In the heart of the Rigil district, King Xerxez presided over a tense council of his military commanders. The chamber, adorned with sprawling maps and ancient relics, spoke of a kingdom steeped in history—a history meticulously preserved in the revered Thallerion tome, rendering the wisdom of living elders obsolete. For the Thallerions, knowledge of their past was paramount, and ignorance a folly.

Xerxez, facing the full assembly of his military leadership, first confirmed the grim message dispatched to Ossibuz. His words to their leader, Matar, were unwavering: "I will not retreat from you, Matar, even though you are Corvus's subordinate. Just ensure you uphold the agreement, but if you attack as you did in Wendlock, we will not announce when we strike." The fate of Cathark, their messenger, remained unknown, adding to the palpable tension.

"How is Cathark? Has he returned?" Xerxez's gaze fell upon Catana and Vethor. Catana, her face briefly brightening, reported, "The messenger Cathark has not yet arrived. Perhaps Cathark finds it difficult to enter the borders of Ossibuz." Vethor quickly interjected, reassuring the king, "Do not worry, my king. Once he returns, I will immediately convey the Ossibians' response to your letter." A small measure of relief touched Xerxez's stern features.

Xerxez then spoke of past wounds and present threats. "Moonatoria shattered us once," he began, his voice heavy with sorrow. "And now the nation of Ossibuz has laid waste to our farmers in Wendlock and slain them." As his commanders listened intently, Xerxez's eyes swept across their faces before he took a deep, fortifying breath. "Whatever fate our hands shall forge, remember this...we are Thallerions; we will never kneel to anyone."

Chief Commander Matheros added with a heavy sigh, "We have no entity to rely on; therefore, we can only rely on ourselves in the coming war." The ominous mention of an "Entity" hung in the air, a chilling reminder of past struggles and the formidable foe they now faced in Corvus, known for his mastery of illusions and dark magic.

"I ask you, can you do everything to fight the Ossibians?" Xerxez's voice, though fervent, carried a tremor of the fear that accompanied confronting such a powerful adversary. Phalleon, resolute, declared, "I am ready to lay down my life, for that is the vow of our ancestors. Because of what they did in Wendlock... I swore to myself that I would personally kill the old man Sapar."

Matheros then urged swift action: "Let us not waste time, comrades; do everything for the training of our soldiers." His adornments clinked as he moved amongst the oblong table, emphasizing the urgency.

Just then, Xerxez announced a crucial, unexpected development: "However, I have something important to tell you." All attention shifted to the king. It was a difficult confession—he and Matheros would journey to Thartherus to forge an alliance, even before King Driother's birthday.

"What is it, my king?" Catana inquired, her bow gleaming and her braided hair falling over her shoulder. Xerxez, striving to convey his strategic intent, explained, "Do not think that I am leaving you here to sightsee in Thartherus. You likely know that King Driother's birthday is approaching. We will go there early to seek aid and additional weapons for our soldiers." He observed their faces, noting no unusual reactions.

"I will accompany Xerxez to Thartherus," Matheros confirmed, placing the immense responsibility of soldier training squarely on Phalleon's shoulders. "Phalleon, I know you are easily angered by our complaining soldiers, but I trust you to tame them." Phalleon's unsettling smile hinted at his unique methods: "Hehe, I'll take care of it; that's child's play for me."

As the meeting concluded, Xerxez and his commanders carefully planned their next moves, keeping their strategies guarded. Guards stood vigilant outside, ensuring no prying eyes or "ravens" could infiltrate the Rigil camp and discover their preparations for the war to come.

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"Listen, for those you have not yet capable to summon their weapons, will have consideration, except to the non-refugees, you must be the one who excelled in advance compared to the Thallerion's trainees. So...let's the presentation begin!"Xerxez swallowed hard, his throat dry as sand.

Across the field, the announcer's voice roared:

"Listen well! For those who have not yet succeeded in summoning their weapons — you will receive consideration. But as for the non-refugees, you must excel beyond the Thallerion trainees if you wish to remain in Wendlock's ranks. Now…"

He raised his hand high, voice thunderous,

"…let the presentation begin!"

The crowd erupted in excitement. Banners rippled in the wind. Elders leaned forward, watching like hawks from their stone seats.

"Let us begin with the Wind Faction!

Five trainees — step forward!"

A swirl of silver and teal energy swept across the field as five confident students stepped out. Wind gathered around their feet, spiraling like living ribbons — their weapons forming elegantly from the air itself.

Xerxez felt his stomach twist into a knot.

He wasn't up yet — but soon. Too soon.

If I refuse to present my weapon… maybe I can just summon my archer bow, he thought, clenching his hand. But my bow still looks like a toy. Why can't I evolve it? Why can't I forge something real — something worthy?

If I refuse, Zenny will laugh. He'll think I'm weak — easy to crush in the next mock battle.

A voice crackled inside his mind — sharp, familiar, half-mocking, half-wary.

"Kid… seriously. Don't pull me out in front of them."

The voice of the dagger.

"I can feel Lacerta's presence beyond the barrier. They're trying to trace me. If Wendlock's wards weren't active, you'd already be found."

Xerxez's fingers curled nervously. His breath trembled.

"Then… what do I do?" he whispered, pretending to adjust his gloves.

Around him, other trainees were radiant with pride — some smiling, some boasting quietly, others glowing with summoned light.

But Xerxez stood motionless, drowning in uncertainty.

The dagger's voice softened, serpentine and clever.

"There is one way. Ask for Martheuw Cereun. Request his help. He can create through will alone."

Xerxez's eyes widened slightly.

"Really? Then… let me speak with him now."

A chuckle hummed through his skull.

"Ah, not so easy. My creator's consciousness doesn't exist in your world. He's imprisoned in the Dungeon of Entities — the Void Beyond. I can only connect you to him if I teleport your spirit inside me."

"The Dungeon of Entities…" Xerxez repeated. His tone wavered between awe and disbelief.

"But he's the Constellar King — the one who judges spirits and imprisons wicked entities. Why would he be locked inside a dungeon?"

A pause.

Then, a low, cryptic laugh.

"Do you truly believe he was a good Constellar King?"

"Yes." Xerxez said firmly, almost too quickly. "I've spoken with him before. I never felt any darkness in his words. When I heard his voice through that… square wall of light in your void, I felt peace, not corruption."

He lowered his gaze. "I still trust him."

"…Interesting," the dagger murmured.

"Then close your eyes. Ready? One… two… three—"

fzzzzzz—!

A surge of static flooded his mind.

The world around him dissolved into darkness — then flared with white heat.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a realm without ground or sky — only an endless expanse of shifting mist. Before him rose the square wall — translucent, shining like molten fire caged within glass. Within its depths, a silhouette pulsed — breathing slowly, powerfully.

A voice echoed, deep and calm, carrying an aura of ancient sorrow.

"You've come back, young one."

Martheuw Cereun.

The air shimmered as the Constellar King's glowing outline approached the barrier, his voice resonant like a hymn of creation.

"Good news," he said with a faint, weary smile. "I've nearly unraveled their binding spell. Once I break it, I will be free from this prison — the Dungeon of Entities."

Xerxez's heart leapt. "That's great news!"

But even as he spoke, his eyes dimmed — shadows of doubt clouding them.

If he escapes… will he still speak to me? Or will he go to someone stronger? Someone more worthy?

I can barely summon my weapon… maybe he'll abandon me too.

Martheuw seemed to sense the flicker of hesitation in his soul.

"You seek help, don't you?" the Constellar King asked gently.

"Your heart trembles between fear and duty."

Xerxez straightened, forcing his voice to sound steady.

"Yes. I want to reclaim my people's throne — my parents' legacy. I want to bring back Thallerion's honor."

He hesitated, glancing down.

"But right now… I just want to prove I'm not useless."

For a moment, silence filled the void — heavy, almost sacred.

Then Martheuw smiled faintly, his light flaring brighter within the cage.

"Then let us begin, Xerxez of Thallerion. For every weapon begins with truth. And yours… is about to awaken."

The square wall began to pulse with symbols — constellations flickering like stars reflected in molten glass.

And beyond it, something ancient — something vast — stirred.

Would you like the next part to show:Xerxez swallowed hard.

"Listen, for those who have not yet capable to summon their weapons, will have a consideration, except to the non-refugees, you must be the one who excelled in advance compared to the Thallerion's trainees. So...let's the presentation begin!"

The announcer lifted his hand high, voice thunderous:

"Let us begin with the Wind Faction!

Five trainees — step forward!"

Five confident students stepped forth, wind energy swirling around them like dancing silk.

Xerxez felt his stomach twist. He wasn't up yet — but soon. Too soon. "If I refused to present my....well, maybe I could summon my archer but...my archer still look like a toy...I don't know why I can't upgrade it into a real, iconic weapon. If I refuse ... Zenny will think I am easy to be defeated in our incoming combat mock training lesson." He thought.

A voice buzzed quietly in his skull, mocking but cautious:

"Kid… seriously. Do NOT pull me out in front of them. I sensed the presence of Lacerta trying to trace my location, if it wasn't with the Wendlock barrier...Maybe, you were already traced." The talking dagger's essence talked to him inside of his brain.

His fingers curled nervously.

"Then what do I do?" He whispered in the air.

Every heartbeat felt heavier. Around him, others watched proudly, curiously, or eagerly preparing for their turn. Xerxez just stood there — drowning in doubt.

"Just ask with Martheuw Cereun...and request a weapon. He can create through his will."

" Really....then...then....let me talk to him now."

" Oops sorry, my creator can only talk to you if I teleport you inside of me. You know how his consciousness can connect to the mortal world...he was imprisoned in the dungeon of entities. The unknown void...."

"He is the Constellar king....he should be the one who punish and imprison bad entities ."

" Do you really believe he was a good Constellar king?" Dagger said.

" Yes... I talked to him...and I felt that there is no evil presence the way he talk, though....I could only heard his voice inside of square wall in the center of your void....I still trust on him."

" Alright....just close your eyes...and 1...2...3.fzzzzzz!!!"

Then, when he open his eyes he was standing in front of the square wall shining like a liquid fire was caged. Then, a sound of breath appeared as he opened his eyes.

"You come back here." Martheuw Cereun said with gentle manly voice. "Good news...I could almost figure out the spell..if I could break their spell .... I could escape in the dungeon of entities."

" That's great," Xerxez said. But, his eyes was shaded with deeper understanding. 'if he could escape from the dungeon....maybe he will go to the other boy, who is more worthy, and talented...than me. I could barely summoned my weapon.' "you can help me too right to reclaim my land? My people and my parents throne."

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