System: Daily login!!, jackpot on the first day!!!

After the First Calamity, the island once known as Great Britain ceased to exist. In its place now lies a fractured archipelago, hundreds of jagged, scattered islands rising from the restless sea.

Once-proud cities were swallowed by the Earth or cast into ruin by the violent upheaval.

Ancient landmarks crumbled, and the bones of old empires were buried beneath the waves.

Castles, cathedrals, and monuments, symbols of centuries-long legacies were reduced to rubble.

No ordinary structure could withstand the Earthquake that tore the land asunder, an Earthquake so vast and violent that it cracked tectonic plates and reshaped the very map.

It was an event of mythic proportions, a tremor that marked the end of an era.

And yet, amid the desolation, one castle endured.

Windsor Castle, though weathered and scarred, still stood. A fortress of stone and sorcery, it had been carefully maintained for centuries, not just through craftsmanship, but through layer upon layer of magical reinforcement.

What began as a preservation effort turned into a bastion of arcane resilience. Each generation of mages added their own protective enchantments: against decay, against time, and eventually, against destruction itself.

By the time the First Calamity struck, Windsor Castle had become more than a historic monument. It was a living fortress, its foundations interwoven with spells as old as the Kingdom itself.

While the surrounding cities crumbled and the land split open, Windsor merely groaned, its stone cracking, but never yielding.

Now, amidst a broken world, Windsor Castle has become the seat of power. A lone relic of order in a shattered realm, it serves as the capital for what remains of Great Britain, or what people now call the Scattered Isles.

Here, Caldwell, the de jure ruler of the region, governs what is left of the old kingdom.

From its battered halls, he commands fleets, manages settlements, and enforces the fragile peace among the surviving islands.

The Union Jack no longer flies in neat formation above the tower, it hangs torn and faded, yet still present, a symbol of endurance against annihilation.

Windsor Castle, surrounded by arcane wards and guarded by what remains of the royal guard, now fused with Magician and Survivalists alike, is more than a government stronghold. It is a symbol.

Windsor Castle is not the only one; across the globe, across the shattered land, the same situation is happening.

It's not a miracle but a reminder... A reminder that even in the face of calamity, some things endure.

--------

Inside a dimly lit chamber deep within the fortified heart of Windsor Castle, a meeting was underway.

The room was lined with faded banners, old portraits, and shelves weighed down by ancient tomes and relics.

A round oak table stood at the center, illuminated by flickering candlelight. Four figures sat around it, each a thread in the tapestry of what remained of the British royal lineage.

At the head sat Caldwell Alexandria D'Archy, the current King of Great Britain, or at least, what was left of it. Young, yet already hardened by war and ruin, Caldwell bore the quiet authority of one who had inherited both a crown and a broken world.

To his left sat William Alexandria D'Archy, his Father, calm and analytical. Across from him reclined Edmund Alexandria D'Archy, his uncle, a seasoned warrior and strategist with a perpetually tired expression, as though the weight of generations pressed upon his shoulders.

And beside Caldwell was Amelia Alexandria, the family's matriarch and Caldwell's mother. Regal, composed, and still sharp despite the years, she had seen the world fall apart and now worked behind the scenes to hold together what little remained.

Caldwell broke the silence.

"Uncle Edmund," He began, his tone businesslike but tinged with frustration, "how's the situation with xx Island? Can we reclaim it?"

Edmund leaned back lazily in his chair, eyes half-lidded in his usual worn-out manner. But everyone at the table knew better, behind that sleepy gaze was a tactician who hadn't lost his edge.

"It's been so long," Caldwell pressed, "and it's our land to begin with. Is there any update?"

Edmund let out a sigh, sat up straighter, and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if trying to will away the growing headache.

"Don't ask me that," He muttered. "I've already spoken with the Survivor Leader on the island. He refuses to yield. Claims they're better off independent and want to break away entirely. He's... stubborn"

Amelia, who had been listening silently, finally spoke, her voice cool and inquisitive.

"That's strange," She said, narrowing her eyes. "If he's so adamant about standing alone, then he must be getting support from someone... or somewhere. No one defies a central power without backing"

Caldwell turned to her, one brow raised.

"Are you suggesting someone's meddling behind the scenes? That someone's encouraging them to resist us?"

Amelia nodded slowly, though her expression remained uncertain.

"Perhaps. It's only a suspicion, but it wouldn't be the first time outside forces tried to manipulate internal unrest"

Edmund leaned back again, arms crossed behind his head.

"Now that you mention it... when I was there, I noticed an unusual number of Magicians. Far too many for such a small island. They were everywhere, walking the streets, watching from towers, running the damn markets. It felt... orchestrated"

There was a pause. Then, softly but firmly, William spoke for the first time.

"...The Magic Tower"

The words hung in the air like a spell.

Caldwell frowned.

"You think the Magic Tower is involved, Father?"

William met his son's gaze.

"I think it's more than likely. The concentration of magicians. The Survivor Leader's sudden boldness. It fits. If the Tower is backing them, it explains everything"

"That would be a bold move," Amelia said darkly. "Supporting secession in our territory could be a declaration of war"

"Or a test," Edmund added. "They might be gauging our strength. Our will"

Caldwell's expression hardened.

"Then let's g-"

He didn't get to finish.

Suddenly, the air changed.

It was subtle at first, a tremor in the fabric of reality itself. A weight pressed against the room, invisible yet suffocating.

Instinct screamed louder than reason. All at once, the temperature dropped, the candles flickered violently, and the atmosphere turned hostile.

Caldwell, Edmund, and William moved in unison, reacting with the discipline of battle-hardened survivors. Weapons were drawn in a blink, steel, rune-carved, and humming with magic.

Amelia, sharp and composed even in chaos, ducked behind her husband without a word.

*Crack!*

The sound wasn't just auditory, it resonated in their bones. A fracture opened in mid-air, jagged and wrong like the world itself had been torn open.

A pulsating rift, glowing with distorted light, bled a deep purple aura into the room.

"A Crack?!" Caldwell gasped. "Here?! Inside Windsor Castle? How is that even possible?!"

"No time for questions," Edmund snapped, eyes narrowing. "It's opening... now!"

*Swoooosh!*

A violent wave of Mana burst out from the Crack, slamming into the room like a shockwave. Caldwell staggered, choking on the cold that seeped through his skin and down to his bones. It was unnatural, not just cold, but wrong. It's like it trying to control his body.

"...Th-This is dangerous..." Caldwell whispered through gritted teeth. Then, louder... "Father! Get Mother out of here, NOW!"

"Are-"

"There's no time to hesitate!" Caldwell barked, pushing through the growing pressure. "Whatever's coming through that Crack will kill us all if we're not ready! Uncle Edmund... support me!"

Edmund didn't speak, he didn't need to. His stance shifted fluidly, ready for war. Caldwell knew the silence meant one thing: absolute trust. Edmund had fought enough battles to know when words were a waste of breath.

Caldwell turned his eyes to William one last time, voice firm.

"Father. Go. Now."

William hesitated only for a heartbeat, then nodded grimly. With one arm around Amelia, he dashed from the room, the sound of protective wards activating echoing behind them.

Caldwell's gaze snapped back to the Crack.

And then... it began.

His body convulsed. He grunted, falling to one knee as a violent heat surged through him, clashing against the cold of the Crack's mana. His breath grew ragged. His bones twisted. His spine arched.

Nails sharpened into claws. Fangs elongated. Muscles expanded with unnatural strength, splitting through the seams of his uniform. Thick, dark fur burst across his skin. His eyes gleamed, a feral amber, like a wolf under a blood moon.

In a matter of seconds, Caldwell Alexandria D'Archy, King of the Scattered Isles...

...had become a Werewolf.

Not a cursed beast, but a controlled transformation, a fusion of man and beast.

This was no accident.

This was war form.

Then-

*Step*

A single foot crossed the threshold of the Crack. It was humanoid and dripping with mana so dense the floor beneath it sizzled.

Caldwell and Edmund moved in that exact instant.

It wasn't hesitation.

It wasn't fear.

It was calculated survival.

They had to strike while only a fraction of the creature was exposed. Because once it fully crossed over, they both knew, there would be no winning.

Caldwell lunged with terrifying speed, claws bared, fangs ready to tear.

Edmund's sword sliced through the air with precision, aiming for the heart, or anything vital that he could find.

"...Stop"

"?!!" Caldwell froze mid-lunge, muscles locked.

Just one word. Spoken softly, almost lazily but it struck Caldwell's mind like a divine command. His body obeyed against his will, halted in midair.

But Edmund was unaffected. His sword was already mid-thrust, aimed directly at the creature stepping through-

*Clang!*

Two fingers. That's all it took.

The figure reached out casually and caught the sword between two fingers. Not only stopped it, held it.

The blade vibrated uselessly, unable to push forward or pull away.

"Oh... fuck," Edmund muttered, lips twitching. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yup. Should've followed Mother to the Saranjana Kingdom. This is so not worth it"

Then-

"Ahahahah~"

Laughter echoed from the Crack. Familiar. Teasing. Mocking.

It wrapped around them like smoke, not hostile, but haunting in its familiarity. And yet... not quite right.

A figure emerged, cloaked in distorted mana. But as the light faded, the silhouette became clear. Human. Smirking. Eyes glowing with an odd light.

"Oh~ So it really was a Werewolf, huh?"

The voice stabbed into Caldwell and Edmund's chests, not with fear, but with recognition.

Their eyes widened in perfect sync.

"Bro?!" Caldwell gasped/"Nephew?!" Edmund shouted.

....

...

..

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