Location: Solencia – Grand Summit Hall (Morning)
The grand brass doors of Solencia's Summit Hall swung open to reveal a breathtaking expanse of polished marble and swirling tapestries. High vaulted ceilings arched overhead, where enchanted lanterns drifted like silent stars. Down the center aisle, a raised dais waited, flanked by gilded thrones for the Empire's Chancellor and the Demon King's Emissary. Dozens of smaller chairs formed neat semicircles for the attending envoys: Elven ambassadors, Dwarven lords, Beastfolk elders, Merfolk heralds, and even representatives of the elusive Sky Riders.
Chancellor Beltram paced before the dais, scroll in hand. His normally measured composure trembled with anticipation. "Remember," he instructed the waiting heralds, "this summit is our chance to solidify Hiroto's—or rather, the Cl er k's—role as peacemaker. Keep speeches concise, flattery tasteful, and absolutely no accidental magic."
Across the hall, the Demon King's envoy, General Akriss, oversaw the placement of demon-standard banners, their runes glowing a soft crimson. His massive frame towered above the crowd, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. "Chancellor," he rumbled to Beltram, "shall we begin with your opening address or mine?"
Beltram shot him a wary glance. "After yours, of course," he acquiesced.
At the back of the hall, Itsuki Hiroto crouched behind a stack of padded crates, eyes half‑closed. He wore his usual baker's disguise—flour‑smudged apron and floppy hat—and held a thick swaddling cloak to hide the makeshift coffin he'd carved from packing wood. Next to him, Sera handed him a flask of "Drowsy Tea," its label reading Guaranteed to induce a ten‑minute faint.
"Are you sure about this?" she whispered, raising an eyebrow.
Hiroto exhaled. "If I face one more speech about my "inestimable virtue," I'll explode. I'd rather play dead." He glanced at Virelya, who stood watch like a silent sentinel. She gave him a curt nod. "It's risky—but if you collapse convincingly, they'll skip you in the agenda."
Virelya lingered at the hall entrance, sword hidden beneath her cloak. "Once you drop, I'll carry you to the coffin behind the dais. Stay out of sight until the treaty's signed."
Hiroto gulped, fingers trembling around the tea flask. "Here's hoping my acting skills are better than my diplomacy."
---
Location: Grand Foyer (Before Entry)
The procession of envoys flowed through the foyer in a kaleidoscope of color: emerald robes trimmed with silver for the elves, burlap tunics adorned with runic carvings for the dwarves, flowing sea‑green silks for the merfolk, and braided leather and feathers for the sky riders. Each paused to gaze at the dais draped in garlands, where Hiroto's padded coffin lay.
A nervous squire flushed as he carried a silver platter of ceremonial bread to the dais steps. "Mistakes here will be… spectacular," he muttered, eyes wide.
Sera passed by, lowering her voice. "Just avoid the main stage." She touched Hiroto's shoulder. "You got this."
Hiroto nodded, then slipped through the crowd, aiming for the carved niche behind the dais. Every pair of eyes flickered in his direction, and he ducked low, clutching the flask.
---
Location: Summit Chamber (Midday)
At long last, the herald trumpeted, and King Caldor's voice resounded: "Esteemed delegates, welcome to the Hero Summit of Solencia!" The assembled dignitaries arranged themselves in their seats, murmuring polite greetings.
First to speak was General Akriss, who offered a concise nine‑minute address on the balance of power and the virtue of unity. Dwarven Ambassador Baelgrim followed with a passionate declaration of friendship, banging his fist on the lectern and jolting the carved stone so that the entire hall trembled.
Hiroto winced—earthquakes were not part of the plan. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes in. Time to act.
He stepped behind the dais, where Virelya waited, coffin lid in hand. She nodded, and he took the flask, tipping it back in one gulp. The bitter liquid burned his throat, and darkness blossomed at the edges of his vision.
At the podium, the next speaker—a regal Sky Rider envoy—cleared her throat. Hiroto's knees buckled. He staggered, head lolling, and fell forward onto the dais with a soft thump. A collective gasp rippled through the hall.
"Chairman Hiro—Captain Hiroto?" Chancellor Beltram's voice cracked. "Are you—?"
Before he could finish, Hiroto's form went limp. A hush descended. The Sky Rider envoy's sapphire‑winged attendants fluttered out of the way, wide‑eyed. Elven courtiers rose slowly, as though to guard him. The Merfolk delegates blinked in shocked silence.
Beltram hurried forward. "Security!"
Virelya sprang from behind the dais, scooping Hiroto's body into her arms. "I've got him," she murmured, carrying him toward the padded coffin.
---
Location: Behind the Dais (Moments Later)
A tense flurry of motion followed: guards laid Hiroto in the coffin, eased the lid into place, then sealed it with protective wards. Sera dropped a cushion at Virelya's feet.
Chancellor Beltram, stumbling, pounded his gavel. "By order of His Majesty, we shall skip Captain Hiroto's address." He shot a frantic glance at the other envoys. "Let us proceed directly to the treaty signing."
A murmur of relief and agreement spread. Demon emissaries leaned forward, already unfolding treaty scrolls. The dwarves clapped once, impatient. Even the elves nodded politely.
Beltram exhaled. "It seems… best."
---
Location: Summit Chamber (Afternoon)
The grand tables were rearranged in record time. Before the closed coffin, a long crystal banner unfurled reading:
> "In Memoriam of the Silent Savior's Demise"
Then, each delegation approached the dais to sign the Peace Accord. Dwarven Ambassador Baelgrim tapped his quill and declared, "For the memory of our fallen champion, we pledge eternal alliance." He signed. The Beastfolk elder roared his approval before scrawling his mark. Elven Lady Arindel bowed, tears in her eyes, signing with delicate script. Merfolk scribe pressed a watery thumbprint to the parchment. Sky Riders dipped feathers in ink.
As each signature was added, the coffin's warded lid glowed softly—an unintentional apotheosis.
Chancellor Beltram scrawled his name last, hands shaking. "So be it," he whispered, eyes bright.
The hall erupted in applause: horns blew, flushes of magic sparked in the air, and even the floating lanterns glowed in celebration.
From beneath the warded coffin, a single thump sounded.
The crowd froze.
The lid rattled.
Beltram staggered back. "He's… alive?"
The coffin lid flew open. Hiroto sprang out—faceplanting onto the dais, straight into a puddle of ceremonial ink.
A collective gasp: the ink soaked into his robes, forming a rune‑shaped spill at his chest.
Elven Lady Arindel whispered, "The sigil of Renewal." Dwarven Baelgrim grinned, "He's been reborn!" Beastfolk elder chanted, "Silent Hand renews the pact!" Merfolk envoy sighed with relief.
Chancellor Beltram's jaw dropped. "By the gods—he's part of the treaty now. A living prophecy."
Hiroto lay flat, chest heaving, ink covering half his face. He kicked weakly. "I… fell."
Sera and Virelya rushed forward, helping him up as the crowd cheered his miraculous "resurrection."
Hiroto forced a smile—smudged with ink and disbelief. Of course I faceplant. Of course it's a prophecy. Of course they now worship my accidental revival.
As the treaty was sealed with magic light and the hall drowned in joyous acclaim, Hiroto dusted ink from his hat and muttered:
"I wanted to play dead… but apparently death is only the beginning."