The king is dead. The throne sits empty. Atop the grand altar in Felheim's royal palace, a golden lion's coffin gleams under flickering torchlight. Below, young Prince Guest stands in solemn silence, draped in black mourning robes. The assembled nobles watch him with a mix of pity and expectation burning in their eyes.

"The young prince will... ascend to the throne soon." "He's the king's only son, carries his blood." "Still so young, but there's no other choice—he's the rightful heir."

King Leon's sudden, mysterious death. His young son left behind. Everyone assumed the boy would simply take the crown.

Then the mourning hall's heavy doors creaked open. A figure in elegant black silk, lustrous green hair catching the light. 'Scarah'—Leon's older sister, forgotten after her crushing defeat in the last succession war.

Every breath in the room held. She approached the altar with an expression impossible to read. Her gaze could have been mourning... or cold calculation.

Ah, so you've abandoned us like this, dear brother... Hehe... how can I even begin to express this heartbreak...

Then those piercing green eyes turned down to Guest.

Our poor nephew must be devastated. But don't worry. I'll... be right here beside you. Every step of the way.

That single statement shattered the room's atmosphere. Nobles exchanged loaded glances, and when Scarah glided from the hall, several followers quietly slipped out after her.

The king's funeral ended that day, but Felheim's unity died with it. The kingdom began fracturing—some rallying behind Scarah, others clinging to the rightful heir Guest. The battle for Felheim's throne had begun.