The Tale of The Fallen Primordial

At last, Kiaren entered the grand chamber. The air grew heavier with each step, carrying the faint scent of old parchment, molten metal, and something darker—something primal that stirred unease deep within him. The vaulted ceilings of the chamber stretched impossibly high, where columns carved with serpents and jagged patterns rose to meet in shadowy arches. The flicker of torchlight danced across the walls, casting distorted reflections on tapestries depicting scenes of conquest and betrayal.

At the room's heart sat the Duke, a figure whose presence seemed to dwarf the already imposing chamber. His throne was carved from black obsidian streaked with veins of gold that shimmered faintly in the flickering light. The back of the throne jutted upward in sharp, jagged peaks, resembling the talons of a beast.

The Duke himself was no less striking. His tall, broad frame radiated an oppressive aura, his movements precise yet restrained, like a predator toying with its prey. His sharp, piercing eyes locked onto Kiaren, a gleam of curiosity mixed with calculated malice.

Kiaren bowed deeply as he approached, his composure unshaken. But the weight of the Duke's gaze was like a blade pressed to his throat—a constant, unyielding reminder of the danger he faced.

"I'm impressed," the Duke said at last, his voice low and resonant, rumbling through the chamber like distant thunder. "Most would have turned and fled before reaching my gates. You're an interesting one for a mere messenger." He leaned forward slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But then again, what else should I expect from a Dragonkin?"

Kiaren straightened, meeting the Duke's gaze without flinching. His tone was calm, measured, and devoid of any tremor. "You flatter me with your compliments, Lord, but I have no desire to waste your time with unnecessary words."

The Duke chuckled—a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the stone walls. "Blunt and bold. Qualities I rarely see in messengers." He leaned back in his throne, his sharp eyes narrowing as if peeling back the layers of Kiaren's mask. "So, tell me—why are you here?"

Kiaren had anticipated this. He knew the Duke would probe, test, and scrutinize every word he said. His mind raced, crafting his response with precision.

"I'm not sure I understand, my Lord," Kiaren began evenly, his voice a careful blend of deference and neutrality.

The Duke's smirk faded, his sharp features hardening. "Don't play coy with me, Dragonkin," he said, his tone colder now, edged with menace. "Your kind doesn't lower themselves to the servitude of others. Proud, resilient, and insufferably stubborn—that's the nature of your race. So, tell me, why are you an exception?"

Kiaren inclined his head slightly, his tone smooth and steady. "I am not fully Dragonkin, my Lord," he replied, carefully laying the foundation of his lie. "I am half Dragonoid. My father mated with a human, and I was cast out in shame. I was sold many times before ending up in the service of my current masters."

The Duke's eyes flickered with something between curiosity and disdain. "A half-blood..." he muttered, almost to himself. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unrelenting. "Rare, but not impossible. And your current masters—Blanche and Trevor. Is it true that you serve them?"

"Yes," Kiaren answered without hesitation, his tone unwavering.

The Duke's lips curved into a faint, predatory smile. "Fascinating. I've heard tales of those two," he said, his voice softening, almost conversational. "Their names whisper through the shadows like ghosts. Unpredictable, cunning, and far too clever for their own good." He studied Kiaren for a moment, the silence stretching as the weight of his gaze bore down. "Tell me," he said finally, his voice low but cutting, "why have they sent you?"

Kiaren inclined his head again, his expression carefully neutral as he delivered the fabricated message. "My masters have a shipment of slaves for you, Lord. Elves from the Forest of Kain, mostly female. Among them is a high elf. They wish to discuss the terms of the sale with you in person."

At the mention of a high elf, something shifted in the Duke's expression. His sharp eyes gleamed with interest, and his lips curved into a wider smile, predatory and gleeful. "A high elf, you say?" His voice dropped, his words lingering in the heavy air. "Rare indeed. Rare, and valuable."

He rose from his throne with a deliberate slowness, his towering figure casting a long shadow that seemed to envelop Kiaren. His presence was suffocating, an oppressive weight that seemed to press down on the very air in the chamber.

"Very well," the Duke said, his tone final and commanding. "Bring your masters to me at once. We shall discuss the price in person. Do not waste my time."

Kiaren bowed deeply, his movements precise and respectful. "Of course, Lord," he replied, his voice even.

The guards stepped forward from the edges of the chamber, their boots echoing against the stone floor as they flanked Kiaren. They motioned for him to follow, their expressions cold and unreadable.

As they moved through the twisting corridors of the castle, the oppressive atmosphere returned with force. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with something Kiaren couldn't quite name—a dark, ancient presence that felt alive.

Every step seemed to pull at his strength, as though the castle itself was feeding on his energy. His senses remained sharp, his mind replaying the Duke's words and gestures, dissecting every nuance for hidden meaning.

The Duke's sinister aura lingered in his thoughts—a presence that clung to him like a shadow, cold and unyielding. And beneath it all, that dark, unseen force seemed to press closer, gnawing at the edges of his awareness like a predator waiting for its moment to strike.

When the golden gates finally loomed ahead, Kiaren's focus sharpened. The first step of the Kogetsu brothers' plan had been set into motion, but the danger had only begun to reveal itself.