The world beyond Eden's borders seemed heavier somehow.
The farther Lito traveled, the thicker the air became—laden with tension, whispered worries, and unseen dangers.
Gone was the open celebration of Eden, the laughter that filled its lantern-lit streets.
Here, the Grandtenia kingdom loomed under a heavy, clouded sky. The once-proud banners hung limp and tattered. The stone roads, cracked and worn, whispered of unrest that no sweeping army could hide.
Lito adjusted the hood of his simple brown cloak, blending into the crowd like any other wandering merchant or farmer seeking refuge from the uncertain times.
He had left Eden quietly—against the protests of the six Guardians—and journeyed alone into this foreign land, carrying nothing but a worn satchel, a pouch of coins, and a heart weighed by duty.
_"I must understand what drives them,"_ he thought. _"Only by knowing their pain can I prevent another war."_
The first town he entered was called Eclain, nestled just over the border. It was once known for its blooming gardens and brilliant musicians.
Now, the flowers were wilted, the music muted.
Children huddled near shuttered windows.
Vendors, their faces drawn and wary, hawked thin wares from makeshift stalls.
Even the guards at the city gates, clad in the navy and gold armor of Grandtenia, watched the streets with cold, suspicious eyes.
Lito's stomach twisted at the sight.
This was no thriving kingdom.
This was a kingdom on the verge of breaking.
---
He moved cautiously through winding alleys until he found the place he had been seeking:
an old, crooked tavern with a half-broken sign swinging in the wind—**The Bleeding Griffin**.
From within, raucous laughter and the clatter of tankards filled the night air.
The perfect place for whispers to spill.
Pushing open the door, he stepped into a world of smoke and shadows.
The tavern was packed—mercenaries, merchants, soldiers off-duty—faces rough and weary, their conversations low and tense.
A fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did little to lift the heavy atmosphere.
Lito kept his head low and made his way to a dark corner, ordering a simple mug of watered-down ale. He needed no attention.
From his hidden seat, he listened.
At a battered wooden table near the center, a group of knights sat drinking heavily. Their armor was polished but worn, their crests bearing the unmistakable falcon sigil of Grandtenia's royal guard.
_"Perfect,"_ Lito thought grimly. _"Drunk tongues are careless tongues."_
He strained his ears.
---
"...I'm telling you," one knight grunted, slamming down his cup, "this kingdom's rotting from the inside. Ever since His Majesty fell ill, the court's been a viper's nest."
Another knight, younger, nervously glanced around before whispering, "We're not supposed to talk about the king's condition."
"Pah," the first scoffed. "Everyone knows. He's bedridden. Barely clinging to life. And those cursed nobles are tearing each other apart to see who'll seize the throne!"
The others leaned closer, their voices thick with anger and fear.
"The Duke of Velstrom's already gathering men. They say he's promising land and titles if he takes the crown."
"And the Countess of Marlowe too," another hissed. "Don't let her age fool you. She's got half the western lords eating from her hand."
Lito's hand tightened around his mug.
It was worse than he imagined.
The king of Grandtenia—once a symbol of order and strength—was dying, and with him, the stability of the entire kingdom.
Without a clear successor, the nobles were circling like wolves.
_"Is that why they attacked Eden's border?"_ Lito wondered. _"To gain favor, to distract their own people, to show strength?"_
The answer chilled him.
---
The conversation at the knights' table grew darker.
"Mark my words," said the eldest knight, lowering his voice until it was almost a growl. "This kingdom will be at war within a month. Not with Eden. With itself."
The others muttered curses and pounded their fists on the table in bitter agreement.
One knight laughed hollowly. "War's the only way some of us are going to get paid."
Lito's heart ached.
He remembered the terrified faces of Blackroot's villagers, the burned homes, the desperate fight to protect what little they had.
And here—here in this smoky tavern—men spoke of war as if it were a game, a grim necessity.
---
Suddenly, the door slammed open.
A gust of cold night air swept through the tavern, sending candles flickering.
A pair of Grandtenian guards entered, their cloaks snapping behind them. Their faces were hard, their eyes searching.
"King's orders," one barked. "All citizens out past curfew must have proper papers! No exceptions!"
The tavern erupted in groans and curses, but everyone began pulling out scraps of parchment, badges of citizenship or soldier's warrants.
Lito stiffened.
He had no papers.
Eden was not recognized here.
If they found him—worse, if they suspected who he truly was—
He rose quietly, slipping through the shadows toward the back exit. His boots made no sound on the worn floorboards.
One of the guards spotted him.
"You there! Hooded one! Stop!"
Lito didn't hesitate.
He darted through the kitchen, knocking over a stack of pots and pans. Shouts erupted behind him.
He burst out into the alley, heart pounding.
The streets were a maze of fog and darkness.
He sprinted, weaving between barrels and market carts, keeping to the shadows.
Boots thundered after him.
But Lito had trained for years—not just as a king, but as a survivor.
He knew how to lose a pursuer.
After what felt like an eternity, he crouched behind a crumbling stone wall, gasping for breath.
The guards' voices faded into the night.
He was safe—for now.
---
Lito sat there for a long time, the weight of what he had learned pressing down on him.
Grandtenia was dying.
Its leaders fought not for their people, but for their own ambition.
And in their desperation, they would lash out—at Eden, at anyone they saw as weak or vulnerable.
_"We have little time,"_ Lito thought bitterly. _"If Eden does nothing, we may be pulled into their civil war without ever lifting a sword."_
But Eden was still fragile, still recovering from its birth and the battles they had already fought.
_"We cannot afford another war,"_ he thought grimly. _"Especially not one on their terms."_
He knew what he had to do.
He would need to return to Eden.
Gather his Guardians.
Prepare for the inevitable.
And somehow—somehow—he would have to find a way to keep the peace, or else Eden would be swallowed in the chaos of a dying kingdom.
---
Before he left the city, he did one last thing.
At the edge of Eclain, hidden between a crumbling bakery and an abandoned weaver's shop, Lito found a message board—the old kind, where travelers and townsfolk posted notices.
Among the parchment scraps fluttered one message that caught his eye, scrawled in a hurried, messy hand:
> "Seeking warriors. Pay in gold. Glory promised. House Velstrom calls the brave to their banner. For a new Grandtenia."
Another note, pinned beside it, countered:
> "Loyal to the Crown? Join Countess Marlowe's forces. Protect our future. Rich rewards to those who stand firm."
The people were already choosing sides.
The kingdom had become a battlefield waiting to ignite.
Lito stared at the notes for a long, bitter moment.
Then he tore a strip of cloth from his own cloak, wrapped it around his hand, and tied it to a nail jutting from the board.
It was a symbol—a promise.
Not one of conquest.
But of protection.
A silent vow: that he would shield Eden from the coming storm, no matter the cost.
---
As dawn broke over the broken spires of Grandtenia, Lito slipped away from the city like a shadow.
The road ahead was long, and fraught with danger.
But his resolve burned brighter than ever.
He was not just a boy from an orphanage anymore.
Not just a king by crown.
He was the hope of a kingdom—and perhaps, if fate allowed, the hope for peace.
To Be Continued…