71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxjonyeC3WzMETRO'S CHAMBER — MORNING —
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Morning light spills across the chamber floor, soft and pale.
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Metro stands at the window, watching men load glowing bundles into red and gold carriage wagons.
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Sally grazes in the field below, calm, as if last night never happened.
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The door creaks.
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Lutheran steps in without knocking, boots muddy, hair still slightly damp.
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He clears his throat.
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Lutheran:
"Erm… Metro, your door was open so —"
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He closes it behind him, respectful.
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Metro doesn't turn — just keeps watching the field.
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Lutheran steps closer, voice low.
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"You remember last night?"
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Metro grows stiff.
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"The fire…
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"The forest…
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"the way you moved out there."
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He shakes his head, almost laughing at the memory.
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Lutheran:
"Never seen anything like it, lad.
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Not in all my years."
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He waits for Metro to speak —but Metro stays quiet, eyes on the horizon, the weight of his memories pressing, The White Flame clinging inside of him.
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Luther exhales.
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Lutheran: (softer now)
"Just wanted to make sure you remember it…
and that you're still yourself this morning…"
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He stands beside Metro, both men staring out into the field, the castle walking beneath them.
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Metro turns to Luther and gently smiles.
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Metro:
"Thanks,
I heard you were amazing out there."
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Lutheran huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
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Luther:
"Aye… I shot the sticks and didn't die, but you had the blue prints, (beat) your plan worked."
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He steps beside Metro at the window, both men looking down at the courtyard.
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Lutheran watches the chaos below.
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Lutheran:
"You see all that? The whole castle's been moving since dawn."
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Soldiers jog outside, loading crates, and checking wheels on carriages.
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He pauses, glancing at Metro.
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"The whole kingdom might awaken because of last night."
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"They're all looking at you…"
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(A beat)
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"Whether you like it or not…"
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Lutheran continues to watch the wagons.
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"You've changed something out there. Everyone feels it."
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He looks at Metro… really looking at him.
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Lutheran:
"Just wanted you to know what you're walking into…"
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Metro grows silent.
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His eyes drop to the stone floor, then lift again, to the courtyard.
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Men shouting.
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Carriages creaking.
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Bundles of leaf stacked in treasured heaps.
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Sally, swishing her tail in the sunlight.
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But something doesn't feel right.
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Something tightens Metro's chest — a dread he can't name. Lutheran turns his head towards Metro, body still facing outside.
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"The men downstairs…
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they're talkin'…"
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Metro's eyes shift —
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Lutheran:
"Sayin' you can walk through fire. That the forest bends for you. That the white flame isn't magic, but something older."
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He glances at Metro's hands — steady, but tense.
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"Some of the men are scared of you.
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Some of them are proud."
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He smiles, looking out at the glow leaf.
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Lutheran:
"But the truth is…
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they're building stories about you."
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Metro responds a little too quickly.
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Metro:
"I don't care what they're saying about me."
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Lutheran studies him, not convinced, but doesn't push it.
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Lutheran:
"Maybe you don't."
But the rest of em do…
… that's the trouble.
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Metro doesn't answer. He's searching inwardly trying to interpret the notions of his heart.
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Lutheran exhales.
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Lutheran: (softer tone)
"Rose and Lilly left earlier, around sunrise."
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That gets Metro's attention — movements in his eyes, his chin tilts towards Lutheran.
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Lutheran:
"Said they were going to find Curtis, didn't want to wake you."
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He pauses.
"They took the east road, looked determined, if you want, I can send a few men after em'
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… Just to keep eyes on the road."
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Metro exhales, the tension in his shoulders loosening a little.
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He faces Luther.
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Metro: (eyes softened)
"Yes. That would be great. Please."
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Lutheran nods once.
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Lutheran:
"I'll send two of my best. Quiet lads…
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They'll keep their distance, and eyes on the road. I'll see you downstairs."
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The door opens before Metro can take another breath. Ana slips inside — her frame moving faster than she should, cane tapping sharply against the stone.
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Metro turns, startled, then smiles, meeting her halfway. She throws herself at him, clinging tight.
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Ana:
"Oh…"
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She pulls back just enough to grab his face in both hands, turning his head left, right, up, down — Metro letting her do it, submitting like a child being checked by a mother.
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Her eyes search him desperately.
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Ana:
"I heard what happened…terrible things…
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Are you alright?
Are you hurt?
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Answer me, Metro!"
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Her voice cracks — pleading, trembling —her hands still locked on his cheeks, forcing his gaze to hers.
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Metro gently takes her wrist, lowering her hands, holding them there.
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Metro:
"I'm fine, Ani."
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Ana breaks.
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She cries into his chest, wrapping her thin arms around him with surprising strength.
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Metro looks down at her — and something in him softens, warms, heals. Her tears feel like medicine. His mood lifts without permission.
He slowly eases her back, still holding her elbows, still close.
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Metro: (teary-eyed)
"I'll tell you all about it…anything you want to know."
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They sit together on the edge of the bed, talking quietly — everything they've been through,
everything that led to last night. Ana listens with her whole everything, nodding, wiping her eyes, smiling, touching his arm whenever his voice falters.
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Then —she reaches into her purse —the old leather one she's carried since he was a boy
— and pulls out a thick, long rolled scroll tied with faded black ribbons.
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She places it into his hands.
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Ana:
"With all that's happening…
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"I felt prompted to give you this. It contains the genealogy of our fathers, wars, history, all of the prophecies.
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"Its our key."
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She presses it into his palms.
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"Read it."
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"And read it often."
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She stares deeply into Metro's eyes.
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Metro sits at his desk, unrolling the scroll with reverence. The ink glows faintly in the morning light. Ana steps behind him, smoothing his hair with her hands.
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Ana:
"I'll start getting something ready for us to eat."
"I'll be back."
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She turns to leave, then stops —
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BAM.
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The chamber door SLAMS open so hard Ana jump back.
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Blake burst in — suitcase dangling from one hand, vials, coins and trinkets flying everywhere as it swings wildly. Half the contents spill across the floor in a glittering mess.
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Ana stands in the doorway, cane in hand, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
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.Blake: “METRO!”
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He crashes into him, spinning with him like a kid greeting an older brother after war.
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Metro laughs—really laughs—hands on his knees.
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Blake finally settles down.
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Blake: (exasperated)
"Dude! I told myself you were dead!"
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Metro shakes his head still smiling.
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Blake smacks his shoulder—too hard, too excited
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Blake: (Holds hand on shoulder)
"I'm glad you made it out brother, I wouldn't be able to carry on without ya..."
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Metro places his left hand gently over the top of Blake's wrist—grounding him, absorbing every ounce of that chaotic love.
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Metro:
"Well... I gotta keep on living so we can fulfill
our destiny."
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They stare at each other for a beat—that ridiculous, unspoken bromance moment—then instinctively clap hands, pulling into a half hug, releasing, and separating.
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Blake:
"Your gonna have to tell me all the juicy details.
I'll probably have a heart attack listening though."
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Metro laughs again—softer this time.
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Ana watches them with warm, motherly pride.
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Then—The door opens again.
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A massive shadow outside fills the doorway.
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The Giant Kings guard steps inside, armor gleaming.
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Kings Guard: (Voice deep, formal)
"Metro, son of none. Lord Theron commands your arrival at his lodge. You will leave with the carriage shortly after harvest is loaded.
71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGGOqSsp9SL
(Silence fills the air)
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Metro looks at Ama.
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Ama looks at Blake.
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Blake looks at Metro.
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The joy draws into tension—the kind that settles.
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—THERON'S LODGE - TRAVEN'S OFFICE—
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The lodges hallway is long and dim, morning light barely touching the stone.
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Traeven walks alone.
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His footsteps echo—slow, deliberate—the sound is overshadowed by his thoughts.
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He's contemplating.
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Brainstorming.
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His mind turns like locked iron wheels in and out of each other. Metal smoothly grinding within itself, he relives the events of the past.
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The queen's trembling voice.
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The Kings fevered declaration.
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The archers testimony.
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Metro's name whispered like scripture.
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Every step a calculation.
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Servants flatten against the walls as he passes, eyes lowered. They feel something moving around him—not anger, not grief...
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Something colder.
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Traeven reaches his office door. The wood carved with symbols, that shift in low light.
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He pushes it open.
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The room is dark.
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No audio. Just whispers from a candle.
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A single lantern burns lowly at his desk, its
flame barely alive. Shadows cling to the dark walls, stretching over shelves of leather bound books.
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Behind his desk rises a towering library—scrolls, relics, papers, texts—a cathedral of knowledge.
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Traeven steps inside lighting a candle with
one that hes taken from his entrance door.
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On the center of his desk lies a sealed note.
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Black wax.
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The morgue's crest.
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He stops.
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He breaks the seal with one gloved thumb.
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—a soft crack that repels the walls way too loudly in the still room.
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He unfolds the letter.
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His eyes move across the page.
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"Mathias Hernandez.
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Fallen in Battle.
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Body Recovered.
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Name to be carved at the monumental stone
In honorary remembrance."
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The lantern flickers.
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Traevens face does not change—it empties.
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Whatever warmth remained in him drains out quickly.
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He folds the letter with perfect precision.
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Sets it down.
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Then he sits in his chair, back straight, legs crossed, fingers laced, hands and body still.
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No grief.
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No shock.
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Traevens cold stare intensifies—an icy, sharper, cutting gaze.
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Hardening.
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A man who has just lost his brother and found a reason to become something far more dangerous.
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—He sits in silence—
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—Expressionless—
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—Eyes darkened—
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—Scene fades black—
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