The moment Medusa spoke, the air thickened with raw power. The walls of the great hall trembled, as if the very foundation of Velmor itself recognized that history was being written.
Golden energy rippled outward from her, moving in slow, deliberate waves. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Inevitable.
Her serpents hissed—dozens of voices merging into a sound that was neither words nor whispers, but something in between.
The Seal was forming.
Ares, now fully aware of the weight of his mistake, stood rigid. His fists clenched at his sides. He was not foolish enough to challenge Medusa's will a second time.
Poor Eldors—he looked both honored and terrified. His kingdom stood at the brink of something monumental. Yet a single, unspoken question clawed at the back of his mind:
Would there be a price?
Because no power—especially one as ancient as Medusa's—came without cost.
Medusa raised a single hand. The golden energy in the air twisted, coiling into an ethereal sigil that hovered between her and the king. A divine contract. Binding. Absolute.
And then, she spoke.
"From now, Velmor will be protected under my name."
King Eldors nearly collapsed in relief. Ares exhaled, looking away. Even Nyx—an amused spectator until now—tilted her head with intrigue.
But Medusa wasn't finished.
She turned to Raezel, her glowing eyes locking onto his. The silence stretched—just long enough for it to sting. Her smile sharpened at the edges.
"Would you defend these mortals, my son?"
Raezel met her gaze without hesitation.
"I would."
Her smile deepened. Sharp. Knowing.
"Then you shall."
The sigil flared brighter, hotter—pulsing with ancient power. The golden light crackled, shifting. It wasn't just binding Velmor to Medusa.
It was binding Raezel.
And then—
It vanished.
The Seal was set.
King Eldors exhaled sharply, his legs trembling beneath him. Velmor had been saved.
But then—
Nythren snorted.
"Wait, wait, wait. That's the deal?" He grinned, glancing between Medusa and Raezel. "Oh, brother. You don't even know what just happened, do you?"
Raezel frowned. "What?"
Nythren pointed at him. "You." Then at the king. "And you." Then back to Raezel. "Congratulations. You're now the official, undeniable, appointed guardian of this entire nation."
Silence.
Raezel blinked. "Wait, what?"
Eldors whipped his head toward Medusa. "What!?"
Medusa simply smiled. A mother's smile. The kind that made it very clear her son had just walked into a carefully placed trap.
Nyx chuckled, covering her mouth with one elegant hand.
Nythren threw an arm around Raezel's shoulder. "Brother, you really should've asked for details first—who is going to be the guardian?."
Ares grinned for the first time in what felt like ages. "Serves you right."
Raezel turned to his mother, betrayal in his eyes. "You tricked me."
Medusa raised an eyebrow. "I made you responsible."
Eldors, who had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown mere moments ago, suddenly looked much, much happier.
"Oh! Yes, yes, I see now. Wonderful! Raezel, our eternal guardian! We shall build a statue in your honor! Many statues, in fact! Let us begin immediately—"
Raezel buried his face in his hands. "I hate everything."
Nythren cackled. Nyx was still chuckling. Ares? Smug.
Nythren smirked wider, his tone dripping with amusement. "Oh, and don't think you can run, brother. A seal isn't something you can just walk away from. The moment this kingdom is in danger?"
He tapped Raezel's chest.
"The Seal will call for you."
Raezel groaned, realization hitting like a mountain.
***
Far from the gilded halls of Velmor, where gods and legends played their games, another battle raged at the borders. One of blood, steel, and survival.
The battlefield was a sea of chaos.
Velmor's warriors—outnumbered a hundred to one—clashed against the might of Xandria. An empire forged in blood and conquest. A name spoken in whispers across the mortal realm.
A nation so ruthless, so absolute, that kingdoms did not fight it—they surrendered.
The sky was thick with the smoke of burning banners. The ground was soaked in blood. The screams of the dying echoed across the valley.
Xandrian soldiers fought like a tidal wave—merciless and unrelenting. Their war machines rained fire. Their cavalry trampled the desperate ranks of Velmor's defenders.
It was not a battle.
It was a massacre.
Velmor's warriors fought bravely, but they knew the truth.
They will fall today.
Commander Daelus, one of Velmor's strongest warriors, wiped blood from his brow and looked to the horizon.
No reinforcements.
No miracles.
Velmor was alone.
And then—
The battlefield shifted.
Not by man.
Not by strategy.
But by something far older. Far greater.
At first, it was just a shiver. A faint tremor across their skin.
Then—heat. Blazing. Searing. Divine.
One by one, Velmorian soldiers gasped. Clutching their arms. Their chests. Their faces. Their breath hitched.
And then—the marks appeared.
Glowing, twisting serpent insignias burned into their flesh.
Some on their arms. Some across their chests. Some along their faces.
A mark of protection.
The Xandrians hesitated.
Something was… wrong.
Velmor's warriors stood taller.
Their wounds? Healing.
Their exhaustion? Gone.
Their fear? Erased.
Commander Daelus flexed his fingers. No pain. No fatigue. Power surged beneath his skin.
He looked into the eyes of his soldiers. He saw it there too. That same realization.
They had become something else.
The Xandrian general—a warlord who had conquered over fifty kingdoms—watched in growing horror. His elite warriors were falling.
To farmers.
To foot soldiers.
To mortals.
He had seen war in all its forms.
But never this.
And then he saw—
A vision. A nightmare.
And then he saw—
A vision.
A nightmare.
Medusa.
And her eyes burned straight through the soul.
At that moment, he understood.
They weren't just fighting a mere nation.
They were fighting against the will of a Queen. One known and feared across realms.
Victory was no longer a question.
Only the number of bodies it would take to end this war.