THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The door to the Guild Master's office creaked open, and Eros caught the familiar scent—a mixture of crystallized mana and rare, sought-after potions that always announced his old friend's presence. He didn't need to look up from his paperwork, though his heightened senses made ignoring such distinct aromas impossible.

A surge of nostalgia washed over him as the aroma stirred memories of late-night experiments and clandestine conversations in hidden chambers. Every whiff transported him back to days when secrets were exchanged like treasured currency and every whispered word held the promise of adventure.

The rich fragrance, laced with hints of ancient magic and rare elixirs, filled him with quiet anticipation, assuring him that his long-lost friend was near, and that a reunion was imminent.

"Still masking your presence after all these years?" Eros's gruff voice carried a hint of amusement. "Some habits never change."

Salomonis chuckled, dropping into the leather chair across from Eros's desk with casual grace. "Says the man who still keeps his office exactly as it was decades ago. This chair hasn't moved an inch."

"Some of us appreciate consistency," Eros finally looked up, his eyes shifting—pupils contracting into subtle slits, a reminder of his mixed heritage. Not the full reptilian transformation of a true dragon, but enough to mark him as something more than human.

"The half-prince, playing at being a simple guild master." Salomonis's golden eyes held a knowing look. "Though I suppose you've made quite a name for yourself here. The Old Wolf of Valhalla."

"Better than being the disgrace of that minister, so absorbed in his wild delusions about demons," Eros replied without bitterness. Time had dulled those old wounds. "Now, what brings the Kingdom's finest researcher to my humble guild?"

Salomonis's playful demeanor faded. "The Leviathan's Abyss. It's time."

The scratching of Eros's quill stopped. His eyes narrowed, the draconic influence in them becoming more pronounced—not from anger, but intense focus. The perks of mixed blood; he could control these small changes at will.

"After all these years?" Eros's voice was barely a whisper. "You're certain?"

"We've found it." Salomonis leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. "The boss room."

Eros set his quill down carefully. Unlike his mage friend, he'd never developed the overwhelming greed for treasure or power. But this... this was different. "Your source?"

"Confidential, for now." Salomonis's lips quirked up. "Though I think you'll appreciate the introduction when the time comes. He reminds me of someone else who once proved that being caught between two worlds can be a strength, not a weakness."

Eros grunted, reaching for a bottle of aged whiskey from his desk drawer. "Still trying to turn my exile into some grand lesson?" He poured two glasses of the amber liquid—fine spirits, but not the legendary dragon-brew of their youth. His tastes had grown more modest over the years.

"The raid continues as planned," Salomonis explained, accepting the offered glass. "But we'll need a specialized team to enter first. Small, elite, capable of operating independently while the main raid serves as a distraction."

"You have people in mind?"

Salomonis swirled his whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "Three. The Shadow of the Ninth House, the Daughter of Storms, and the Knight of the Broken Blade."

Eros's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ambitious choices. Timeline?"

"Ten days until the cycle resets." Salomonis took a slow sip. "More than enough time to change history."

"Or die trying." Eros raised his glass in a sardonic toast. "Just like old times."

"Speaking of old times," Salomonis set his glass down, "the Empire's forces are moving south. They'll be watching the Abyss this cycle."

"Of course they are." Eros's expression darkened. "Even half-breeds know better than to ignore the stirring of old powers."

"Which is exactly why we need to move first." Salomonis's eyes gleamed. "The Empire fears what lies within the Abyss. But you and I? We understand it."

****

The transition between the material world and the Night King's domain was neither gentle nor gradual. One moment, David was stepping through the illusory doors with Vespera's cold hand in his; the next, reality shattered.
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Darkness swallowed them whole, but it wasn't the absence of light that made David's breath catch. It was the weight of it—darkness so thick it felt like drowning in ink. And somewhere in that suffocating void, something ancient stirred.

"Welcome," said a voice that wasn't a voice, its tone resonating in echoes that vibrated through every fiber of his being, "to my domain."

David felt Vespera's grip tighten on his hand. Her previous playfulness had vanished, replaced by a tension that pulsed like a heartbeat against the oppressive gloom. Her eyes, usually cold and distant, now flashed with a mix of fear and determination.

"My lord," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the absolute silence of the void, "whatever happens, do not let go." Her words were a lifeline, a desperate plea to maintain the connection between them amidst the chaos.

Before David could respond, the darkness began to move. It wasn't merely flowing or shifting—it was breathing, a slow, rhythmic exhalation that filled the void with a palpable life of its own.

With each heavy breath, the darkness seemed to pulse and swell, expanding and contracting like the chest of a colossal beast. As it exhaled, reality itself began to reconstruct around them, as if the void was rewriting existence one nightmare at a time.

Fragments of a broken world coalesced into twisted silhouettes; jagged mountains and forests of bone and shadow emerged briefly before dissolving again into the void. David's senses screamed at the surreal visions—each exhalation of darkness brought fleeting glimpses of lost memories, ancient horrors, and desperate hopes. In that moment, time became fluid, and every heartbeat echoed like a drum heralding a new era of terror and wonder.

Yet, amidst the shifting phantasms, David found a strange comfort. The oppressive darkness, though suffocating, carried with it the promise of revelation—a promise that even in the deepest abyss, one might find the spark to ignite a new beginning.