The Valkmir God War, July 6, 16??Revised by King Valmont, 17??

  The Valkmir God War stands as one of the most devastating and pivotal events in the history of the world itself.

  Fought across the surface of the Merivern Ocean, this tragic conflict unfolded over the course of two harrowing days, beginning at noon on July 6th, 16??.

  The war cimed the lives of an estimated 26,000 individuals, marking it as one of the deadliest battles of all time.

  The conflict was precipitated by the summoning of the Valkmir God, a colossal serpent from the depths of the Merivern Ocean.

  This dreadful creature was called forth by Valentina Faen, a notorious siren known for her mastery of dark magic and her maniputive prowess.

  Valentina, once a mere commoner, had risen swiftly through the ranks of society, using her maniputive skills to gain access to secrets that were otherwise beyond her reach.

  Her ambition knew no bounds, and in an act of jealousy and a desire for power, she unleashed the Valkmir God upon the kingdom of Naidelon (Netholic), hoping to secure her pce on the throne.

  The kingdoms worked together in order to ensure their safety.Valkmir, the serpent, was a beast of unimaginable size, its body so vast that it could stretch between the kingdoms of Naidelon and Reandrell (Rebria).

  The creature's appearance was terrifying—a monstrous serpent with deep bck scales that glistened like obsidian under the sun and eyes that glowed with an eerie light, enabling it to see through the ocean's darkest depths.

  Its teeth, twice the size of a human, were razor-sharp, and its fangs dripped with venom. Valkmir's underbelly was lined with gills, allowing it to navigate the waters with sinister ease, while its body twisted and writhed in ways that defied natural movement, causing nausea and dread in those unfortunate enough to witness its approach.

  As Valkmir rose from the depths, its presence caused massive tsunami-like waves that flooded the coastal regions of Naidelon, leading to a swift rise in civilian casualties.

  Homes were destroyed, and the once-calm waters of the Merivern Ocean became a battleground.

  The Corevale Gods of Reandrell and Naidelon, the divine protectors of their respective nds, quickly mobilized to defend their people.

  However, the speed and ferocity of Valkmir's assault overwhelmed even these powerful deities as they struggled to stem the tide of destruction.

  The civilian death toll continued to rise, with thousands perishing in the chaos.The Naidelon people, seeking refuge, fled to the neighboring kingdom of Reandrell, where they were welcomed and sheltered.

  The Corevale Gods knew they couldn't do this alone, so they gifted a few humans from both kingdoms with eldric powers, deeming them demigods.

  The two kingdoms united their eldric demigods by the threat of annihition and worked together to protect their citizens and mount a defense against the monstrous serpent.

  The battle raged for two days, with the Corevale Gods ultimately managing to weaken Valkmir through their combined might and the strategic efforts of both kingdoms' demigods.

  It is said that the final blow was struck at great cost, with many heroes and gods perishing in the struggle. When Valkmir was finally defeated, its massive body sank back into the ocean, leaving behind a legacy of devastation and loss.

  In the aftermath of the Valkmir God War, the kingdoms of Naidelon and Reandrell were left to rebuild from the ruins.

  The Corevale Gods issued a dire warning to the surviving popuce: the appearance of a siren-like Valentina Faen would herald doom in future generations if not swiftly dealt with.

  Her dark magic and the threat she posed would be remembered for centuries as a cautionary tale of unchecked ambition and the catastrophic consequences it could bring.

  Until the end of time, the Valkmir God War is remembered not only for its tremendous loss of life but also as a testament to the resilience and cooperation of the Merivern people in the face of overwhelming odds.

  The story of Valkmir serves as a chilling reminder of the ancient powers that still lurk beneath the ocean's surface, waiting to be unleashed by those foolish enough to seek them out.

  The eldric demigods are left as a thank you from the Corivale Gods to defend us from all dark magic and evil.

  If I recall correctly, the story of the Ivorton spoke of a giant demon with the hind legs of a dragon. It was bald, with horns and red skin. Its eyes glowed, much like the Valkmir described by the te king of Netholic.

  Ivorton was called up from a ravine that was said to reach the depths of hell. Like Valkmir and the siren, Ivorton was summoned by a hellhound.

  I had never encountered any history on Valkmir until today. I've always struggled to learn the ancient Eldracyon nguage, so I guess I wasn't adept enough then to decipher Valkmir's story. That, or it never existed in Rebria, to begin with. Isn't that what Daniel said? "It's the history they don't teach you in Rebria," I recall.

  In Rebria, our history books are written in ancient Eldracyon. If you don't speak the nguage, you'll never learn the history of our people. The book I just read was in English, today's modern nguage. This means it's not necessary to speak the ancient nguage of the te Gods to learn the history of the Netholian people.

  This makes no sense. Why would Daniel tell me to keep this to myself? What would the harm be in sharing a piece of history? Unless, of course, it wasn't just history.

  I flipped the book open again to the page detailing Valkmir's summoning. There was an illustration done in more recent years. The artist's depiction chilled me—an immense, hulking creature with serrated cws and a serpentine tail coiled like a whip. Its eyes burned with what could only be described as pure wrath. But the description and even the portrait bore simirities to Ivorton's legend. Too many to ignore.

  I snapped the book shut and gazed out the small window of the chamber. The forest beyond was dark, cloaked in a thick mist that swallowed the moonlight. Somewhere out there, beneath yers of soil and secrecy, y the ravine where Ivorton was summoned.

  The legends from home often spoke of Nudandria and the dangers that y beneath its earth's core. Once a thriving kingdom, Nudandria was said to have been cursed by Ivorton himself. It was a nd shrouded in silence—a pce no one dared to speak of aloud, as though even uttering its name would invite its ruinous fate on Rebria.

  Yet, my mother spoke of Nudandria as if it were real, not just a fleeting memory or a now-fanciful story, but a pce she had known, perhaps even seen with her own eyes. She would speak of this kingdom often, her voice low and her gaze distant, as if remembering something she had seen with her own eyes.

  The part that struck me most, however, was not what was written but what wasn't. There were no accounts or testimonies from survivors. The Valkmir and Ivorton wars seemed almost fabricated, as the only sources documenting them were the history books themselves.

  The book in my hands is another contradiction. In Rebria, no such books exist—at least, none that dared to recount the events of the Valkmir God War. This text, however, spoke pinly of what had unfolded in Rebria's history. It detailed the summoning of Valkmir, the colossal serpent that had risen from the Merivern Ocean, and the destruction it wrought upon the kingdoms.

  The siren, Valentina Faen. What if Daniel thought I was connected to Valentina, that I was somehow her descendant, her shadow lingering to finish what she started? He couldn't know that without knowing my eldric. But Dreyor does. If this is common history amongst Nudandria, could this be why Dreyor wants me dead? The room feels smaller, and the walls seem to close in as my thoughts spiral. This very book could be the reason I'm beheaded.

  ...

  I jolted up from the floor at the sound of the iron door smming shut. With no windows in the celr, it's difficult to gauge the time of day. I feel as though I've been sleeping for a while. Four soldiers dressed like those outside the pace and two maids stand around the celr.

  "Get up," one of the guards commands sternly as he unlocks the celr door. Finally, someone who's actually here to get me out of this godforsaken pce.

  Two of them grab me by the shoulders, pulling me up from the floor. I can see my shoulder seems to be good as new as they drag me out.

  I'm relieved to be out of that celr, but the fear of what's ahead makes that cold, damp pce seem almost comforting.

  What are they pnning for me? A trial? An execution? The guards' hands were rough as they gripped my arms. The cold stone floors of the celr gave way to the warmer, softer surfaces of the pace hallways, but the transition did little to ease my racing heart. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far worse.

  They pulled me up a flight of stairs. As we passed, I caught glimpses of the high windows, the ones that overlooked the sprawling fields below. I can feel the cool breeze around me as we step through a set of doors leading outside for a brief moment. The sun is still rising in the east over the mountains, so I can assume it's morning.

  We entered a new building with a grand foyer. They led me down another hallway and stopped in front of a pair of heavy, ornate doors.

  Upon entering, I noticed two maids standing nearby. It's a bedroom.

  The room was an overwhelming dispy of opulence, every surface draped in rich, luxurious fabrics. The curtains hung in sweeping cascades of silk and satin, their lengths so generous they pooled onto the floor, a silent testament to the wealth that filled this space.

  The bed was a masterpiece in its own right—a dark, polished wooden frame adorned with sheer green drapes that hung like delicate whispers around it. The fabric, soft, caught the light in a way that made it appear regal, adding to the sense that the room was not meant for someone like me.

  At the far end of the room stood a grandfather clock made of dark wood, its polished surface gleaming with timeworn elegance. It was taller than I. The faint sound of the clock ticking second by second filled the silent room.

  High above, the ceilings stretched toward the heavens, their ornate tapestry and carvings adding another yer to the grandeur of the space. The faintest hint of gold glimmered among the intricate designs, giving the room an aristocratic feel.

  I couldn't help but feel out of pce. Every inch of this room screamed of wealth and privilege—wealth I could never hope to touch. I feared that even the lightest touch on the delicate fabrics would mar them, leaving a permanent stain of my presence on the pristine surfaces.

  From the corner of my eye, I notice a man in a concealing bck cloak walking into the room.I lock eyes with Dreyor once again. His arms are outstretched, and he gestures toward the room around us with an eerie, almost mocking smile. The guards take their cue to leave without a word, the door clicks shut behind them as their heavy boots echo down the corridor.

  "Aurelie. How gracious of Her Majesty to spare your life," he says smoothly, stopping just before me. His tone is both patronizing and amused. "Wouldn't you agree?"

  I stare at him silently, my expression carefully neutral. Years spent observing others while surviving in alleyways taught me the power of silence—it forces your opponent to fill the void.

  "Couldn't agree more," he continues, undeterred, as he turns to face the ornate vanity by the window. "You were a candidate for the Rebrian monarchy. However," he says, letting the pause linger, "Nudandria won't be as lenient."

  A chill runs down my spine. "What are you trying to say?" I ask, my voice steady, though my heart hammers in my chest.

  He spins back toward me, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. Malice, perhaps, or sheer amusement? "I think you should be killed. Yet, here we are, preparing you for nomination as a Nudandrian princess." His lips curl into a sardonic smile. "But let us not get too cocky now. You are disposable—an outsider."

  Comforting.

  Before I can respond, he steps aside with a slight flourish gesture. "These are your maids. They'll get you cleaned up and abide by your requests."

  Two women step forward and bow low at the waist, their hands csped neatly in front of them. I study them quickly, noting the contrast between them. One has blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and olive-toned skin, her hair pulled tightly into a bun covered by a hairnet. The other has striking red hair, pale skin, and sharp green eyes that linger on me for a moment before lowering to the floor. Their pin cotton gowns, muddy red and devoid of shape or detail, hang just below their knees. The only embellishment they wear is a bck pin on their right shoulders, dispying the Azburelli coat of arms.

  The coat of arms is an intricate yet somber piece. A bck shield forms the backdrop, its sharp edges softened only by the fine filigree that traces its outline in silver. At the shield's center, the side view of a majestic red lion stands proudly on its hind legs, its golden mane flowing like fmes. The lion's cws are extended, holding a silver crown in its powerful paws, symbolizing both strength and sovereignty. The rich red of the lion contrasts sharply with the bck background, its eyes fierce and sinister.

  Beneath the lion, two crossed silver axes form an 'X' shape, their bdes gleaming as if ready for battle. Above the lion, a crescent moon arches across the crest. Surrounding the design is a border of intricate vines and thorns, both a reminder of the strength required to protect power and the dangers that come with it.

  In Rebria, people are marked at birth with ink insignias representing their districts, a permanent identifier of status and belonging. Kingdom or house workers wear brooches bearing their district's insignia, a subtle but constant reminder of their station. Here in Netholic, I notice the workers dispy their district affiliations through the coat of arms instead. A curious difference. I can't help but wonder: how do the royals here distinguish themselves? Is it more understated, or something far grander?

  I incline my head slightly in acknowledgment, out of habit rather than thought.

  "Bowing to an inferior rank?" Dreyor chides, annoyance cing his tone. "Wonderful. See to it that your servants prepare you for the banquet. Perhaps some etiquette lessons would suffice.""Wait, what banquet?" I ask, spinning toward the door, but Dreyor is already gone.

  My stomach twists uneasily as the silence presses in around me. A banquet? What kind of banquet? My mind whirls with possibilities, none of them comforting. Is this some public spectacle? A trial dressed up in finery, where they'll decide my fate over wine and ughter?