The Return of Corey

Thus they arrived at the kingdom, only to find a desolate landscape that welcomed them with tangible melancholy. The houses, blackened by time, leaned like old men burdened by the weight of years, while the streets were filled with cracks and debris. The inhabitants, mostly human, walked with their heads down, their bodies thin and faces tired, as if each day was a struggle for mere survival. Grey's eyes fell upon them, laden with a sadness that tried to comprehend the suffering that hung in the air. Meanwhile, Camellya looked at the children playing in the dirt, their small hands rummaging through broken pieces of wood. She tried to swallow, but only a rough bitterness settled in her throat. Desolation was not new to her, but in this place, there was a special weight, a darkness that seemed not entirely belonging to the mortal realm.

With a firm yet saddened gaze, Grey searched for an inn. Upon finding one, he secured a room with brief words and collapsed onto the bed, its boards creaking under the scant padding of the mattress. He closed his eyes and let the faint flow of mana from the surroundings restore some of his vigor. Camellya remained silent, watching him from the dimness of the room. For hours, her eyes rested on Grey, who lay as if the weight of the world had abandoned him for a moment.

When Grey finally awoke, a notable change had occurred. The brightness in his gaze had returned; his withered skin was filled with vitality, and his white hair looked clean and silky as if the very air had worked to restore it. He felt the flow of mana within him, full and vigorous, ready to fuel each spell his power allowed him to conjure. As he gathered his thoughts, Camellya, sitting beside him, began to cut his hair. She did not do it at Grey's request but was driven by a strange need that arose in her heart, as if this act were a silent ritual of care and comfort.

—"What could have happened in this place?" —Grey asked in a whisper as his gaze drifted beyond the window toward the living ruins of that kingdom.

—"It doesn't seem like a simple case of drought or an ordinary political issue," —Camellya replied, letting a silver strand fall to the ground—"This... seems bigger, as if it affects not just this corner of the world."

—"When we leave here, we will go directly to the castle. I need to know what's going on."

—"Alright," —she responded calmly as the last lock fell from the scissors.

Soon they left the inn and headed toward the royal castle, whose imposing doors were flanked by two guards. Both were deeply asleep, their bodies leaning against their spears as if slumber had seized them against their will. Paying them no mind, Grey and Camellya crossed through the doors and entered the palace.

The interior of the castle impressed them instantly. It was as if they had stepped into a celestial realm: white walls adorned with golden frames, chandeliers casting warm and diffuse light, and a floor so polished it reflected their figures like a glass mirror. A red carpet with golden edges ran through the hall, marking a path that spoke of past grandeur. However, the servants passing through the corridors carrying clothes, food, and unknown objects showed not even the slightest attention toward the newcomers.

After walking through several hallways, they finally found the throne room. Two guards stood watch there; upon seeing them approach, they crossed their spears in warning.

—Do you have an audience? —one asked in a firm voice.

Grey turned to Camellya as if expecting her to have an answer. But neither spoke up, causing the guards to begin looking at them suspiciously. When one reached out to grab Grey, he placed his fingers on their foreheads and with a slight murmur of power sent them into a deep sleep.

—That wasn't necessary, —murmured Camellya, raising an eyebrow.

—I didn't want to do it either, but this cannot wait.

With renewed determination, Grey pushed open the doors to the throne room. They creaked loudly as they swung open, halting all activity within. The guards present immediately raised their weapons; the air was tense like a bowstring pulled taut. But what truly caught their attention was the figure resting on the throne: the King.

Upon seeing Grey, the monarch slowly rose. His face was etched with fatigue but lit up with a mix of astonishment, joy, and an emotion that could only be described as hope. Grey approached the throne with measured steps and stopped at the foot of the stairs separating him from the King. He bowed respectfully before speaking.

—My respects to Your Majesty. I am Coreygrey Gallant and I have come seeking answers.

To everyone's surprise, the King bowed deeply before him with visible tremors in his hands.

—No… There is no need for you, Your Majesty Corey, to bow before someone as insignificant as me," —the King murmured in a broken voice.

—Your Majesty Corey? —Camellya repeated softly in confusion.

—Welcome also to you, Your Majesty Camellya! —exclaimed the King as he addressed her with a similar reverence.

The hall fell silent except for murmurs and hurried movements from guards who knelt in respect upon hearing their King's words.

—We have awaited your arrival for so long! Your Majesty Corey! —declared the King with tears filling his eyes uncontrollably.

Still bowed over, Grey helped him up.

—Please explain yourself, Your Majesty. How do you know me?

—Everyone on this continent knows your name, Your Majesty. A prophecy spoken by one of the Shadow Witches announced your return.

Grey brought a hand to his chin and murmured to himself:

—A Shadow Witch?

The Shadow Witches known also as Prophets were beings shrouded in mystery. Their words were unavoidable and precise; they pierced time with all accuracy like an arrow shot from a divine hand. That one would deliver a prophecy was not just extraordinary; their visions rarely targeted an individual specifically and even less often an entire continent. The mere weight of what the King said made the air in the throne room feel dense.

—Yes, my lord, —the King began solemnly— A Shadow Witch visited us a thousand years ago. She spoke of your return, Your Majesty; how you would come back to save us from current kings on other continents.

Grey frowned as his thoughts tangled in a whirlwind of questions and scenarios. That idea—strange though it seemed—echoed with truth deep within him.

—Save you? —he murmured as if weighing that word on his lips while his eyes wandered into emptiness as images of decay he had seen outside returned to mind.

—Yes, Your Majesty, —the King continued while slightly bowing his head— As you may have noticed our situation is not recent but rather has resulted from centuries perhaps millennia of suffering.

Grey's tone hardened as he responded; his patience wore thin like a candle about to burn out.

—That is precisely what I want to understand. What on earth has happened outside?... Why does this castle seem like an oasis amid a desert of misery?

The King swallowed hard; his shoulders sagged under the weight of bitter truth. He barely raised his gaze; his eyes clouded by shame and fear.

—It was the Outer Kings… —he replied; his voice trembled as if naming those figures were an act of betrayal or calling forth dark forces— They have forced us to give them our resources as offerings in exchange for our survival.

"This has been so since after we lost The Great War against Demon King Astaroth." 

—Every year, —he continued —every generation we have given what we needed just to buy ourselves more time.

Grey closed his eyes for an instant letting those words settle in his mind but could not contain himself for long.

—The Outer Kings? —he interrupted coldly laden with suspicion— You mean Eleanor? Robert? And Raynold?

The King nodded slowly as if that gesture alone confirmed an unbearable truth. Instantly dark mist seemed to emanate from Grey's body; his aura which had once been firm yet serene became oppressive so dense that lights in castle began flickering like candles exposed to invisible wind. The guards recoiled terror etched on their faces while Camellya placed a firm hand on Grey's shoulder her eyes pleading for calm.

Grey took deep breaths forcing himself to release tension pressing against his chest; though still grim his gaze regained some clarity.

—Continue, —he ordered now more controlled.

The King visibly relieved continued although his words were tinged with humility and regret.

—We kept this castle well maintained for your return Your Majesty; my family and I have protected it throughout generations waiting for this moment.

—Now that you've returned we can give you what rightfully belongs: The throne of humankind.

A heavy silence fell over room broken only by Camellya's incredulous voice:

—Are you saying you are not king?

The man nodded slightly.

—"Not entirely Your Majesty Camellya; my family has essentially been custodians of throne."

—We knew we weren't worthy enough occupy it permanently; our only mission was keep it safe until your return.

And now that true kings have returned I am ready cede all authority unto you.

Grey let out a bitter laugh devoid of humor.

—We cannot be kings, —he said staring fixedly at floor as if trying find answers within veins marble —Not while I must face my former companions.

The King's demeanor seemed to crumble unable process Grey's words.

—What...? But Your Majesty…

—Don't call me that—not yet. First things first… what is your name?

The man seemed shaken from confusion responding quickly:

—Leo Hounert my lord; my family has cared for this castle kingdom over last two thousand years.

Grey nodded more for himself than Leo.

—Alright Leo then listen —I need your help.

Leo bowed reverently.

—As you wish Your Majesty; tell me what you need done.

Grey remained silent while gears in mind began turn; thoughts were labyrinth possibilities risks each path revealing both salvation destruction for those he loved . Mentioning Eleanor Robert Raynold ignited spark anger within chest—a fire propelling him towards single direction: justice .

Camellya who until then had remained silent finally spoke her voice soft yet firm:

—What do you plan on doing Grey?

He glanced sideways at her lips twisting into faint smile which didn't reach eyes .

—Something that might save them… or destroy us all.