(Listen to 'when you're drawing alone at night. "Calm Stasis" Album Animation' 7:40 for increased immersion.)
All eyes turned toward the platform as Caelmir emerged once more, ascending the steps with a slow, deliberate stride. The rich crimson of his cloak trailed behind him like a river of flame, his white and gold attire catching the light with every motion.
Velessa watched, her expression unreadable. A murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd.
The herald who welcomed the prince stepped forward, carrying the crown with both hands, his voice rising in a ritualistic song.
Caelmir knelt.
The crown was lowered onto his head with practiced reverence. A hush. Then-
"Long live the Prince!"
A wave of cheers erupted, polite at first, then growing with warmth and energy. The hall filled with applause and raised glasses.
Velessa's hands joined the applause, soft and composed, but her eyes never left the stage. A tightness had settled in her chest. A whisper of dread curled around her ribs.
Something was wrong.
Without drawing attention, she summoned a dagger from the shadows beneath her seat. Its blade shimmered faintly with dark magic.
A few guests stood as well, each preparing their own spell.
Velessa's fingers tightened around the hilt.
The prince's eyes noticed this Difference.
He chuckled.
Caelmir stood up.
The stained glass above shattered with a thunderous crack.
Five figures dropped from the ceiling , cloaked in armor. They landed soundlessly, surrounding the prince in perfect synchronicity.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, but before anyone could scream-
A flicker of motion. A shift in the air.
From the polished marble floor, gray chains erupted, spectral and cold, latching onto the intruders with brutal speed. The clash of magic crackled through the hall. For a heartbeat, it seemed Caelmir had turned the tide.
But one figure broke through.
The chains shattered around him like glass. The assassin surged forward, frost trailing behind the jagged blade in his hand.
It appears the Prince didn't have enough mana to hold them all. (This isn't a mistake, don't point it out.)
The man grew closer, his frozen blade almost reaching Caelmir.
But Caelmir didn't flinch.
The dull ceremonial knife in his hand, beautiful and harmless, moved with deadly precision. It sank into the assassin's throat before the frozen blade could reach him. A gasp caught in the man's mouth, then blood sprayed across the prince and onto the stage like an artist's violent stroke.
The crowd froze.
And Caelmir stood there, drenched in red. Silent. Unmoving.
The assassin collapsed to the marble floor with a sickening thud, his blade skittering off to the side with a cold clatter.
He gasped, gurgled, both hands pressed tightly against the gaping wound in his neck, desperately trying to hold in what could no longer be contained.
Blood pooled beneath him, thick and dark, seeping into the cracks of the polished stone.
His body twitched once.
Then twice.
And then it stopped.
The hall had gone deathly quiet. Even the music seemed to hold its breath.
The Prince of Dawn stood tall, his expression unreadable as he dragged the lifeless body forward, the dull scrape of limbs across marble echoing through the hall.
He held the corpse up by the collar, presenting it to the assembly like a trophy.
Gasps filled the air again-some turned away, others stared in horrified fascination.
Velessa clutched her chest, her breath shallow. A quiet wheeze escaped her lips. It wasn't the gore that shook her, it was the ease. The way life had been snuffed out like a candle.
No hesitation. No regret.
Just cold efficiency.
"Do you see this?"
Caelmir ripped the armor off the assassin, showing the marking of a Shattered Eye.
Then after a solid minute, he threw the body towards the chained others. All of them were shivering under the gaze of their deceased comrade.
"Do you see how bold these vermin have become?"
Caelmir's voice echoed through the silent hall, not loud, but calm.
"To crawl out from their pit and strike at me on my night?"
He paced slowly in front of the chained assassins, blood trailing faintly behind his steps. His hand flew. Slicing the neck apart of an another.
"And yet, they still shiver before a dull blade and a moment's resolve."
He stopped, gazing down at the newer corpse.
"It seems the truce we had has already been broken."
He shrugged, his eyes moving to the next prey.
"No matter. I am not against some cleaning before the war begins again."
"I actually support it with my whole heart."
"...especially if the filth throws itself at my feet." Caelmir finished, his voice soft, almost amused.
One of the chained assassins whimpered, the sound echoing across the silent ballroom.
Caelmir's gaze locked on them, unblinking. "You all thought this was a game. That the prince was still a boy. That the Elarian Alliance was still asleep."
He stepped forward again, slowly, deliberately.
"But I've awakened, and so have the people."
The lights above flickered for the briefest moment, and shadows coiled unnaturally along the walls.
"You've only hastened what's coming."
Then, with a final glance at the crowd, his tone lightened again- disturbingly so.
"But don't worry. The game will proceed. Just... with a bit more color than expected."
He stepped closer to the edge of the stage, his voice lowering but still reaching every corner of the hall.
"And after the coronation, I will begin scraping away the rot that has settled into this world."
His gaze wandered across the sea of faces, pausing deliberately on a few. Some shifted. Some froze. With the knife, he took another life.
"I'll be swift," he said, his smile widening, stretching unnaturally at the corners.
"After all... now I know who chose to become part of the mold."
He turned, his footsteps echoing faintly as he began to walk away, his figure slowly retreating into the shadows beyond the stage.
"Your end will be painful."
"I will tear you apart piece by piece."
"Until nothing is left but silence."
"A silence from which you will never wake up."
And he was gone.
Velessa stared at the spot where Caelmir had vanished, her heart thundering in her chest.
She didn't know how or why, but the words "A third time" echoed in her mind. But she did not manage to remember anything else.
Across the ballroom, one of the archmages finally moved. An old elf in gold-trimmed robes stepped forward, his voice calm but tight with urgency.
"Seal the entrances. No one leaves without being questioned."
And just like that, the night continued. Sadly, it wasn't as calm as it once was.