Chapter 4

The night air in the Morgan estate was never truly silent; it hummed with the residual static of the family's lineage. After Jessie had been tucked away and the servants had cleared the glass shards from the foyer, Arthur retreated to his private balcony. He leaned against the stone balustrade, his blue eyes tracking the silver moon that hung over Azeroth like a cold, watchful eye.

His mind was a storm. Jeston’s warning about the southern border hadn’t been a mere military update—it was a personal haunting. The Raven Claw Rebels weren't just a political nuisance; they were the physical manifestation of the Morgan family’s greatest tragedy.

"I know you're there, Jacob," Arthur said without turning around.

From the darkness of a nearby oak tree, a figure detached itself and hopped onto the balcony with practiced ease. Jacob Anders looked troubled, his usual jovial expression replaced by a grim line. "I heard the news in the lower districts. The scouts didn't just see movement, Arthur. They saw black smoke. The Raven Claw didn't just march; they razed three border villages in a single night. And they left a message."

Arthur’s grip on the stone railing tightened. The solid rock began to spiderweb under his fingers. "What was the message?"

"A single black feather pinned to the gates of the southern outpost," Jacob whispered. "And a name written in ash on the walls: Aria."

The name felt like a physical blow. Arthur closed his eyes, and for a second, he wasn't a Diamond-ranked monster. He was a ten-year-old boy watching his mother brush his hair, her hands warm and her laughter like bells. That woman was gone. In her place was the leader of the rebels, a woman consumed by the Void Darkness—a power that shouldn't exist in the same world as the Radiant Light of Azeroth.

"She’s coming for the capital," Arthur muttered. "She isn't looking for a kingdom. She's looking for us."

"Or she's looking for the Prince," Jacob added. "Rumor has it Gerald Krita has been funding her. If Krita’s fire and the Raven Claw’s shadows unite, even your father might not be enough to hold the line."

Arthur finally turned, his face as cold as the moon. "My father is a relic of an old era of chivalry. He fights with honor. But shadows and fire don't care about honor. They only care about what burns and what disappears." He paused, his gaze hardening. "Where is Aron? Have you heard anything?"

Jacob shook his head. "Your brother is a ghost. Some say he’s in the Stallion Kingdom, others say he’s working as a mercenary for the Elves. But if the Raven Claw is active, you can bet your last gold coin that Aron is watching from the bushes. He was always closer to her than you were."

"Aron is a fool," Arthur said, though there was a hint of buried grief in his voice. "He thinks he can save her. But you can’t save someone who has already invited the darkness to sit at their table."

Arthur reached for his black sword, the "Midnight Spark," which leaned against the stone wall. He drew it slowly, the blade singing as it left the sheath. The steel was forged from star-metal, capable of channeling his Blue Lightning without melting.

"I'm not going to the war council tomorrow to talk about strategy," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "I'm going because I need the King’s permission to cross the border alone. If this war is going to start, I’m going to be the one to light the first fuse."

"You really are a suicidal bastard," Jacob sighed, though he began checking the water-mana vials at his belt. "And I'm a bigger idiot for following you. What do we do first?"

"We wait for the dawn," Arthur replied, sheathing his sword. "And then, we find the woman who gave me life so I can ask her why she’s so intent on taking it away."

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