Night pressed heavily against the stained glass windows of the grand cathedral of Estralia.

  Moonlight filtered through colored panes, scattering fractured halos across cold stone floors. Hundreds of candles burned along the walls, yet the vast chamber still felt dim—swallowed by shadow, silence, and something far heavier than darkness.

  At the far end of the hall stood a long obsidian table.

  No prayers were spoken here tonight.

  No hymns echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling.

  This was not a gathering of faith.

  This was a gathering of power.

  Robed figures lined both sides of the table. High-ranking priests. Two royal knights in polished armor. A hooded intelligence courier whose boots were still dusted with soil from distant roads.

  At the head of the table sat the High Archbishop of the Temple Order.

  His fingers were interlocked before him. His expression calm. Patient.

  Waiting.

  The courier swallowed.

  “My lords… the reports from the Monster Forest have been confirmed.”

  A quiet ripple passed through the chamber.

  “Speak,” the Archbishop said gently.

  “There is a settlement inside the forest. Not a camp. Not ruins. A functioning settlement. Structures. Fields. Defensive walls. Different races living together.”

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  A knight frowned. “Different races?”

  “Yes, sir. Demihumans. Orcs. Dwarves. Even… demons have been sighted entering and leaving freely.”

  That did not cause outrage.

  It caused stillness.

  A priest asked softly, “Who rules this place?”

  The courier hesitated.

  “That is the troubling part. No one seems to know. Witnesses describe a man… and a boy.”

  “A boy?” one knight scoffed.

  The courier nodded.

  “And a beast.”

  The Archbishop’s eyes lifted slightly.

  “What kind of beast?”

  The courier’s voice lowered.

  “Large. Silver fur. Larger than a house. Witnesses thought it was a wolf at first… but the description matches nothing natural.”

  He reached into his satchel and placed a worn parchment on the table.

  Ancient ink drawings.

  A creature from old texts.

  A name long thought to be myth.

  One of the priests leaned forward. His face drained of color.

  “…Fenrir.”

  The word lingered in the air like smoke.

  Even the knights shifted uncomfortably.

  Fenrir was not folklore.

  Fenrir was recorded in forbidden bestiaries. A calamity-class mythical beast. A harbinger of collapse.

  The Archbishop studied the drawing without emotion.

  “Continue.”

  “The beast obeys the boy.”

  That sentence changed the room.

  The silence became dense. Oppressive.

  “Witnesses say the creature walks beside him. Protects him. Listens to him.”

  A priest whispered, “Impossible…”

  The courier continued, voice tense now.

  “The man is said to build structures as if guided by divine hands. Roads. Walls. Bathhouses. Wells. Things that should take months appearing within days.”

  “And the races?” the Archbishop asked.

  “They live together peacefully.”

  That was the moment the Archbishop’s gaze sharpened.

  Not at the mention of the beast.

  Not at the boy.

  But at that word.

  Peacefully.

  One of the knights muttered, “This sounds like chaos.”

  The Archbishop shook his head slowly.

  “No.”

  His voice was calm. Certain.

  “Chaos can be crushed.”

  His eyes darkened slightly.

  “Order must be destroyed before it grows.”

  Nobody spoke after that.

  Candles flickered. Wax dripped quietly onto stone.

  The Archbishop rose from his seat and walked toward the stained glass window. The moonlight cast fractured colors across his robes.

  “A settlement inside the Monster Forest. Demons walking freely. A mythical beast. A boy at the center of it.”

  He paused.

  “This is not coincidence.”

  He turned back toward the table.

  “Find the boy.”

  The command was soft.

  But absolute.

  And far away, beyond forests and borders, beneath a different sky…

  That same boy had no idea the world had already begun moving toward him.