The forthcoming storm

So it was the dawn of another peaceful day, when
the old mage finally reached the castle's gate.
Entering the throne room, he shivered, filled with
guilt. He bowed humbly to his king and then said
unto him:

"Sire, I am compelled I fear, to bring you
disastrous news. The bright crystal, woe on me, is
now in hands vile and cruel." At these words, the
king glared at his unconscious mage. He rose his
eyes and stood for a while, fixing emptiness.

"Oh what a tragedy," he said. "This will surely
seal our fate. Without the crystal's light, the
realm is defenseless."
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Distressed by such bad news, the king was lost in
his despair, when came up to him an old man
wearing a long white beard. It was the last of the
elders, the wise man of the realm. He locked his
stare upon his king and said unto him:

"Sire, all hope is not lost, there is a way to
slay the evil lord. He who holds the sword of
truth can defeat this one if he's stout and pure."
Then the king ran his eye over the people and
beckoned an impressive young man to come to him.

"Arbo my son," he said. "You are our only hope.
Seek out the sword of truth, oh please save us
from doom."