More than a hundred kilometers west of Aerion's sturdy city walls, where the ancient Verodawn Forest gave way to barren hills and desolate valleys, a secret meeting was taking place.

Karatyr, Grand Marshal of Zephyros, stood imposing as a war god amidst a sparse thicket, the cold silver moonlight illuminating his dark animal-hide armor, accentuating his tall, muscular physique and the formidable Demigod aura that weighed down the silent space like a thousand pounds of iron. He stared into the dense darkness beneath the ancient trees, his focus a physical force attempting to pierce the gloom where a figure in a tightly hooded black cloak already awaited.

" I trust you haven't come here to waste my time, Laurent." Karatyr's deep voice boomed, shattering the forest's stillness like the roar of a cornered beast. " You know the price to be paid if your promises are empty words. I wouldn't hesitate to crush the vessel you inhabit. Don't think I wouldn't dare." The threat in the Demigod's voice was unconcealed.

Laurent, or rather the entity hidden beneath the black cloak, remained silent, utterly unfazed by the wrath of Zephyros's mightiest Demigod. From the darkness, a pale, slender hand slowly extended three items.They did not glow, nor did they radiate a strong magical aura, yet they carried an invisible weight.

First was an intricately crafted silver ring, its face bearing the sigil of a majestic sword embraced by widespread eagle wings.

Next was an ancient bronze metal bracelet, adorned with a motif of thorny vines coiling around a honed spearhead.

Finally, a jet-black iron gauntlet, the back of which was engraved with a crimson greatsword, exuding a cold, frenzied killing intent.

An invisible energy gently lifted all three items from Laurent's hand, bringing them before Karatyr, where they hovered in mid-air. Karatyr cautiously reached out, touching each item in turn.

As his rough, calloused fingers brushed the cold metal, a familiar aura, characteristic of each item's owner, immediately assailed his senses. Images of three Demigods, three powerful forces across Tehra, vividly appeared in Karatyr's mind, memories of their strength, renown, and even past conflicts and compromises flooding back like a torrent. This was irrefutable proof of a dangerous transaction, a temporary alliance built on complex interests and calculations.

Karatyr's face hardened, his brow furrowing into deep lines. These three, in terms of personal prestige and power, were all leading figures in their own right, no less than himself. Yet now, they entrusted their tokens to Laurent, this mysterious individual. That could only mean Laurent's promises offered benefits so great they were willing to gamble. But for Zephyros, what was the price?

"You may have reached an agreement with them, Laurent," Karatyr said in a low voice, trying to maintain his composure, not letting his unease show. "But this agreement is still too dangerous for Zephyros. I cannot risk the fate of an entire kingdom, of millions of lives, for vague promises and uncertain benefits." Though his voice was low, a subtle wavering in his expression betrayed his hesitation.

Laurent didn't answer immediately, he was just silent. His silence, more terrifying than any threat, felt as if he was enjoying their confusion from behind the shadow of his hood. Then, he produced another item - a small, dull piece of metal, oddly shaped, its surface rough and cold as ancient ice.

This time, as Karatyr lightly touched its surface, a familiar image appeared, accompanied by an immediate, bone-chilling cold that bored deep into his mind. The powerful Demigod, who had faced countless dangers, for the first time felt a stabbing pain in his chest, a sense of unease and extreme terror spreading through his body as he touched the seemingly harmless piece of metal.

"How… how did you obtain this?" Karatyr roared like thunder, astonishment, indignation, and an unquenchable sorrow mingled in his voice. The Demigod's aura exploded violently, enveloping the forest with a strength far greater than before, causing the ancient tree branches to shake and leaves to fall like rain.

"I merely brought it here conveniently," Laurent maintained his disturbingly calm smile, his voice as gentle as a whisper amidst Karatyr's raging storm. "A small memento, but perhaps valuable enough to persuade you, no?"

A cold, blue flame suddenly erupted from Laurent, instantly incinerating the black cloak, revealing his true form. A tall, powerfully built man in intricately crafted jet-black armor, every line of which seemed to harbor the power of darkness. Hair white as January snow, shoulder-length, fluttered in the wind, contrasting with his angular, cold face and deep grey, emotionless eyes.

"Today, I come in my true form, Karatyr," Laurent declared, his voice clear, echoing through the silent forest, carrying an undeniable authority, an absolute confidence in his own strength. "To show you my sincerity and determination."

Karatyr gritted his teeth, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he managed to suppress the boiling rage within him. He understood that the person before him was not only powerful but also knew him too well, knew Zephyros, knew his weaknesses, his sorrows. He held no fear of his Demigod power, and blind anger now would only worsen the situation, pushing Zephyros into even greater peril.

"I agree to this transaction," Karatyr finally spoke, his voice heavy as if he had just shed a thousand-pound burden, yet also carrying resignation and helplessness. "You will get what you desire. But if Zephyros falls because of your plan, Laurent, I swear I will hunt you to the ends of the nine hells for revenge."

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Laurent nodded slightly, his expression unchanged. Both powerful men, two entities of authority, extended their right hands, grasping each other's wrists.

A strange energy, a binding connection, flowed between them. Simultaneously, a brilliant, mystical purple magic circle appeared beneath their feet, ancient, complex characters spinning at dizzying speed.

A moment later, when the magic circle faded, a strange, faint mark, as if etched by shadow, appeared on each man's right wrist: a purple magic circle surrounding the image of two dragons turning back to bite each other's tails, forming an endless cycle - the symbol of an unbreakable bond, an oath bound by soul and destiny.

The Life-Death Pact - Complete.

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A week later, in the skies over eastern Zephyros, bordering Loren, Karatyr spurred Voltoraak, his loyal Rank 6 war dragon, which let out a powerful roar that echoed through the mountains.

The Demigod sat firmly on the giant beast's back, his platinum hair whipping in the strong wind, and surveyed the distant horizon. His expression was as cold and harsh as the wind as he watched dark columns of smoke rise from attacked border outposts. Behind him, squadrons of Griffin and War Eagle riders followed in formation, creating a formidable aerial army, ready for battle. However, despite the soaring morale, a persistent discomfort, an unshakeable worry, gnawed at Karatyr's heart.

He frowned slightly, clearly feeling the strange, unsettling presence on his right wrist. Beneath the thick iron gauntlet, the strange purple magic circle of the Life-Death Pact still silently existed, an indelible mark, a bitter bond. Every time he moved, every time he channeled his Demigod power, that damn magic throbbed faintly, reminding him of the price paid, the cruel choice he had been forced to accept.

Karatyr tried to ignore the discomfort, focusing all his will on the mission before him - protecting the territorial integrity of Zephyros. "I had no other choice," he thought silently, clenching his teeth.

"This is the price to protect Zephyros from even greater dangers, from even more terrifying enemies. A necessary forbearance, a silent sacrifice, even if it makes me feel sullied and imprisoned." The Demigod sighed, trying to suppress the resentment and helplessness churning within him. He was Zephyros's ultimate protector, and though he had to do things against his will, though he bore burdens no one understood, he would still fulfill his duty, until his last breath.

Back in the capital Aerion, after Karatyr had led the main army away, Alfie and Vincent, Zephyros's remaining Demigods, both sensed the unrest silently spreading within the city and surrounding lands. The sudden tension on the eastern border and Karatyr's hasty, somewhat mysterious departure made them uneasy.

A bad premonition, a forecast of major impending events, arose in the hearts of both young Demigods. Immediately, they ordered security throughout Aerion to be raised to its maximum level.

All available forces, from city patrols to the elite troops of Silver Wing Castle, were mobilized, patrolling rigorously through every alley, from the lavish central districts to the impoverished outer wards.

The Investigation Bureau was also placed on highest alert, every scout, every investigator ordered to intensify intelligence gathering, monitoring any unusual signs, however small. Alfie, with his ability to control holy light and extraordinary agility, and Vincent, with his wind-like speed and ability to hide in shadows, continuously monitored all critical areas of the city, ready to respond to any threat that might appear.

In an ancient, moss-covered stone castle, hidden deep within a dense forest far from Aerion, where sunlight seemed too timid to penetrate the thick layers of leaves, Laurent sat alone at a chessboard of polished black marble.

The chess pieces of ivory and ebony, intricately carved into the forms of warriors, monsters, and ancient kings, lay still on the board, an unfinished game, with no visible opponent. But deep within Laurent's complex spiritual domain, an invisible mental battle, a chess game far more tense and cerebral, was taking place.

He sat opposite Socrost, or rather, the spiritual image of the ancient mage, a faint but powerful and wise aura.

Both were silently moving invisible pieces on a limitless board, their exchanges, if any, merely vague, suggestive notions about the impending explosion in Aerion, about the fate of the people and forces about to be drawn into that vortex.

"I truly admire your abilities and patience, Socrost." Laurent's notion echoed in the spiritual domain, toneless but clear in meaning. "You are the only core member of the Sanctuary Enclave I know who has had contact, directly or indirectly, with all other key members, including the most elusive ones like Bahm."

Socrost did not directly respond to the compliment. His notion shifted to another topic, one both were concerned about. "What do you think of Henry Strike? Will he have the strength, the will, and more importantly, the luck to overcome the first survival trial you and Bahm have set for him in Aerion?"

Laurent faintly moved an invisible black pawn on the mental chessboard, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing his thin lips. "I have calculated carefully, Socrost. For many years, the seeds have been carefully sown. Now is the time for them to bloom, for us to see if they can become great trees or just roadside weeds. That young man Henry, undoubtedly, has enormous potential, a unique gift from the Lifestream. But is his will strong enough, his heart steely enough to face the upcoming challenges, to make the cruel choices fate will place before him? Regardless, someone chosen and favored so much by the Lifestream itself certainly cannot be ordinary. We should still have a little faith in him, shouldn't we?"

"You are always too confident in your calculations, Laurent," Socrost's notion replied, simultaneously moving a white knight on the invisible board. "You should remember that even the most perfect plans, the most meticulous calculations, can encounter unexpected variables, elements beyond control. Yet you dare to wager such a huge gamble, not only Henry's life but also the stability of an entire region, on a plan fraught with so many variables and risks. Aerion's fate, and perhaps your own, hangs by an incredibly fragile thread."

"I always believe in the precision of the moves I have made, Socrost," Laurent said, his notion as cold as a blade of ice. "Everything has been prepared as thoroughly as possible. Now is not the time for doubt or hesitation. We can only wait and see the results."

The mental chess game between the two powerful entities continued in tense silence, each move, each notion potentially affecting the outcome of a much larger war silently unfolding across Tehra.

Finally, after a perilous, unexpected move, Laurent smiled faintly. Socrost's white king was checkmated.

"Checkmate, old friend." Laurent's notion echoed but his spiritual gaze seemed to pierce through space, towards the capital Aerion, which was sinking into a false peace, a terrifying stillness before the storm. "Our game has temporarily ended. Now it's time to see how our real pieces will move on the bloody chessboard of reality."

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