The Prince faced the Wizard King.
Inside the grand hall, beneath a sprawling dome of glittering enchantments, the three Magic Tower Masters sat in a line with their gazes unreadable.
Opposite of them, Isla, Crown Prince of the Empire, and his elite knights seated coldly.Even facing such power,they did not falter.
Each Tower Master was different,both appearance and personality wise
The Red Tower Master, a stern man in his fifties, his eyes sharp as tempered steel.
The Black Tower Master was a woman in her forties with a chilling elegance that masked her deadly mind.
The Blue Tower Master, the youngest among them — barely in his mid-twenties — wore a bright, smug expression as his mocking gaze lingered on Isla.
Their personalities clashed even in silence, yet seated at the center of them all was the Wizard King.
Golden-haired, dazzling, dressed not in royal armor but in light robes of flowing silver.
He looked younger than his thirty-odd years, brilliant and radiant — in stark contrast to Isla's calm, cold aura.
The discussions began swiftly, without pomp.
Dungeons along the border, the Land of Dragons, security treaties, trade routes — the matters of nations laid bare between them.
The two countries had long upheld a careful relationship, balancing strength with mutual respect.
The meeting ended without chaos. Yet the air was heavy, unfinished.
Later, the Wizard King requested a private audience with Isla.
In the smaller royal hall, both men sat close, separated only by a low lacquered table.
No wine was served — only a delicate tea, its scent filling the room.
The silence stretched until Isla, sharp as a drawn sword, broke it.
"Chimera and Dracia... What exactly were you trying to pull?"
The Wizard King studied him over the rim of his cup.
For a long moment, he said nothing — then smiled, a smile not entirely warm.
"They were simply a torn in our grand conquest.."he was describing a rot deep writhing his own country.
His voice was calm, but the weight behind it was clear.
Dracia's peace was not without cracks, and the Blue Tower's ambitions had not gone unnoticed.
"Then why didn't you stop it?" Isla pressed, cold and unyielding.
The Wizard King's smile deepened, almost amused.
"Because if I had... you wouldn't be here, my friend."
He sipped his tea, as if they were discussing weather instead of treachery.
The Wizard King — the most powerful mage in the world — a man whose mastery over magic and politics made him both revered and feared, had simply allowed the chaos to fester.
All for this moment.
All to draw the Empire's future ruler to him.
He set his cup down, golden eyes locking onto Isla's with sudden seriousness.
"All I want is peace. True peace — the kind the world has never known."
"And for that... I need the Empire."
Isla leaned forward slightly, interest flashing behind his cold mask.
"And how," he said, voice low, "would I be of help to you?"
With a slow, deliberate voice, the Wizard King spoke,
"The Age of Darkness approaches. An era of chaos so vast, so absolute, that even those blessed with holy power will falter before it. Even I..."
He paused, a rare flicker of vulnerability passing through his golden eyes. "Even I would not be enough to stop it."
He set down his teacup with a soft clink, the room around them heavy with the weight of his words.
"That is why I need you."
"I need the Empire's strength. We must move swiftly — we must punish the evil that festers beneath our feet."
The Wizard King's gaze hardened, his voice dropping into a grim whisper.
"A Demon King's General is imprisoned within this very building."
Isla's breath caught. His mind, sharp as a blade, raced instantly — possibilities, advantages, leverage.
He masked his shock behind a cold, unreadable expression.
Deep inside, however, a storm had been unleashed.
A Demon General... here?
This revelation was an opportunity far too great to ignore.
His fingers tightened slightly around his cup.
If he played this right, he could extract unimaginable power, secrets, and favors — both from the Wizard King and from whatever ancient evil slumbered beneath their feet.
"Who else knows of this?" Isla asked, his voice low, almost dangerous.
The Wizard King's eyes gleamed in the dim light.
"Only myself," he said calmly, "and the three Tower Masters. No one else."
A chilling silence fell between them, thick with the unspoken consequences of such knowledge.
Isla's mind raced faster now — if the information was so closely guarded, it meant the Wizard King himself was treading a razor-thin line.
A single leak, a single betrayal, could collapse Dracia from within.
Isla leaned back slightly, a shadow of a smirk touching his lips.
"Then you are more vulnerable than I thought," he murmured, not unkindly — but truthfully.
The Wizard King chuckled, the sound light but tinged with steel.
"Perhaps. But vulnerability," he said, "is sometimes the perfect bait to catch a greater prey."
Their eyes locked — two predators masked in diplomacy.
And in that fleeting moment, Isla realized something:
This was no accident.
The Wizard King wanted him to know.
The question now was — to what end?
Done with the conversation, Isla rose from his chair, his movements slow, precise, and heavy with unspoken intent. He inclined his head slightly toward the Wizard King—a gesture as silent and final as a closing door—before turning away and striding from the chamber without a backward glance.
Outside, in the shadows cast by the towering stone walls, a figure cloaked in black materialized, as if summoned from the very darkness itself.It was the Hollow. Their presence was almost tangible with a cold aura surrounding it. Isla raised a hand and commanded.
"Search this place and find me the demon.".
Without another word, the hollow faded into the night as if it were nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Isla watched it vanish, his eyes cold, unwavering. Then, as if the world itself had paused for a heartbeat, he turned and made his way back to his chambers, the weight of his purpose pressing down upon him.