The Dark Prayer of Laraiz

An introduction to the leader of the Dravok Dynasty.

In the sanctum beneath the Onyx Spire, far across the eastern continent where light seldom touched the ground, shadows clung to the black stone like living things. At the center of the obsidian chamber, a woman knelt in meditation before a flame that burned without heat green and slow like a poisoned heartbeat.

Her name was Laraiz, High Priestess of the Dravok Dynasty, Voice of the Drowned Saints, and Breaker of the First Seal.

Her robes, stitched from midnight silk and ash feathers, shimmered faintly as she moved her hands in ancient patterns over the flame. Each motion sent ripples through the shadows. Her lips whispered in tongues long lost to time, each syllable a dagger in the skin of the world.

Behind her, the heavy doors opened with a groan.

A soldier faceless in black armor stepped inside and saluted. “Priestess. The scouts report Alliance movement beyond the Tiris Vale. Von Arizhal rides again.”

She didn’t turn.

Instead, her lips stopped moving. Her eyes opened glowing softly like emerald coals as she absorbed the words.

Simon Von Arizhal.

Heir of the Western Throne.

Bearer of the Seal of Changing Water.

The last son of Ra.

“Here we go again,” she murmured, a bitter smile forming at the corner of her mouth. “Another boy king clinging to his father’s shadow.”

She stood, long and graceful, every motion deliberate and eerie in its calm. Her presence filled the room not with noise, but with pressure. The kind that made hearts beat faster and lungs remember fear.

“He thinks he can delay what’s coming,” she said, walking slowly to a dais at the edge of the room. A map of the known world lay sprawled across it, veins of light pulsing from the place where the Seal of Air had once existed.