entity vanished into the air, Arthur remained frozen in place, staring at what had once been a peaceful, warm, and vibrant home. Now it was nothing but a slaughterhouse soaked in death. The walls, the floor, the shattered pieces of furniture—everything was drenched in blood. A heavy silence clung to the air, choking and suffocating. Arthur felt something warm trail slowly down the corner of his lips. Confused at first, he raised a trembling hand to his mouth. When his fingertips brushed against the liquid, he realized it was blood—his own blood—dripping freely.

  His knees weakened. The strength drained from his body as if someone had violently torn it out of him. He dropped to the ground, the impact sending a jolt of pain through him. More blood poured from his mouth, splattering the dirt beneath him. Arthur attempted to cast a healing spell, but when he reached inward for mana, he felt an unseen force blocking him. Something, or someone, was preventing him from healing himself. His vision blurred, and his breath grew shallow.

  Footsteps echoed in the distance.

  A human.

  A young man emerged from the darkness, rushing toward him with urgency. His violet hair caught the faintest hint of moonlight, and his crimson eyes glowed like embers in a dying fire, cutting through the gloom.

  “My Lord, are you alright?” he asked, voice filled with alarm.

  “Does it seem like I’m alright?” Arthur growled weakly. “Heal me… quickly, Valir.”

  Valir nodded without hesitation. He positioned his hands, closed his eyes, and began to chant with a clear, steady tone:

  “Oh, power that makes the wounded happy, Evergreen as nature, Bringer of joy to many, Seeking only the broken to mend—"

  "Nature’s Healing.”

  The ground beneath them rumbled softly. Roots emerged from the soil, glowing with a gentle green light. They slithered forward like living veins, wrapping themselves delicately around Arthur’s wounds. Warmth spread through his body as his torn flesh knit itself back together. The pain dulled, then faded entirely. When the healing finished, the roots withdrew silently back underground, disappearing without a trace.

  Arthur slowly rose to his feet. “Your healing is as effective as ever, Valir.”

  Valir gave a small, proud smile. “Thank you, my lord.” His expression soon darkened as he turned his gaze toward the ruined house. Blood painted every corner. The air carried the heavy metallic scent of death. “My lord… what happened here?”

  Arthur’s face hardened. “Let’s go. I’m calling a meeting. I will explain everything there.”

  “A meeting? With whom?” Valir asked.

  “All the leaders of every kingdom in Zephyria.”

  Valir’s eyes widened slightly. “Is the matter that serious, my lord?”

  Arthur looked back at the house, his jaw tight. “Very.”

  Four Days Later

  The grand council hall buzzed with tension. Leaders from across Zephyria sat around a massive circular table, each wearing expressions ranging from worry to curiosity. They had been waiting for Arthur’s arrival, and the atmosphere grew heavier with every passing minute.

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  Finally, Arthur entered the room.

  “I apologize for the delay,” he said.

  A man with long green hair, calm and composed the crystal on his necklace reflecting more light thab usual nodded. “We accept your apology, King Arthur. Please state the purpose of this urgent meeting.”

  Arthur took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “As you all know, Visioner William died under suspicious circumstances. Four days ago, his grandson Tamashi received the second essence—a direct warning about a Wanderer who will arrive in the future. We were told to prepare.”

  “A Wanderer, you say?” an elderly man murmured, raising an eyebrow. “Where is this Tamashi boy?”

  Arthur’s voice tightened. “He was killed. By the entity that grants Visioners their visions.”

  The room fell utterly silent. Shock rippled across the faces of every leader present.

  The green-haired man leaned forward. “What did the entity look like?”

  Arthur hesitated. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to recall—but it was gone. “I… can’t remember. In my memories, I see Tamashi dying, but not the entity that killed him.”

  A woman in her thirties frowned. “So it removed its existence from your mind?”

  “It seems so,” Arthur replied.

  The green-haired man continued, “Did it tell you when or where the Wanderer will arrive?”

  “No,” Arthur began—but Valir suddenly stood.

  “Yes, it did. The first Visioner, Tamashi’s grandfather, received the first essence years ago. It told us where the Wanderer will arrive.”

  “What did the first essence say?” the old man asked.

  Valir answered, “It said: 'It comes from the West.’”

  “Then the Wanderer will be born in one of the western kingdoms,” the old man concluded. His gaze shifted back to Arthur. “Did the entity say whether the Wanderer is good or evil?”

  Arthur shook his head. “No. It only told us to be prepared.”

  The old man thought deeply for a moment, then spoke gravely. “If it warned us to prepare… there is a greater chance the Wanderer will be evil.”

  A young elf slammed his hand onto the table. His violet hair fell chaotically over his glowing cyan eyes. “What do you mean by that, old man?”

  The old man scowled. “Young people these days lack respect. I’m surprised you’re even a king.”

  “I asked a question,” the elf—King Alvan—snapped.

  “Stop it,” the woman in her thirties—Queen Silvana—said sharply. “Don’t worsen East–West relations.”

  Alvan gritted his teeth but sat down. “Fine. Continue, old man.”

  The old man cleared his throat. “Since the entity warned us, the odds are high that the Wanderer will bring calamity.”

  “What if he isn’t evil?” Alvan countered.

  “That will be good,” the old man replied. “But we must not risk the survival of all kingdoms.”

  The green-haired man asked, “What do you propose?”

  The old man straightened. “We divide East and West using a powerful barrier. If the Wanderer is born in the West, his calamity won’t reach the East. We’ll drain the mana from the West to sustain the barrier.”

  Alvan shot to his feet again. “WHAT?! We should be uniting, not dividing!”

  “Listen,” the old man insisted. “Without knowing when or where he appears, we cannot take chances. If he turns evil, united or not, we all die. But with a barrier, at least half the world survives.”

  Alvan glared daggers at him. “So the West suffers and the East flourishes? That is the most selfish idea I’ve ever heard.”

  The green-haired man tried to speak. “King Alvan, I think—”

  “Shut your mouth, proxy of King Jakar,” Alvan snapped. “Know your place.”

  The green-haired man rose angrily. “I am far wiser than you.”

  Alvan chuckled coldly. “Wise? You call yourself wise after agreeing to such nonsense?”

  Queen Silvana nodded calmly. “I agree with King Alvan. This plan is far too one-sided.”

  “See?” Alvan said. “Even Queen Silvana agrees. You just want the vast mana of the west don't you?”

  “No! I do not!” the old man protested.

  Alvan shook his head. “I’m done talking. The West declares War on the East.”

  He stormed out.

  The other western rulers followed—except Silvana. She paused, looked at King Derick with disappointment, and said, “I thought you were a good king. I was wrong.”

  Then she left the room as well.