100Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJHj0Pni6r6METRO'S CHAMBER — MORNING —
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Morning light spills across the chamber floor, soft and pale.
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Metro stands at the window, watching men load glowing bundles into red and gold carriage wagons.
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Sally grazes in the field below, calm, as if last night never happened.
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The door creaks.
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Lutheran steps in without knocking, boots muddy, hair still slightly damp.
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He clears his throat.
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Lutheran:
"Erm… Metro, your door was open so —"
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He closes it behind him, respectful.
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Metro doesn't turn — just keeps watching the field.
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Lutheran steps closer, voice low.
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"You remember last night?"
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Metro grows stiff.
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"The fire…
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"The forest…
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"the way you moved out there."
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He shakes his head, almost laughing at the memory.
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Lutheran:
"Never seen anything like it, lad.
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Not in all my years."
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He waits for Metro to speak —but Metro stays quiet, eyes on the horizon, the weight of his memories pressing, The White Flame clinging inside of him.
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Luther exhales.
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Lutheran: (softer now)
"Just wanted to make sure you remember it…
and that you're still yourself this morning…"
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He stands beside Metro, both men staring out into the field, the castle walking beneath them.
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Metro turns to Luther and gently smiles.
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Metro:
"Thanks,
I heard you were amazing out there."
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Lutheran huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
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Luther:
"Aye… I shot the sticks and didn't die, but you had the blue prints, (beat) your plan worked."
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He steps beside Metro at the window, both men looking down at the courtyard.
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Lutheran watches the chaos below.
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Lutheran:
"You see all that? The whole castle's been moving since dawn."
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Soldiers jog outside, loading crates, and checking wheels on carriages.
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He pauses, glancing at Metro.
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"The whole kingdom might awaken because of last night."
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"They're all looking at you…"
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(A beat)
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"Whether you like it or not…"
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Lutheran continues to watch the wagons.
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"You've changed something out there. Everyone feels it."
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He looks at Metro… really looking at him.
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Lutheran:
"Just wanted you to know what you're walking into…"
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Metro grows silent.
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His eyes drop to the stone floor, then lift again, to the courtyard.
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Men shouting.
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Carriages creaking.
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Bundles of leaf stacked in treasured heaps.
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Sally, swishing her tail in the sunlight.
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But something doesn't feel right.
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Something tightens Metro's chest — a dread he can't name. Lutheran turns his head towards Metro, body still facing outside.
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"The men downstairs…
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they're talkin'…"
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Metro's eyes shift —
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Lutheran:
"Sayin' you can walk through fire. That the forest bends for you. That the white flame isn't magic, but something older."
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He glances at Metro's hands — steady, but tense.
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"Some of the men are scared of you.
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Some of them are proud."
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He smiles, looking out at the glow leaf.
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Lutheran:
"But the truth is…
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they're building stories about you."
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Metro responds a little too quickly.
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Metro:
"I don't care what they're saying about me."
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Lutheran studies him, not convinced, but doesn't push it.
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Lutheran:
"Maybe you don't."
But the rest of em do…
… that's the trouble.
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Metro doesn't answer. He's searching inwardly trying to interpret the notions of his heart.
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Lutheran exhales.
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Lutheran: (softer tone)
"Rose and Lilly left earlier, around sunrise."
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That gets Metro's attention — movements in his eyes, his chin tilts towards Lutheran.
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Lutheran:
"Said they were going to find Curtis, didn't want to wake you."
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He pauses.
"They took the east road, looked determined, if you want, I can send a few men after em'
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… Just to keep eyes on the road."
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Metro exhales, the tension in his shoulders loosening a little.
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He faces Luther.
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Metro: (eyes softened)
"Yes. That would be great. Please."
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Lutheran nods once.
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Lutheran:
"I'll send two of my best. Quiet lads…
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They'll keep their distance, and eyes on the road. I'll see you downstairs."
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The door opens before Metro can take another breath. Ana slips inside — her frame moving faster than she should, cane tapping sharply against the stone.
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Metro turns, startled, then smiles, meeting her halfway. She throws herself at him, clinging tight.
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Ana:
"Oh…"
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She pulls back just enough to grab his face in both hands, turning his head left, right, up, down — Metro letting her do it, submitting like a child being checked by a mother.
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Her eyes search him desperately.
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Ana:
"I heard what happened…terrible things…
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Are you alright?
Are you hurt?
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Answer me, Metro!"
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Her voice cracks — pleading, trembling —her hands still locked on his cheeks, forcing his gaze to hers.
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Metro gently takes her wrist, lowering her hands, holding them there.
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Metro:
"I'm fine, Ani."
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Ana breaks.
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She cries into his chest, wrapping her thin arms around him with surprising strength.
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Metro looks down at her — and something in him softens, warms, heals. Her tears feel like medicine. His mood lifts without permission.
He slowly eases her back, still holding her elbows, still close.
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Metro: (teary-eyed)
"I'll tell you all about it…anything you want to know."
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They sit together on the edge of the bed, talking quietly — everything they've been through,
everything that led to last night. Ana listens with her whole everything, nodding, wiping her eyes, smiling, touching his arm whenever his voice falters.
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Then —she reaches into her purse —the old leather one she's carried since he was a boy
— and pulls out a thick, long rolled scroll tied with faded black ribbons.
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She places it into his hands.
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Ana:
"With all that's happening…
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"I felt prompted to give you this. It contains the genealogy of our fathers, wars, history, all of the prophecies.
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"Its our key."
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She presses it into his palms.
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"Read it."
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"And read it often."
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She stares deeply into Metro's eyes.
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Metro sits at his desk, unrolling the scroll with reverence. The ink glows faintly in the morning light. Ana steps behind him, smoothing his hair with her hands.
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Ana:
"I'll start getting something ready for us to eat."
"I'll be back."
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She turns to leave, then stops —
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BAM.
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The chamber door SLAMS open so hard Ana jump back.
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Blake burst in — suitcase dangling from one hand, vials, coins and trinkets flying everywhere as it swings wildly. Half the contents spill across the floor in a glittering mess.
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Ana stands in the doorway, cane in hand, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
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.Blake: “METRO!”
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He crashes into him, spinning with him like a kid greeting an older brother after war.
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Metro laughs—really laughs—hands on his knees.
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Blake finally settles down.
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Blake: (exasperated)
"Dude! I told myself you were dead!"
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Metro shakes his head still smiling.
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Blake smacks his shoulder—too hard, too excited
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Blake: (Holds hand on shoulder)
"I'm glad you made it out brother, I wouldn't be able to carry on without ya..."
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Metro places his left hand gently over the top of Blake's wrist—grounding him, absorbing every ounce of that chaotic love.
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Metro:
"Well... I gotta keep on living so we can fulfill
our destiny."
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They stare at each other for a beat—that ridiculous, unspoken bromance moment—then instinctively clap hands, pulling into a half hug, releasing, and separating.
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Blake:
"Your gonna have to tell me all the juicy details.
I'll probably have a heart attack listening though."
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Metro laughs again—softer this time.
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Ana watches them with warm, motherly pride.
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Then—The door opens again.
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A massive shadow outside fills the doorway.
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The Giant Kings guard steps inside, armor gleaming.
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Kings Guard: (Voice deep, formal)
"Metro, son of none. Lord Theron commands your arrival at his lodge. You will leave with the carriage shortly after harvest is loaded.
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(Silence fills the air)
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Metro looks at Ama.
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Ama looks at Blake.
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Blake looks at Metro.
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The joy draws into tension—the kind that settles.
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—THERON'S LODGE - TRAVEN'S OFFICE—
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The lodges hallway is long and dim, morning light barely touching the stone.
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Traeven walks alone.
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His footsteps echo—slow, deliberate—the sound is overshadowed by his thoughts.
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He's contemplating.
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Brainstorming.
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His mind turns like locked iron wheels in and out of each other. Metal smoothly grinding within itself, he relives the events of the past.
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The queen's trembling voice.
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The Kings fevered declaration.
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The archers testimony.
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Metro's name whispered like scripture.
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Every step a calculation.
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Servants flatten against the walls as he passes, eyes lowered. They feel something moving around him—not anger, not grief...
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Something colder.
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Traeven reaches his office door. The wood carved with symbols, that shift in low light.
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He pushes it open.
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The room is dark.
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No audio. Just whispers from a candle.
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A single lantern burns lowly at his desk, its
flame barely alive. Shadows cling to the dark walls, stretching over shelves of leather bound books.
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Behind his desk rises a towering library—scrolls, relics, papers, texts—a cathedral of knowledge.
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Traeven steps inside lighting a candle with
one that hes taken from his entrance door.
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On the center of his desk lies a sealed note.
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Black wax.
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The morgue's crest.
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He stops.
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He breaks the seal with one gloved thumb.
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—a soft crack that repels the walls way too loudly in the still room.
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He unfolds the letter.
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His eyes move across the page.
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"Mathias Hernandez.
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Fallen in Battle.
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Body Recovered.
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Name to be carved at the monumental stone
In honorary remembrance."
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The lantern flickers.
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Traevens face does not change—it empties.
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Whatever warmth remained in him drains out quickly.
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He folds the letter with perfect precision.
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Sets it down.
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Then he sits in his chair, back straight, legs crossed, fingers laced, hands and body still.
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No grief.
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No shock.
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Traevens cold stare intensifies—an icy, sharper, cutting gaze.
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Hardening.
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A man who has just lost his brother and found a reason to become something far more dangerous.
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—He sits in silence—
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—Expressionless—
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—Eyes darkened—
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—Scene fades black—
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and then Add to home screen.