At the kingdom of Fenrir....
The war room inside the cathedral of Fenrir—once brimming with pride and ambition—was now frozen in dread.
The news had arrived not through scouts or survivors.
There were no survivors.
Instead, it came through a shattered transmit orb, its final flickers displaying a crimson figure drenched in blood, and the moment seven shadows vanished into dust.
The war generals sat speechless. Eyes wide. Faces pale.
The head of the Warsaw family, Od Warsaw, gritted his teeth, cracking the iron goblet in his hand.
"All seven…? All seven are dead?"
No one answered.
A captain barged into the room, falling to his knees.
"Your Majesty… our battalion… they're kneeling. The entire front line has laid down their arms. Even the war beasts are trembling."
King Scarfin, usually a figure carved from stone, now showed the first twitch of fear across his hardened face.
"This is impossible…" he muttered. "They were assassins of legend… trained under the Eclipse Order. Their names made kings flinch."
"And now they're names etched in graves, if even that," murmured a high mage from the corner, voice quivering.
Another general stood up, trembling. "We thought to destroy Thelara from the inside. Instead, we've fed a goddess her offering."
The tension in the room turned toxic.
Panic.
Paranoia.
Whispers started spreading—about Scarlet, their once princess, now the Bloody War Maiden, standing on the other side of the battlefield with a wrath that seemed born from ancient hells.
Some murmured she was cursed.
Others believed she had been reborn as a vessel of a lost war deity.
King Scarfin slammed his fist on the long stone table, the echo snapping the silence.
"Silence! She's my daughter! I created her! This war is not over!"
But even he... trembled.
Because in the depths of his soul, beneath the rage and pride, a truth clawed its way forward:
She was no longer his.
Not his weapon.
Not his blood.
Not his anything.
She had chosen another home. Another man. Another kingdom.
And now, his army feared her more than they ever feared him.
The unthinkable had begun to form in the minds of his advisors—a rebellion. One not yet spoken aloud, but felt in the silence. In the stillness. In the absence of courage.
The Kingdom of Fenrir—mighty, cold, unyielding—had struck first.
And now, they waited.
For retaliation.
For vengeance.
Just some instance later.....
The twin gates of the Cathedral of Fenrir groaned open.
A cold wind swept through the sacred halls, yet the chill that followed was not from the wind—it was from the presence that entered.
A shadow fell across the marble, cast not by walls, but by a pair of figures who had become more myth than flesh.
Nova walked first, his steps echoing like war drums on stone. His eyes glowed faintly, fury burning beneath an otherwise calm face. His royal coat fluttered, torn slightly from battle yet radiating nobility.
A blade of light hovered beside him—not drawn, not sheathed, as though it responded to his thoughts alone.
Beside him, riding upon a beast that made even Fenrir's lion sigils seem childish, sat Scarlet, draped in a flowing black-crimson cloak that shimmered with an almost liquid fire. Her eyes were deep and cold, but more terrifying was her mount:
Liora.
The flying lion from Thelara, now grown to a size that dwarfed war beasts. Her wings spanned near the length of the cathedral nave, and with each step, her paws thudded like falling boulders.
Scarlet sat upon her with one hand on her newly reforged Bloodtear Staff, now wrapped with runes that pulsed with war-essence.
The cathedral had seen kings kneel, nobles tremble, and gods named.
But never this.
The nobles gathered—Od Warsaw, King Scarfin, the mages, the generals—none dared to speak.
Until a bold knight opened his mouth.
"You dare—!"
BOOM.
The floor cracked.
A clock-shaped rune bloomed beneath Nova's feet. Its hands ticked once—then froze.
[Skill Activated: PENDULUM — Sovereign Clock]
"All who oppose or intend deceit shall kneel. Only those granted words by the Pendulum's bearer may speak."
Gravity warped.
One by one, they dropped.
Od Warsaw fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
King Scarfin clutched his throne arms, face strained, unable to rise.
The cathedral's high mages—paralyzed, silenced, gagged by time itself.
Even the war banners seemed to tremble in shame.
The rune expanded, chaining the necks of every soul in the hall. Only those who bore Nova's mark remained standing.
Nova stepped forward, voice low, yet thunderous.
"You will not speak unless I allow it. You will not rise unless I command it. And you will not lie, lest the pendulum slice your soul in half."
Scarlet dismounted, her boots touching the floor like divine blades.
She didn't speak, but her presence alone was louder than flame. Her crimson eyes locked onto her father, King Scarfin, who looked up at her—no longer a daughter, but a storm given flesh.
Nova extended his hand toward Scarlet, his expression softening briefly.
Then his gaze turned back to the nobles.
"You sent assassins to our land. You tried to break what we built. You forgot one thing—"
He snapped his fingers. The Pendulum's rune surged.
"We are not alone. And we are not weak."
The cathedral doors slammed shut behind them with a finality that echoed across the kingdom.
The clock-shaped rune of Pendulum still shimmered beneath their feet. Time remained chained, voices silenced except those permitted.
Nova's voice echoed through the cathedral like the final verdict of a divine judge.
"Why, Scarfin?"
His tone was neither angry nor soft. It was the kind of voice that demanded truth without mercy.
"Why did you attack Thelara? Why send assassins, declare war—when your blood runs in her veins?"
King Scarfin's face twitched. Sweat trickled down his weathered brow as the Pendulum's curse wrapped around his throat. He gasped.
[Pendulum Directive: Speak only the truth.]
His body convulsed—and then words spilled out like a dam burst.
"Because… she is not my daughter."
The silence shattered.
Scarlet froze. Her eyes widened. Her lips trembled, as if betrayed by her own breath.
"What?" she whispered. The entire cathedral turned cold.
Scarfin coughed once, eyes now glazed, almost relieved and terrified to speak. The truth forced itself through him, ancient and sharp.
"She is not of my blood. She is the child of… the First Worldshaper, Sttarius, and the Reborn Goddess of War and Time… Shalltear."
Gasps rippled across the chamber. Even Od Warsaw's eyes widened.
Scarfin continued—broken, unable to stop.
"A thousand years ago… when the Heavenly Judgement fell upon the mortal realms, and the divine war between gods and shapers began… the pantheon feared what would happen if mortals controlled fate."
His voice dropped into a tremble.
"Sttarius—he was the first to bend creation, to shape reality by will alone. Shalltear, cast from the heavens for loving a mortal, stood with him. Together, they turned the tide. But in their final battle… they vanished."
He looked at Scarlet now, not with love, but guilt.
"They left behind an infant… with the power to end the gods themselves. That child—was you, Scarlet."
Scarlet staggered back.
"No… no, this can't—"
But the Pendulum shimmered again, demanding no lies may live.
"I took the child."
"I stole the power left behind."
"I built this kingdom—Fenrir—from their legacy, from what I siphoned from the cradle of divine blood. I raised you… not as a daughter, but as a weapon. A blade I could direct toward destiny."
His voice turned bitter.
"But you grew wild. Human. You loved. You found… him."
He glanced at Nova with veiled hate.
"So I tried to take you back. Not because I wanted you… but because I feared the moment your true self woke up."
Scarlet's knees gave out. Only Nova's arms caught her, holding her trembling form like porcelain about to shatter.
"I saw it," Scarfin continued. "That night in battle. You… became her. The Bloody War Maiden. The last soul of Shalltear awakened in you."
The cathedral rang with the weight of revelation. Nobles sobbed. Mages stared, whispering legends once believed myth.
Nova said nothing for a moment. He held Scarlet tighter. She didn't cry. She couldn't. Her soul felt torn between lifetimes.
He finally spoke.
"You made her your puppet. A child of gods, and you used her like a blade."
His eyes blazed now.
"And now… you'll answer to her."
The Pendulum pulsed again—glowing red.
Scarfin fell to the floor, gasping, tears and spit mixing. For once, the king of Fenrir looked like a child before a storm.
Scarlet rose. Her voice still her own, her soul trembled, but her eyes—glimmered now with a golden sheen.
"My name… is Scarlet."
"But I am also Shalltear."
She walked forward. Each step was a judgement passed.
"You wanted a weapon. You created a Queen."
The hall roared with unseen thunder.