News of the Empire's plan to arrest Rogg had reached the ears of the Doliex elders in Aeternum Vale—most notably, Rogg's mother, Lady Zeeva. Inside a candlelit meeting chamber, the elders had gathered to discuss the rapidly escalating situation.
"What about Rogg? Will you reveal his origins to the Empire?" asked Veynor Grauri, his tone cautious as he addressed Lady Zeeva.
Zeeva held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh. "No. There's no need. They must prove for themselves whether they are worthy of the throne. Besides, I don't know what my children truly desire. I cannot place such a burden on them. What matters is that they know the truth about their own identities. From there, they can choose their own paths."
"But isn't Rogg in danger?" said Elder Aryndra Faelin, her voice laced with concern. "If the Empire spins a false narrative or brands Rogg a liar, it could cost him his life."
Zeeva gave a faint smile. "But the news is the truth. Rogg is my son, the son of Brovos, the rightful heir to the throne. His pendant is proof that either Rogg or Robb has a legitimate claim to the Imperial seat. Even Brisena could be Empress. The bloodline of the rulers runs through my children—and that is fact."
Veynor Grauri glanced around at the other elders before speaking again, more seriously this time. "The loss of strength within our Doliex faction—especially with Thaldrim Covarthis putting his own interests above all—has left us vulnerable. If Rogg, Robb, or even Brisena choose to claim the Whiteheaven throne, we must support them. However, the Larfex faction has already spread its influence across Whiteheaven, everywhere except Doliex. That places us at a severe disadvantage."
Lady Zeeva shook her head. "We are guardians of the Empire. Even if my children desire the throne, if it means plunging the Empire into chaos, we cannot support them. Hundreds of thousands of lives are far more important than a crown."
Veynor scoffed lightly. "But we cannot turn a blind eye to the Empire's future. Better to sacrifice a hundred thousand lives for greater change than to let millions continue to suffer for generations."
Elder Aryndra Faelin's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting we join a revolution? That we incite rebellion?"
Veynor shook his head. "Not rebellion. But we should support Robb or Rogg in reclaiming what is rightfully theirs."
Zeeva took a deep breath. "No. My children must not be sacrificed for this so-called change. We must wait for the ministers' ruling on Damerius' ascension. That decree should be issued this year, when he turns twenty-five."
"But you know very well," Veynor insisted, "that the rightful heirs are your children. Robb or Brisena—one of them should be on that throne."
"I know," Zeeva replied, her voice deeper now, "but proving that Brovon's decree or testament has been altered... that won't be easy."
"All the elders of Aeternum Vale know the truth. We just need to issue a public letter, a declaration revealing this truth," Aryndra Faelin suggested.
Zeeva slowly shook her head. "No. Not yet. For now, everything is still under control. Rogg knows what he must do. So does Robb. It's Brisena I'm unsure of. She may act impulsively, and if she turns against the Empire, it could be her undoing. I'm certain Rogg has already taken that into account."
Veynor looked at her with deep respect. "Even after fifteen years apart, you still understand your children's nature. You're an incredible mother, Zeeva. Very well, I'll wait for your call. I leave it in your hands."
Aryndra Faelin offered a gentle smile. "A mother's instincts reach across the unseen. The real and the unreal are always connected. Never hesitate, Zeeva. If you ever need advice—or simply someone to talk to—we're here. As fellow elders of Aeternum Vale, we trust you, and we revere the depth of your wisdom."
Lady Zeeva returned the smile with quiet gratitude. "Thank you, Lady Aryndra. I'll continue to rely on you all. We must do everything in our power to maintain the balance between the earthly and the divine."
They all nodded, understanding that this was about more than just who sat on the throne. It was about the balance—and the future—of Whiteheaven. Though they chose silence for now, they knew the time for action might come soon.
"So? Was offering Vermithor as a prize in the Knight's Arena part of your plan?" asked Veynor Grauri, trying to grasp Zeeva's strategy.
"These are two forces moving in parallel," she answered, her gaze deep and unwavering. "In the journey of destiny, there are always battles to be fought. I never imagined Thaldrim would take such interest in my father's weapon."
"Is that so? If this unfolds the way I expect, it will become a trial for Rogg and Robb to prove themselves," said Veynor, crossing his arms, weighing the possibilities.
"I have faith in them. They are extraordinary," Zeeva said, her eyes drifting into the distance, as if staring into the past. "Somehow, fate stole from me the years when they grew up, and only now have I found them again—already forged by life."
"That wasn't your fault," Aryndra Faelin said softly. "It's simply part of the journey they must endure. Every soul has its own path to walk."
In the Knight's Arena, the participants gathered once more for the drawing of matches. As in previous rounds, the third match followed the same standard—contestants were free to choose their opponents, even the number of foes they wished to face.
The pounding of war drums echoed across the arena, signaling the start of the challenge selection. All the knights sprang into action, scouting for their adversaries. Cheers erupted from the stands, accompanied by the clash of blades as the duels began.
Amidst the crowd, Aoki Velary—a renowned duelist celebrated for his agility—stepped forward with unwavering confidence. His sharp gaze locked onto one person: Robb.
"Robb!" he called out, his voice cutting through the noise and making several participants freeze mid-motion. "I choose you as my opponent."
Robb, who had been standing with casual ease, turned with a raised eyebrow. A small smirk tugged at his lips."Oh? I'm flattered. So, you're hoping to test your skills against mine?"
Aoki offered a thin smile. "I just want to see if Reguya was right. He said you're more than exceptional. I want to see that for myself."
The crowd buzzed with excitement. This was one of the most anticipated matches—Robb, a rising force in the arena, versus Aoki, last year's third-ranked champion.
"Very well," Robb shrugged and strolled to the center of the arena. "Let's give them a show."
Aoki drew his sword in one swift motion. Sunlight gleamed along the edge of the blade, casting an aura of tension that made the air feel heavier around them.
Robb, on the other hand, remained unhurried. He casually rolled up his sleeves and assumed a relaxed stance, though everyone knew how fast he could strike once the real battle began.
"You ready?" asked Aoki.
"I'm always ready," Robb replied with his signature grin.
Without another word, Aoki launched forward with incredible speed, his blade slicing through the air, aiming directly for Robb's shoulder. But with a movement so subtle it was nearly invisible, Robb tilted his body, dodging the strike with ease.
The audience held their breath. Robb's reflexes were nothing short of astonishing.
Aoki didn't stop there. He spun fluidly, unleashing a flurry of swift, precise sword strikes. But Robb continued to dodge with an elegance that made it look like he was dancing through a storm.
"You're too slow," Robb teased, his grin turning mischievous.
Aoki narrowed his eyes. He knew Robb was playing with him, dragging out the fight. With a deep breath, he intensified his attack, executing a layered technique known as Surging Wave Assault—a relentless series of blows launched at varying speeds and angles, designed to overwhelm.
But Robb still evaded them all. With each incoming strike, he merely sidestepped, ducked, or leaned back slightly. It was as if he'd already seen every move before Aoki even made them.
"Aoki, you're a fine duelist," Robb said while deflecting a strike with his forearm, which glowed faintly with a protective aura. "But you're too rigid. I can read every move you make."
Aoki clicked his tongue in frustration. Robb was right. His technique might be flawless, but Robb had the edge—his agility and combat instincts were on another level.
Then, Robb moved.
With a sudden spin, he counterattacked, driving his knee into Aoki's midsection.
THUD!
Aoki stumbled back several steps, stunned—not just by the force, but by the sheer speed of Robb's strike. Blood stained his shirt—Robb had hit him with two simultaneous attacks: one with his knee, the other with his unseen blade.
Robb's leg movement had been too fast to follow, but the sound alone left no doubt—the knee strike had landed cleanly. And yet, the real danger came from what no one could see. The Illeum Heraxes sword had marked Aoki silently, its cut invisible until the pain spoke for it.
"Alright," Aoki breathed heavily, clutching his stomach. "I admit it—you're on a different level. I yield."
Robb chuckled softly and extended a hand. "That was obvious from the start."
Aoki managed a faint smile and shook Robb's hand. The crowd erupted in cheers, having witnessed a breathtaking duel between two of the arena's most promising warriors.
Among the crowd, Brisena and Vuuxi watched with satisfied expressions.
"I couldn't even tell how Robb won that fight," said Brisena, eyes gleaming.
Vuuxi nodded. "Yeah. And I can't wait to see what's next. One of the top ten contenders just lost. The rest will only get tougher from here."
Far above, from a higher vantage point, Mother Zeeva also observed the match. Her face remained serene, but within her heart swelled a quiet pride.
"My children..." she whispered, then turned and walked away. There was still much to prepare for. Many battles yet to come.