Chapter 91 – The Frozen Aroma

The Tri-Kings watched him go, unease creeping into their thoughts. ‘Why is he leaving?‘ and ‘What was his intent?‘

Their eyes flickered to General Mozat, who remained where he stood, unfazed by his king’s departure. Then, with a simple gesture, General Mozat’s horse was brought forth. He mounted swiftly, his imposing figure framed by the cold morning light. Now at the head of the army, he sat tall in the saddle, motionless, waiting—his eyes fixed on the sun as it climbed toward its destined point in the sky.

Meanwhile, King Azure made his way toward a ruined castle on the cliff on the plains of Rohea.

His boots echoed against the ancient stone, his heavy steps resounding through the hollow remnants of a past long buried. Time had not been kind to this fortress—its walls stood fractured, its towers crumbled, and the wind whispered mournful songs through the empty corridors, where withered vines clung to the stone and dried, skeletal trees twisted in the courtyards. Dust swirled in the air, disturbed only by his presence and that of the two witches who flanked him, their hooded forms gliding like wraiths over the broken ground.

Then King Azure crossed the ruined archway, entering the desolate hallway beyond, and made his way toward the throne room, sealed behind two large metal doors. As he approached, the witches traced intricate signs in the air, summoning a hollow, shimmering projection before them. The projection reflected on making the doors groan open on their own, dust spilling down in soft clouds as their ancient hinges creaked. The king stepped through.

He walked toward the throne, his footsteps echoing through the vast chamber. Black marble pillars stood in circular rows on either side—some still intact, others cracked or broken clean in half, either dangling from the fractured ceiling or lying toppled across the floor. Some of the fallen pillars were wrapped in dried, withered vines, their tendrils clinging stubbornly to the stone.

The ceiling itself was splintered, great sections missing, allowing shafts of golden morning light to pierce the darkness. Across the cold floor, small plants had forced their way through the cracks, brittle and pale from years without sunlight. In the centre of the broken roof hung a heavy metal chandelier, rusted but miraculously still whole. Corroded chains held it aloft, anchored to the surrounding pillars. Shadows stretched across the cold stone floor, forming jagged, shifting patterns that flickered with every gust of wind.

At the far end of the room, on a raised dais with five wide, cracked steps, stood the throne, which was slightly cracked. As King Azure approached.

With the same composed grace, he lowered himself onto the seat, his posture regal yet detached. His silver-white cloak cascaded around him like flowing mist, its hem resting upon the fractured stone. He leaned slightly to one side, resting his chin against his knuckles, his eyes gazing through the ruined archways. From this vantage point, he could see everything—the battlefield stretching before him with both armies awaiting their inevitable clash.

The witches remained silent, standing at his side at the bottom of the dais like eerie sentinels. But without turning to them, King Azure spoke, his voice calm, dismissive, “Leave me be.”

Without hesitation, the two witches bowed their heads, their shadowy forms vanishing into the darkness down the hall.

King Azure sat alone, waiting.

As the sun climbed higher, both armies stirred. The anticipation was tangible, hanging thick in the air like the final moment before a storm. The sky burned with streaks of gold and orange, the morning light creeping over the horizon. Then, at last, the sun broke free from the mountain’s grasp, casting its brilliance over the battlefield. The moment had come.

At the front of the Tri-King army, the three kings took their places. Each led a section of their forces, their warhorses pawing at the ground, eager for the charge. King Hersery turned his gaze toward his men for one last time. His expression was calm, though his grip on the reins was tight. His voice, steady and unshaken, carried across the ranks.

“Well, soldiers… it is time…” He took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over the warriors who had stood with him through every battle, every hardship.

“It takes immense courage to stand here,” he said, his tone firm yet reverent. “And it has been an honour to stand beside you all.”

He turned his horse forward, steel flashing in the morning light as he drew his spear sword. Lifting it high, he pointed it toward the enemy lines.

Then, with a thunderous cry, King Hersery roared, “For the Eastern Lands! For our survival! For the future of our people!”

As if on cue, both the armies surged forward. General Mozat, still silent, raised his sword in response. He lifted it slowly, methodically, and with that simple motion, the army of King Azure’s forces began to advance.

Far above, seated upon the ruined throne, King Azure watched with disinterest.

A slow exhale escaped his lips.

“Well,” he murmured, barely more than a whisper. “It begins.”

The earth quaked beneath the weight of marching boots and galloping hooves. The sound of war drums, the clash of metal, and the rising voices of men filled the air, drowning out the wind.

The Tri-King army surged forward, their cries fierce, their determination outweighing their fear. Opposite them, King Azure’s forces moved as one—silent, methodical, their silence more terrifying than any war cry.

The distance between them closed rapidly. Shields locked into place. Spears braced. Swords gleamed in the morning sun. And then, just as the two armies were about to collide, something unexpected occurred. From high above, far beyond the reach of mortal hands, something small and seemingly insignificant began its descent—A single seed.

It spiralled downward, catching the golden morning light as it twirled gently in the air. To an untrained eye, it was nothing more than a drifting speck, harmless and delicate. But this was no ordinary seed. It pulsed faintly, an eerie blue glow radiating from within, a hidden power yet to be awakened.

The armies did not notice as it was very small.

Steel is about to clash. War cries thundered. Tens of thousands of soldiers surged forward, their only focus on the enemy before them.

The seed touched the earth, but the vibration from the footsteps of soldiers rushing made the ground shake, up resulted in the seed jumping up and down.

For the briefest moment of jumping up and down, then it sat still, an unremarkable speck upon the battlefield. Then, as if guided by unseen hands, it burrowed into the soil. The moment it disappeared, the ground beneath it pulsed.

A single green sprout pushed its way to the surface.

Then the earth shuddered.

A deep, resonant tremor tore through the battlefield, sending ripples across the land. The ground split open, cracks webbing outward like veins of an awakening beast. Soldiers on both sides stumbled, some falling to their knees, struggling to regain their footing as the tremors intensified. The deafening war cries turned into panicked shouts.

Then, before their very eyes, the sprout began to grow.

Not naturally. Not gradually. It surged.

In mere moments, the tiny plant transformed into something monstrous—a colossal vine tree, its enormous trunk thicker than any oak, its twisted bark pulsating as though alive. It rose higher and higher, its roots splitting the battlefield like jagged scars.

A massive shadow was cast over the battlefield, swallowing the golden sunlight beneath its eerie presence.

Then—without warning—dozens of buds emerged along the vines.

Each one was massive, its swollen forms pulsing as though something inside them was stirring.

Silence fell.

Weapons, once gripped with unshakable resolve, hung limply in hands that no longer knew whether to fight or flee. Murmurs rippled through the ranks, fear intertwining with confusion.

“What is this?” a soldier whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Is this… magic?” another breathed, unable to look away from the towering monstrosity before him.

Before anyone could react, the buds began to bloom.

Their petals unfurled, and their beauty was otherworldly, mesmerising. Brilliant shades of pink and violet shimmered beneath the morning sun, the flowers’ delicate elegance in stark contrast to their terrifying size. A strange, unearthly light radiated from them, illuminating the battlefield in soft hues.

Then it let out a fragrance.

A soft, intoxicating pink mist released from the flowers, swirling through the battlefield like a silent wave. The wind carried it far and wide, seeping into every breath, every inhalation, enveloping the battlefield in its gentle embrace

It was sweet. Overwhelmingly sweet. At first, it was merely a pleasant scent. Then the soldiers felt a sudden stiffness. Their limbs refused to move, and their bodies locked in place as if invisible chains had seized them. The battle cries died on their lips.

Across the plains of Rohea, both army warriors who had been seconds away from clashing in bloodshed now stood frozen.

Trapped in the grasp of an unknown force.

The battlefield lay in eerie silence. The colossal vine tree loomed over the two frozen armies. The intoxicating fragrance hung thick in the air, holding the entire army captive in its invisible grip.

Confusion spread like wildfire. Both armies had been affected, even the strongest warriors rendered motionless, their commanders just as powerless as the lowest foot soldiers.