The Tale of The Fallen Primordial

"You carry a remarkable spirit," the Duke began, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the chamber like distant thunder. "The moment you crossed into my city, I felt it—a weight, a presence that does not belong. The very air trembled... Dragonkin. Indeed you are strong"

Noir tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming with a dark, inscrutable light. The ever-present smirk on his lips softened into something sharper, colder. His tone was smooth and deliberate, every syllable a blade testing the air before the strike. "Strength recognizes strength, they say. Though I must admit, Duke, it's refreshing to find someone unafraid to speak so boldly. Most in your position prefer a façade of politeness."

The Duke's lips curved into a faint smile, his gaze a razor cutting through Noir's calm veneer. "Politeness is a mask for the insecure. I have no use for masks."

Noir chuckled softly, the sound almost inaudible against the oppressive weight in the room. "Confidence... a rare and dangerous virtue. Though it often teeters on the edge of hubris." His hand gestured lazily toward Elyndris, his demeanor cooling like tempered steel. "But let's not stray into philosophy. Here is the high elf I have brought you think of it a taste of what is to come. A specimen of unparalleled value. Surely, the worth speaks for itself."

The Duke's sharp gaze shifted to Elyndris, lingering on the high elf with an almost predatory fascination. "Impressive," he murmured, his voice curling through the air like smoke. After a pause, he snapped his fingers. "Guards. Take him to the prison."

The armored figures stepped forward, their heavy boots thudding against the floor like the beat of a war drum. Elyndris stood motionless, his expression stoic, yet his sharp eyes flickered toward Noir for the briefest moment. It was a silent exchange, but Elyndris understood—this was all part of the plan. He allowed himself to be led away without protest.

Zuka's golden eyes narrowed as he observed the interaction, catching the faintest twitch of Noir's lips. A signal. A move in their unseen game.

The Duke leaned back on his throne, his fingers steepled as his gaze shifted between the brothers. "Tell me, Blanche and Trevor, how many slaves is it that you claim… to possess?"

"One hundred," Noir answered smoothly, his voice as polished and deceptive as a blade in moonlight. "Mostly females. Ten thousand gold should suffice."

The Duke's brow lifted, his expression hovering between amusement and disdain. "A bold price for bold men."

Zuka's posture remained deceptively relaxed, though his golden gaze held the weight of a predator waiting for its prey to falter.

"Courage, I find, is often rewarded," the Duke said, his tone carrying the faintest edge of mockery. "But I must ask—why would merchants such as yourselves dare to venture into my domain? Surely, you've heard the rumors. Whispers, as you so aptly put it."

Noir's smirk sharpened into something almost predatory. "Whispers are for the fearful, Duke. I deal in certainties, in opportunities. I fear no whispers."

The Duke barked a short, mirthless laugh. "Well said. Whispers, after all, mean nothing in a city built on shadows." He rose from his throne with a deliberate slowness, his towering frame casting a long shadow that reached toward the brothers like grasping claws. "But shadows... have a way of revealing what others wish to keep hidden."

Noir's grin didn't falter as the Duke approached, extending a hand. Zuka mirrored the gesture, his golden eyes unblinking as the Duke clasped Noir's hand in a grip that spoke of authority, not camaraderie.

"You're bold," the Duke said, his voice dropping into a chilling, intimate register. "I like boldness. But boldness often breeds carelessness. And carelessness..." His smile widened, razor-sharp. "Well, carelessness leads to death."

Noir's smirk deepened, the glint in his crimson eyes darkening into something far more dangerous. "Carelessness isn't in my nature, Duke. Every move I make is deliberate. Calculated."

The Duke's grin faltered, just slightly. A crack in the veneer.

"And yet," the Duke continued, almost casually, "you cannot leave."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling like a guillotine poised to fall.

Noir's expression didn't change, but his voice carried a darker timbre as he repeated, "Is that so."

"Your disguises, did you even try to disguise?" The Duke said, his tone conversational but laced with venom. "I know who you are. Kogetsu... Princes of the Dragonoid Nation. Noir of the Wicked Eye, and Zuka of the Golden Horns."

Zuka's jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his outward demeanor remained calm.

"You are trapped here," the Duke said, his voice deepening into something almost primal. "This city is mine. They ensure that only I decide who wields power within these walls. Why do you think the city changed so much overnight."

Zuka's memory shifted briefly to the crystalline doors, then to the massive tree whose roots he had sensed from the moment they entered the city. The pieces began to align. Could it be? Morenthain... the Kageyomi Kurokiha. so it was its roots that spanned through the entire city, its can presence suppress external magic that the wielder of the tree wishes. And the crystal—Umbryss. Oh I see it now. A door made of it. He is cautious. I'd give him that.

The Duke's grin widened, the glow of triumph in his eyes. "Did you truly think you could outmaneuver me in my own domain?"

Noir tilted his head, his grin sharpening to a predatory edge. "You misunderstand me" he murmured, his voice a blade slipping through the cracks. "Your actions go according to my plan"

The Duke's composure wavered for the first time, though he quickly masked it with disdain. "And what would you do, Noir, without your magic? Bluffing won't save you."

Noir's grin widened further, the glow in his crimson eyes like embers in a furnace. "Duke, if you truly know who I am, then you must understand why they call me 'Noir of the Wicked Eye.'"