The Convergence did not end with the decision of the Sureva heirs being spared.
Things were just getting underway.
No sooner had the ballots been cast as Marquis Mellon stood again, slamming the armrest with his fist. He was not red from fury, but from some bitter sense of purpose.
"If we cannot be granted land," Mellon yelled, "than you can at least return to us the heirlooms of Sureva. Our founder's weapons. Our ancestral arms. All of the artifacts and legacy that goes along with our colors."
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Noble families leaned in, sensing the next storm.
The Marquis of Duskwatch, Siegfried's clearest ally, stood almost immediately, his voice brash and mocking.
"What merit do you have to claim that Mellon," said Duskwatch, "your liege was a criminal. A traitor sentenced to death."
Mellon then spun toward Duskwatch with palpable disgust.
"My liege was killed without trial by conspirators who profited from his demise! You think I stand in this room for my own gain? I stand for the blood that built this kingdom while you rob its seas!"
The chamber erupted into shouting again. Nobles of both sides stood up on their feet, swords clanging together with their words.
"You defend ghosts!"
"You defend liars!"
"You demand what you cannot keep!"
"You fear the last true blood of the Accord!"
The noise grew louder and louder.
Siegfried sat in silence, reclining with a satisfied smirk. This chaos was playing right into his hands.
But King Henry had heard enough.
He stood up slowly, his hand raised with calculated finality. His voice cut through the noise like cold steel.
"Enough."
The hall fell quiet again, but the undercurrent of tension was even more palpable—a sharp knife balanced just above the neck of each house present.
Henry turned to Mellon first.
"You will receive what is rightfully yours; your blood and your banner," he said. "The heirlooms, the ancestral weapons, the family memorabilia, everything will return to the House of Mellon."
Mellon took a deep bow, but he was clearly bothered; his hands were balled tight.
Henry turned to the room.
"And about the mines, and the castles, and the lands, and the leftover gold, and the remains of the Sureva army, that you will distribute fairly." He faced Duke Siegfried, and Duke Verasus.
"Duskwatch will command the division of the northern holdings, as I am aware," Henry said, not paying attention as the nobility began to murmur anew. "Duke Siegfried and Duke Verasus shall receive financial profits from the spoils, but no land shall change to their banners."
Verasus frowned but did not speak. Siegfried, however, looked satisfied.
Without having to thin his army any further, he had come out with the largest amount of wealth. A clean and exact political win.
Henry turned to sit, the weight of the crown becoming progressively heavier now with each decision.
But the chamber shifted again.
A ripple, small but sharp, coursed through the strongest of the room—Remus, Ram, Orivar, and some elite commanders. They all turned toward the entrance of the hall at once.
Something… or someone… was coming.
The great doors burst open, not through command by guards, but by sheer presence of will.
Staggering into the hall, holding his bloody side, cracked armor, and eyes wide with terror, was Nag.
The man looked half dead, shambling toward the center of the chamber as the nobles gradually pulled away from him, stunned by his appearance.
Siegfried jumped to his feet, his smugness finally fading for the first time.
"Nag? What—"
Nag raised a trembling hand, blood dripping onto the polished floor.
"The forest…" he rasped.
Henry leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
Nag's voice broke into a hoarse whisper.
"A Gate… has opened… in the Frostwood."
Dead silence.
And in that moment, the weight of every political squabble vanished, replaced by something far, far worse.