The Destructive Adventures of the Lovers-Chapter 57: Lavera

The wind howled through the stone towers of Vesh's castle as the king stepped onto the balcony. His golden cloak whipped around him, the edges catching in the fierce, icy gusts that sliced through the air. He squinted into the distance, his eyes narrowing as he saw the dark, churning storm clouds on the horizon, their icy tendrils reaching out like the grasping fingers of a frozen wraith.

"No... it's closer than I thought," he muttered, his breath misting in the chill air. He spun on his heel, his boots echoing against the stone. "Gather the people!" he bellowed to the guards below. "Prepare the jackets and cloaks! Stock the supplies! This storm... it will not be kind."

The castle erupted into frantic motion, servants scurrying through the halls, the clang of armor echoing as knights rushed to their posts. The clang of hammers against anvils filled the air as blacksmiths hurried to reinforce gates and sharpen blades, the air thick with the metallic tang of steel.

Back in the dense, frost-covered forest, Gabriel, Margo, Matt, Ella, and Lila sprinted through the twisted trees, their breath coming in harsh, icy puffs. Their footsteps crunched against the snow-dusted ground as they broke through the final line of trees, the sunlight blinding as it reflected off the glittering, frozen river before them.

"There it is," Gabriel panted, his chest heaving. "The Lavera Kingdom."

Beyond the river, the towering spires of Lavera rose into the sky, their glass-like walls reflecting the morning light in a thousand shimmering hues. The kingdom glowed like a jewel set against the white, snow-covered hills, its banners fluttering proudly in the wind.

"We made it," Ella whispered, her heart pounding as they splashed through the icy water, the cold biting at their ankles.

As they approached the towering gates, the Lavera knights, clad in sleek, polished silver armor, lowered their spears, blocking the path. The sharp edges of their blades glinted in the sunlight, their faces hidden behind gleaming visors.

"State your business," one of the knights demanded, his voice echoing from within his metal helm.

Gabriel stepped forward, his body still bruised and battered but his eyes fierce. "We seek an audience with your king. We come in peace."

The knights hesitated, their armor clinking as they exchanged glances. Then, with a nod, they stepped aside, the massive iron gates creaking open to reveal the grand, marble-lined courtyard beyond.

As they made their way through the bustling corridors, the echoes of their footsteps mingled with the soft hum of magic that pulsed through the walls, the air thick with the scent of polished stone and burning incense.

They entered the throne room, a vast hall of gleaming white marble, its walls adorned with intricate carvings of past battles and heroic feats. At the far end, upon a throne carved from a single slab of obsidian, sat King Jacob, his piercing blue eyes fixed upon them. His sword, a sleek, black-bladed weapon, hovered beside him, moving of its own accord, its edge shimmering with a faint, ghostly light.

"Who dares disturb the peace of Lavera?" King Jacob's voice boomed through the hall, each word laced with the subtle pressure of his telekinesis, the air around them trembling with unseen power.

Gabriel stepped forward, his head held high. "We seek Owen."

As if summoned by his name, a figure descended the grand staircase behind the throne. Owen, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his blue, flame-covered sword crackling with every step. His gaze met theirs, a mix of curiosity and quiet strength flickering in his storm-grey eyes.

"Owen," Lila whispered, her fists clenching at her sides.

Owen paused on the final step, his eyes narrowing. "Do I know you?"

Gabriel took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "No... but we know your brother."

Owen's eyes flickered, his jaw tightening. The flames on his blade flared for a brief moment before settling back into a slow, crackling burn.

"Why are you here?" King Jacob's voice cut through the tension like a blade. His hovering sword twitched, its tip turning toward them as if ready to strike.

"The Sword of the Phoenix," Lila said, her voice trembling slightly. "It's been shaking. We believe it senses the storm... the danger."

Owen's face darkened, a shadow passing over his features as the memory of his brother flickered behind his eyes. He swallowed, his grip tightening on his sword. "My brother..."

The hall fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the soft crackle of Owen's blade and the distant howl of the approaching storm.

Before they could speak again, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs—a young woman with long, flowing hair as white as fresh snow, her eyes a piercing violet. She moved with the grace of a shadow, her feet barely touching the ground as she descended.

"Princess Xyrille," one of the guards whispered, bowing as she passed.

Xyrille paused beside Owen, her eyes fixed on the distant windows, where the storm clouds had drawn closer, their icy tendrils stretching across the horizon like the grasping hands of a forgotten god.

"The storm," she whispered, her voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. "It's coming."

Ella's heart clenched as she followed Xyrille's gaze, the icy breath of the approaching storm whispering through the cracks in the castle walls.

"It's happening," she murmured, her fists clenching as the first flakes of snow drifted past the stained-glass windows, melting against the warm marble floors.