Golden Roots

In the heart of a land untouched by darkness, there lay the serene kingdom of Sabhut, where harmony wove through the lives of its people like golden threads in a grand tapestry. Here, wealth did not breed arrogance, for even the richest among them honored those of humble standing, and peace reigned as surely as the rising sun.

Upon the throne sat the noble King Macifo and his radiant Queen, Ganaia, whose wisdom and kindness were whispered in songs across the land. One fateful night, beneath the silver glow of a celestial moon, the Queen bore a son—Arnaldo, a child destined to shape the very fate of Sabhut.

As the years passed, Prince Arnaldo grew into a child of gentle heart and keen mind, a young heir whose wisdom far exceeded his years. He listened to the voices of his people, understanding their needs and desires with a kindness that set him apart. Unlike others of noble birth, he asked for nothing beyond what was necessary, content in the simplicity of life and the well-being of his kingdom.

When Arnaldo reached his ninth year, King Macifo, ever the guardian of peace, sent forth invitations to the rulers of nearby kingdoms and mighty empires. He called them to Sabhut, not for war nor rivalry, but in the hope of forging bonds that would weave a future free from strife. With open hands and an unwavering heart, the King sought harmony among nations, a dream that, if fulfilled, could change the course of history forever.

King Rifero, Emperor Gulnatho, and Empress Lin Kang arrived in great splendor, accompanied by nobles and wealthy merchants from their lands. While the grand halls of the royal palace hosted the rulers in regal feasts, the middle-class palace bustled with joy as a grand celebration unfolded for the people, ensuring that no soul in Sabhut was left without merriment.

When the time came to meet the young prince, the three mighty rulers found themselves in quiet awe. Before them stood Prince Arnaldo, his golden eyes shining with warmth and wisdom beyond his years. With a grace that belied his youth, he greeted them in the formal manner of kings, yet there was an innocence to his words that made even the most hardened rulers soften.

King Rifero chuckled, Emperor Gulnatho nodded in approval, and Empress Lin Kang’s lips curved into a rare smile. Though they had come expecting mere pleasantries, they instead found themselves charmed by a child who carried the spirit of a true ruler—one who might one day unite them all.

Behind the warm smile of King Rifero lurked shadows darker than the deepest abyss. While he raised his goblet in toast and spoke words of camaraderie, his mind was a pit of treachery, weaving sinister schemes against the very host who had welcomed him with open arms.

He played his role well, an ally in name, a serpent in truth. His eyes, sharp and calculating, measured every corner of the palace, every soldier standing guard, every possible weakness in Sabhut’s walls. His hands, though still, itched with the hunger of conquest, eager to spill royal blood upon the marble floors.

For Rifero had no love for peace. He saw it as a fool’s dream, a chain that weakened rulers and softened their lands for the taking. And so, while the night brimmed with music and laughter, while King Macifo dreamed of unity, Rifero silently vowed that this would be the last celebration Sabhut would ever see.

…

As the grand celebration faded into memory and the halls of Sabhut fell into peaceful slumber, the invited guests returned to their chambers, unaware of the darkness creeping upon the land. The moon hung high, casting a silver glow over the kingdom, but its beauty masked the silent danger lurking beyond the walls.

From the shadows of the night, the forces of Rubertoria emerged like a tide of death, their banners hidden beneath the shroud of darkness. King Rifero had returned—not as a guest, but as an executioner, his vast army surrounding Sabhut like a tightening noose. The air was thick with malice as his soldiers, clad in the colors of war, nocked their arrows, each one ignited with flames that danced hungrily in the wind.

At the signal of their regent, a single, chilling motion shattered the stillness. The soldiers drew their bows, muscles tensed, eyes fixed upon their doomed target. And then—release.

The sky became a sea of fire. Hundreds of flaming arrows soared through the heavens, streaking like falling stars before descending upon Sabhut. The once-tranquil kingdom was bathed in an unholy glow as the first arrows struck, igniting rooftops, shattering windows, and setting the night ablaze with chaos.

Sabhut, the land of peace, was now drowning in the wrath of war.

…

As the first screams of terror rose through the burning city, King Macifo and Queen Ganaia sprang into action, their hearts pounding with urgency. They rushed to the royal chambers, where their trusted regent and young Prince Arnaldo lay in slumber, blissfully unaware of the doom that had befallen their kingdom.

“Take him and go!” the King commanded, his voice laced with sorrow and resolve. “No matter what happens, ensure the prince survives.”

The regent, though reluctant to leave his liege behind, obeyed without question. He grasped the prince’s trembling hand and pulled him toward the hidden passageway beneath the palace.

“But—Father! Mother!” Arnaldo cried, his young face streaked with tears. “I can’t leave you!”

Queen Ganaia knelt, placing a trembling yet firm hand on his cheek. “You must, my love,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with both pride and sorrow. “You are the future of Sabhut. Live, and one day, you will reclaim what is lost.”

With one final, desperate glance, the regent forced himself to turn away, leading the prince into the darkness of escape as the King and Queen rushed into the inferno to save their people.

Not far from the palace, Macifo and Ganaia prepared to flee, their hands clasped tightly as they navigated through the crumbling city. But fate was cruel. Just as they neared an open path to safety, a blazing wooden pillar, weakened by the flames, came crashing down.

The Queen gasped as it struck her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Fire licked at her robes, consuming the silk and trailing embers across her skin. She writhed in agony but managed to look up at her husband—her king—with a trembling smile.

“Go, Macifo,” she whispered, even as fire consumed her. “Save our son... Sabhut must endure.”

Her screams of pain were lost in the deafening roar of the flames. The last thing King Macifo saw before being forced to flee was the love in her eyes, unwavering even as the inferno claimed her.

And then, she was gone.