The horns blasted in time, the call rolling like thunder across the floating city of Veyrith. Everyone turned toward the gleaming golden doors across the Grand Assembly Hall.
Then he appeared.
King Henry VI of Gran Turin stood clad in ceremonial white and gold, the royal mantle trailing behind him. Each footfall echoed from the marble stone floor, accompanied by the staccato rhythm of the Royal Guard marching in the formation of a perfect wall of thirty men in silver-lined armor.
But it was Dolph, the Grand Knight of the Crown, who had many gazes riveted. A mountain of a man with a face of stone, cold-eyed and following in silence, Dolph was a manifestation of power wielded with paralyzing precision and few dared meet his stare.
The nobles stood, heads bowed. Even the dirty hands of the border armies' common-born commanders had rested, grudgingly. The air thickened as the Crown crossed the chamber, taking his place at the head of the Aurum Convergence.
Henry did not sit immediately. He stood before his throne, his expression unreadable, surveying the gathered houses of Gran Turin—dukes, marquises, generals, archmages, merchant lords, and high clergy. All had answered his call.
The silence was absolute.
With a breath that seemed to carry the weight of an empire, Henry raised his voice.
"Let it be known," he began, his words sharp and clear, "that on this day, the House of Sureva—one of our kingdom's greatest bloodlines—has fallen."
A ripple of hushed murmurs spread like wildfire through the crowd.
Henry continued. "Duke Arhenius Sureva stands executed for crimes against the realm. His estate lies in ruin. His armies are broken. His name, stricken from the records of the Crown."
The chamber erupted.
The room was filled with shouting, demands, accusations, and too many voices all colliding with one another in a growing storm of chaos.
Duke Verasus was the first on his feet, slamming his gauntlet on the table. "Who claims their land?! Who claims their titles?!"
Marquis Callen Duskwatch was growling. "What of the northern mines?! Who governs the Frostwood lands now?!"
Vassals of the Sureva banner were shouting over one another, demanding proof, threatening inquiries. Other rival houses started to posture themselves, advancing towards the scraps of the fallen giant.
And then there was Siegfried.
He stood up and mimicked a wave, pointing at an ornately gilded case being carried by his attendant. The evidence stolen from the ashes of the Sureva estate was produced before the assembly.
"Here is the evidence." Siegfried said loudly. "Black-market ledgers. Forbidden research. Activist correspondence. All signed by the Duke himself."
As if a boiling pot if water was tipped back, the shouting grew louder, more fevered. And the alliances began to crack, and its members tempers grew hot.
And then—
A single unexplained minute of murderous intent wafted over the hall.
Every woman and every man was frozen.
The portent was unmistakable, neither loud nor overwhelming, yet precise—an ounce of Remus's aura, leaking out from this twin Grand Knight who had been deathly silent, drew what heat was in the room—not that he gave off much warmth himself.
The air was as silent as a blade falling.
Henry nodded toward Remus, weighing his professional appreciation, stepped again forward.
Archmage Orivar, raised himself out of the armchair.
The very presence of the Archmage carried mythological heft in the air itself, and when he spoke, even in a casual manner, ripples reverberated throughout the gathered.
"Purpose," Orivar said while lightly tapping the end of his staff on the floor, "such a dangerous word, Your Majesty."
"This is not going to be a banquet of vultures," said the King, coldly. "A great house has fallen. A power void has opened, and if everyone is interested in avoiding the optics of a civil war, then we must fill that void with purpose, and not greed."
The gathering quietly listened, intent on the weight of his words.
But before Henry could continue, a faint laugh disconnected the world.
All heads turned as Archmage Orivar, the former Grand Headmaster of the Royal Academy, slowly rose from his seat. Draped in his emerald robes, his every movement carried the weight of someone who had long ago mastered not just magic, but power itself.
He leaned slightly on his staff, shaking his head with a faint smile.
"Purpose," Orivar mused aloud, his voice deep and steady, like the slow shifting of ancient stone. "Ah… such a dangerous word in the hands of rulers."
Henry's expression faltered, but only slightly. His gaze met Orivar's, and for a fleeting moment, the king's mask cracked—just enough for those paying close attention to see the flicker of something deeper.
Orivar continued, ignoring the silent tension thickening around him.
"I once taught three young fools who believed that very same word could reshape the world," the Archmage said softly, his eyes glazing over as though seeing something far beyond the chamber. "They stood taller than the rest. Braver. Wilder. More foolish than any I had seen in my years as Headmaster of the Academy."
The chamber rippled with surprise. Even the lesser lords leaned in, realizing who Orivar was speaking of.
"Their names?" Orivar asked aloud, though he already knew. He turned his gaze toward Henry, Siegfried, and the empty Sureva seat.
"You once were inseparable... in those golden years when titles didn't matter, when you swore you would rebuild the kingdom together."
Henry's shoulders had clearly tightened. Jaw clenched, his lips became a thin line. He stood perfectly still, as if bound by the memories.
The Duke flinched across the hall. He twitched, hand moving to the edge of the table. But before he could rise to interrupt, his throat was seized.
The air thickened around him, Orivar's silent power sealing his words before they came. Siegfried's eyes widened in anger, but no words came out.
The hall collectively held its breath.
Orivar turned away from Henry at last. The smile was gone, and something far heavier - perhaps remorse.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," said the archmage finally, breaking Siegfried's spell with a wave of the hand. "An old man's weakness in remembering days which are best forgotten."
Remus, standing once more, glanced toward Orivar.
"Enough," the Grand Knight warned. "Let the King speak."
Orivar's grin widened, but he released his silent spell with a wave. Siegfried stumbled back, red-faced with fury but unable to speak further.
"My apologies," Orivar said smoothly, bowing his head toward Henry. "Nostalgia gets the better of old men."
Henry said nothing. But the sadness in his eyes betrayed him for a fraction of a second.
And then Orivar dropped his true question.
"But tell me, Duke Siegfried…" Orivar's voice dropped into something cold and calculated. "Are the children still alive?"
The atmosphere in the room went tense. Eyes swung between Siegfried and the Archmage.
Siegfried was caught and paused.
"They... escaped," he finally spat through his teeth. "Nag hunts them as we speak."
Orivar leaned forward, drumming his hands on his staff.
"Let them live."
The words cracked like stones.
Gasps spread in the chamber. The nobles turned to whisper shock towards one another. The allies exchanged astonished looks. The rivals leaned in to see the meeting of meaning.
A vassal of the Marquis Mellon of House Sureva stammered, "You... would spare them?"
Orivar this time did not smile. His voice weighed as heavy as stones.
"They are children," he said simply. "And I would see the bloodline preserved, not erased."
More murmurs. Shock turned to confusion. Even Henry's lips tightened as he folded his hands before him, eyes unreadable.
Siegfried's knuckles whitened, but he dared not speak. His plans, his control, hung by a thread.
Remus and Ram exchanged glances. Neither spoke.
The King did not move.