The throne room of Oakhaven was no longer a place of celebration. The air was thick with the scent of extinguished candles and the heavy, suffocating weight of royal anxiety. King Alaric the Elder paced the marble floor, his footsteps echoing like hammer blows.
"No," the King barked, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and authority. "I will not authorize a strike force. I will not send my knights into a meat grinder of the mind!"
The Royal Confrontation
Alaric stood in the center of the hall, his travel-worn leather armor a sharp contrast to his father’s silk robes. Behind him stood Seraphina, her face a mask of frozen steel, her hand white-knuckled on the hilt of her claymore.
"Father, Marek Packwood has Clara!" Alaric’s voice rose in desperation. "He didn’t just kidnap her; he’s used a sleeper trigger. Every second we wait, he digs deeper into her head. We need the Royal Vanguard to breach Floor 35!"
"You don't understand!" the King roared, turning to face them. His eyes were wide, shadowed by memories of the Great Purge years ago. "Marek Packwood is a virus. If I send a hundred knights, he will return with a hundred puppets. I will not lose the crown’s military—and I certainly will not lose you—to that filth. Guards!"
A dozen heavily armored men-at-arms stepped forward, their halberds crossing to block the exit.
"Prince Alaric is to be confined to the North Tower until the Guild handles this," the King decreed, refusing to look his son in the eye. "And the Knight, Seraphina Thorne, is stripped of her Spire privileges until further notice. This is for the safety of the realm."
The Breakout
Hours later, in the high silence of the North Tower, Alaric sat on the stone floor. He didn't pace. He didn't shout. He focused. He could feel the static electricity in the dry mountain air, humming through the iron bars of his window.
"Sorry, Father," he whispered. "But the 'Aegis' doesn't leave people behind."
He pressed his palms against the iron lock of his cell door. "Volt-Siphon: Arc Overload!" A blinding flash of white lightning surged from his hands, melting the internal mechanisms of the lock in a shower of sparks. The door swung open with a groan.
As he slipped into the corridor, two figures emerged from the shadows of the spiral staircase. Kaelen, a lithe scout with dual daggers, and Jace, a broad-shouldered knight with a massive tower shield. They were Alaric’s oldest friends, the sons of lords who had grown up sparring with the Prince.
"The King is going to have our heads for this, you know," Jace whispered, though he was already checking his shield straps.
"Only if we come back without the mage," Kaelen added with a sharp, determined grin. "We’re with you, Alaric. Always."
The Meeting at the Gates
The city gates were slick with rain when the three of them arrived. Standing under the stone archway was a lone figure wrapped in a dark cloak. Seraphina didn't turn around as they approached; she didn't need to. The scent of ozone and the heavy tread of plate boots told her everything.
"I told you to stay in the palace, Alaric," Seraphina said, her voice dropping an octave into a dangerous, low growl. "This isn't a royal tour. Marek will use everything you love to destroy you. This is a Knight’s burden. I’m going to kill him, and I’m going to do it alone if I have to."
Alaric stepped into her line of sight, his eyes flashing with his own inner lightning. "She’s my sister-in-arms, Seraphina. And she’s the heart of this team. If you think I’m letting you walk into that Void without a light, then you don’t know me at all."
Seraphina looked at the Prince, then at the two loyal knights behind him. For a moment, the icy mask of the commander flickered. She saw the same raw, desperate resolve in Alaric that she felt in her own chest.
"Fine," she said, drawing her claymore and letting the tip rest against the wet cobblestones. "But understand this: on Floor 35, there are no Princes. There are only survivors. If you hesitate for even a second because it's Clara standing in our way... we all die."
"I won't hesitate," Alaric promised, though his heart hammered against his ribs.
Together, the four of them turned toward the looming shadow of the Spire. The descent began not with a cheer, but with the grim silence of a suicide mission.
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and then Add to home screen.