The Legends of Kartas | Ongoing

20. THE FALL OF KARTAS

Nefrin Antaro was late. Again. If it was any other day, this common occurrence would pass as another "Nefrin trait" as his fellow guards coined it, but today was different. Today, there was too much at stake for him to screw it all up, yet here he was in his silver armor, running late like always.

Losing track of time was a terrible habit because he got immersed in his mumbles of plans for the future. This time, he was in the library sketching a map of the steps he would take in his next assignment, which opened many opportunities for him to climb the ranks. And before he knew it, hours had sneaked past him.

He was embarrassed when he had fallen out of his chair in his rush, juggling his helmet for balance before securing it under his arm. And as he dashed through the halls, everyone stared at him, shaking their heads. They were probably thinking that the Antaro boy was at it again—dreaming big when he should've been at the Royal Council.

Yes, the Royal Council, the one that was the whisper of the town since Crown Prince Jimin returned from Stieffera with a decapitated head, was today. Nefrin was chosen to guard the King and Crown Prince of Umbra. More accurately, he was one of the men from his battalion commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Evan Nichel chosen to stand guard.

Even so, if Nefrin played his wits and cards right, a promotion was imminent. Once he acquired a higher title than that arrogant bastard Nichel, Nefrin was going to exact his revenge for every living moment of hell he endured. All he had to do was catch the attention of one of the royals.

He had failed with Princess Sylvia. In the gardens where Prince Jimin was found half-dead, outside Prince Jimin's room the night he embarked for Stieffera, the day Mother Erna marched to the throne room. In every situation, it was clear he meant nothing to the princess. Nefrin was just another guard among the thousands. But at the Royal Council, in front of all the sovereigns and heirs of Kartas, he had an opportunity.

Over the past month, he had observed the royals arrive one by one, all powerful and remarkable in their own way. If a skirmish occurred during the council, Nefrin could outstand everyone else. Playing the desired scenario in his head, he fist-pumped the air and skipped down the corridor. That promotion was definitely coming his way.

He was cutting his punctuality short, but the great hall, where the council would be convened, was only a few corridors away. Picking up his pace, he veered towards a shortcut, determined to arrive on time, when something smacked him across the head. On impact, he dropped his helmet and landed on his back.

The world was extraordinarily dark, and his body was dragging itself into a cupboard.

"Wait," he whispered, his lips jumbling around the words, but his body didn't halt. When he was shoved into the tight space, he discerned a blurry figure with vermilion hair standing before him and holding his helmet.

"Thank you," he muttered, reaching for the armor, but it was pulled away from his grasp. To say the least, Nefrin was bewildered, his mind too scattered to assess his situation. The only thought buzzing in his pounding head was that he wasn't getting that promotion before the world dimmed to black.

* * *

Sylvia was nervous. After the servants dressed her in a tight, azure gown that swept the floor every step she took, they left her in her room with her anxious thoughts. For the past few weeks, the castle bustled with activities to prepare for the council, opening the rooms for the guests, arranging the great hall. And watching the servants and guards rush around was nerve-racking because it emphasized how important this historic day was.

The last Royal Council was four years ago when King Aethyrias proposed to end the Great Southern Wars. But even then, only the kingdoms south of the Rendryn Mountains attended. At present, all the current and future sovereigns of Kartas were somewhere in the castle, readying themselves to strategize how to prevent the Demon Days. It was true the kingdoms had a thin coalition that could snap at any moment with the wrong choice of words or actions, but the Demon Days was a matter that transcended past disputes.