Half a world away from the silent tombs of Biovlakia, the air was alive with the roar of a thousand cheering voices.
The capital city of Erenia, Kingry, was a sprawling marvel of towering white stone and gold-tipped spires that gleamed under the sun, looking like stars in the middle of the day. Today, the massive iron gates of the city were thrown wide open. A parade had flooded the cobblestone streets, filled with citizens of all shapes, sizes, and elements, pressing eagerly against the city guard's barricades to catch a glimpse of their returning princess.
Approaching the gates was a grand, gold plated wagon pulled by two massive, armored steernias. Sitting at the center of the wagon was Princess Vaelora.
As the daughter of King Briar, she carried herself with breathtaking, regal grace, offering soft smiles and gentle waves to the adoring citizens of Kingry. She was draped in elegant silks of deep royal blue and silver, looking every bit the picture of a princess. To the cheering masses, and to the King's Court she was the dutiful princess returning from a month long diplomatic tour, having traveled the larger countryside towns to engage with the common folk and gather support for the crown's image.
But beneath that perfect, smiling composure, her true loyalty belonged entirely to the shadows. She answered not to the throne, but to the Order of the Sunless. Her "diplomatic tour" had been nothing more than an ironclad cover story to scour the distant corners of the kingdom for the Order's own dark purposes.
She did not travel alone. Flanking her inside the wagon were her personal bodyguards, individuals who were as involved in her double life as she was.
To her left stood a slender, hawk eyed woman clutching a beautifully carved recurve bow. She didn't wave to the crowds, instead, she watched the crown with constant suspicion, her hand hovering just inches from the quiver at her hip.
To Vaelora's right stood a mountain of a man, his arms as thick as tree trunks. Clinging tightly to the heavy, spiked armor of his right shoulder was a small, gremlin like creature. It's ears were pointed and it's body was hunched over. There were small, pebble sized lesions scattered across its body. The eyes of this creature were pale, but it was not blind. It chattered and hissed nervously at the loud noises of the parade, its incredibly sharp little claws digging into the metal.
The massive bodyguard remained entirely unfazed by the creature, occasionally reaching up a finger to gently scratch behind its ears to soothe it.
As the wagon crossed the threshold of the great gates, Vaelora raised a hand to the guards at the gate. She was finally home. Now she had to step into the throne room, look King Briar in the eye, and weave a flawless, charming tale about the quaint hospitality of the countryside.
The grand wagon rolled steadily over the cobblestone. Vaelora maintained her radiant, practiced smile, waving gracefully to a group of cheering children.
"You know," Amara, the woman to her left, murmured, her voice barely carrying over the roar of the crowd, "if you had just let us off the leash in Havenport, we wouldn't be returning to your father entirely empty handed."
Vaelora let out a soft, melodic laugh that the crowd interpreted as royal delight. She leaned back slightly, still waving. "I had everything under control, Amara. I was just outnumbered."
"Right. Under control," Amara shot back, a snippy edge to her hushed tone. She didn't bother looking at the princess, her gaze remained, tracking a suspicious shadow in an alleyway. "Is that what we're calling letting two inexperienced elementalist get the best of you? Because from where I was sitting it looked a lot like you were getting buried. We could have dropped them both before they even knew it."
"If you had shot them, the King-Maker would be dead," Vaelora replied, her smile never faltering as she blew a kiss to the crowd. "The Sunless need him alive, and we needed to see exactly what that thing in his chest was capable of. A little collateral damage was necessary to test his limits."
"You leveled half a town," Amara muttered, finally dropping her hand from her quiver to cross her arms. "I'm just saying, next time you want to play with your food, let me at least take out the appetizers. It would save lives."
A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated from the other side of the wagon. Magnus shifted his massive arms, causing the spiked metal of his pauldron to clink. "She didn't want our help, Amara, because she likes the dramatics," he said, his voice a rich, resonant bass that somehow cut right through the noise of the parade.
The leathery creature clinging to his armor let out a rapid series of clicking, agreeable chirps, gnawing happily on a scrap of dried meat. Magnus reached up with a giant finger and affectionately scratched the creature beneath its chin.
"Whose side are you on, Magnus?" Vaelora asked, casting a sideways, amused glance at him.
"I'm on the side that doesn't enjoy picking shattered, glassed cobblestones out of the treads of my boots," Magnus replied with a wide, easy grin, showing a chipped front tooth. "Amara's right, Vae. You get a little one minded when you fight. Next time, let me just smash the ground from under them. Quick, clean, and less explaining to do to the local magistrates."
"Oh, please," Vaelora scoffed playfully, adjusting the silver silk of her sleeves. "If I let you smash the ground, we'd have to dig the boy out of a crater. Besides, you two worry too much. The Order knows he's awake now. Havenport was just the opening move. And we helped play the piece."
Amara sighed, a tiny smirk finally breaking her expression. "Fine. But next time, I'm shooting someone. Even if it's just to make myself feel better."
Magnus let out another booming laugh, "See? Now she's being reasonable. I get to punch someone." His laughter continued and the gremlin creature purred. "That's a good boy, Aseem."
The roaring cheers of the parade faded into a respectful murmur as the grand wagon rolled to a smooth halt before the royal palace.
The castle gates were ahead, casting a long shadow over the courtyard. They dwarfed even the massive iron gates of Kingry itself. Forged from gleaming steel and trimmed in gold, the estate stood as a pristine monument to the crown, a true catalyst of generations of power. Its towering white spires pierced the sky, projecting its aura of authority.
The playful banter between the three of them stopped the exact moment the wagon did. Vaelora stepped gracefully off the wooden platform, her posture instantly shifting from relaxed amusement to regal perfection. She took a brief moment to pat down the elegant folds of her deep blue and silver dress, smoothing away wrinkles and brushing the dust. The dutiful, loving daughter was ready to take the stage.
Behind her, Amara fell into step on Vaelora's left, her hawkish gaze now masked by the stoic, professional vigilance of a royal guard. Her bow was wrapped around her shoulder. Magnus straightened his massive frame on the right, his booming laughter silenced into a formidable scowl. Even Aseem on his shoulder seemed to understand the shift in atmosphere, letting out a quiet, subdued chitter before pressing itself flat against the spiked armor to hide from the prying eyes of the court.
Together, the trio ascended the marble staircase. The heavy doors of the castle swung open smoothly at their approach, being pulled back by the royal guard. They moved seamlessly through the echoing corridors, the sound of their footsteps bouncing off the walls. They reached the grand entrance of the throne room. The massive double doors were pushed wide.
As Vaelora crossed the threshold into the sunlit hall, the armored knight standing at attention struck the butt of his halberd against the floor, the metallic ring it produced demanding the room's absolute silence.
"Princess Vaelora of Erenia!" the knight shouted, his voice pitching an echo off the high vaulted ceilings, officially announcing her arrival to the gathered nobles and to the man sitting atop the gilded throne.
At the far end of the sprawling hall, sitting atop a dais of polished white stone, was the royal family.
King Briar was a formidable figure despite his advancing years. His dark blue-grey hair was swept back beneath a small golden crown, etched with floral and gothic patterns. He eschewed the heavy, ceremonial silks of his predecessors, instead wearing practical, light combat armor heavily embossed with thick, northern fur.
To his right sat his wife, Queen Vaela, her bright blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. It was the exact same radiant shade she had passed down to Vaelora. To his left was the young heir to the throne, Prince Borel. The boy was a mirror image of his father, though his hair was a much darker, richer hue of blue and his eyes showed the same power embossed by his father.
As the herald's shout echoed through the room, King Briar immediately stood from his throne. The stern lines of his weathered face shifted to a wide, genuine smile. He threw his arms open.
"Welcome home, my beautiful daughter," the King boomed, his voice carrying the warmth of a father. It was clear that this man cherished his family above his crown.
Vaelora's composure broke from the elegant princess to a child who was excited to see her father. She broke into a light run, her blue and silver dress flowing behind her. She threw herself into her father's arms. After a tight, lingering embrace, she pulled away with a bright smile and took her seat next to her mother, gracefully smoothing her dress. Amara and Magnus took up their silent, stoic positions at the base of the dais.
King Briar settled back onto his throne, resting his heavy hands on the armrests. His expression shifted from a happy father to a ruler ready for business.
"Please," he started, gesturing to her, "what do the country folk have going on lately?"
Vaelora folded her hands perfectly in her lap, her bright blonde hair catching the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows.
"It was a largely prosperous tour, Father. The northern provinces are thriving, for the most part," Vaelora began, her voice steady and melodious. "However, there are two pressing matters." She stopped and stood up. "First, there was a devastating attack in the town of Havenport. It has left many dead and a significant portion of the town displaced. You should expect a heavy influx of refugees fleeing to the neighboring, more fortified cities. The local militia has completely taken over authority in the wake of the destruction as the mayor of the town was involved in the attack."
She didn't blink. She didn't falter. She cleared her throat and continued, "Furthermore," she continued smoothly, pivoting the subject, "way up north, past the mountains in Thruk, there has been a violent coup against the local government. Aside from those tragedies, the people of Northern Erenia are prospering under your name." She finished her statement and took a seat.
The warmth entirely vanished from King Briar's dark eyes. His jaw set in a hard line at the mention of the northern rebellion.
"A coup?" Briar growled, his voice vibrating with sudden, terrifying authority. He didn't hesitate. He stood up and projected his voice across the massive hall. "Captain of the Northern Army! Step forward!"
A heavily armored man immediately broke from the ranks of the nobility, his boots ringing sharply against the marble as he knelt before the dais. "Your Grace."
"Gather your regiments," the King commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Go put this coup down, and send word back to me the very second it is done."
"At once, Your Grace," the Captain replied. He bowed deeply, stood and spun on his heel, and marched out of the throne room with purposeful strides.
King Briar let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back down at Vaelora. His anger softened slightly, replaced by a grim exhaustion.
"As for Havenport," Briar said, shaking his head. "I had already received word regarding the attack. It sounds like a massacre. I have already sent a team of royal investigators to the town to see exactly what happened there, and who is responsible."
Vaelora's serene smile remained flawlessly painted on her face, but beneath the silk of her sleeves, her pulse gave a singular, sharp spike. The King had sent investigators. If they dug too deep into the battlefield and the terrified whispers of the surviving militia, they might realize a master lightning elementalist had been in the square.
She kept her bright eyes locked warmly on her father, already plotting how she would intercept or silence the King's men. A fraction of a second was all it took.
Vaelora's serene, painted smile didn't shift, but her bright blonde head tilted just a millimeter. Her eyes flicked to the left, meeting Amara's gaze for a singular, highly charged moment. To her right, Magnus gave an imperceptible shift of his massive shoulders, his jaw tightening beneath his thick beard. The gremlin on his shoulder let out a barely audible, nervous hiss.
The unspoken message passed between the three of them instantly. The King's investigators cannot be allowed to return from Havenport. King Briar, entirely oblivious to the silent, lethal conspiracy unfolding right beside his throne, shifted his immense presence back to the sprawling matters of the realm. He waved a heavily ringed hand, signaling the herald to usher the next petitioner forward.
With the smack of his halberd, the herald yelled, "Counselor Torres of Frozetria."
A slender, aging man stepped out from the crowd of Erenian nobles. He was dressed in the pale, icy blues and thick, heavy wools of the northern continent. He moved with a stiff, deeply uncomfortable posture. Like prey, this man walked willingly into a predator's den.
Frozetria had been brutally broken in the war that started ten years ago and finally just ended a couple of years ago. The suffocating tension of that bitter defeat still hung heavily over any of their representatives standing in the capital of their conquerors.
The counselor stopped at the base of the dais and bowed deeply, keeping his eyes respectfully on the polished marble floor.
King Briar leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. The casual warmth he had just shown his daughter was entirely gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding scowl of a victorious monarch.
"And what have you, counselor?" Briar's voice boomed, the sound vibrating with a heavy, intimidating authority. He stared down at the northern diplomat. "How are the people of Frozetria doing under mine and King Aval's authority? Have the courts decided to release information regarding the prisoners you all refuse to let free?"
The mention of the prisoners caused a subtle ripple of whispers to spread through the gathered nobility. The war had officially ended, but the agonizing silence regarding the Erenian soldiers who had never returned from the frozen front lines, soldiers like Sophron Mercer, remained a bleeding wound for the kingdom. The power these captive soldiers had would be immense to the military operations that Erenia was always about to head into.
The Frozetrian counselor swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched a leather-bound ledger to his chest. The man let out a gulp as he was preparing to answer the King of Erenia. There was a heavy silence over the throne room that pressed down on him like a physical weight. His eyes darted nervously before finally settling on the polished marble at the base of the dais.
"Your Grace," the counselor began, his voice thin and trembling, completely evading the question of the missing prisoners. "The... the administrative courts are still untangling the records from the final days of the siege. But, Your Grace, I must humbly bring the attention to the Frozetrian people. Our economy has been thoroughly decimated since the end of the war. My people are suffering terribly. We only ask that your blockades be lifted just enough to allow our ships to continue trade with the northern islands. Even if we are forbidden to sail past Erenian waters, we need the commerce to survive the coming winter—"
"You come to barter?" King Briar's voice dropped to a lethal, rumbling octave that completely cut off the diplomat's desperate plea. The King stood from his throne, his body casting a long, dark shadow over the shivering counselor.
"I will destroy everything that's on your island," Briar bellowed, the sheer force of his anger echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "You do not barter with me. You are a conquered state. You will not see a single Erenian copper, nor a single ship in your ports, until those holding cells are emptied! Especially when warriors like Sophron Mercer haven't returned."
The mention of the Mercer patriarch sent a heavy, uncomfortable murmur rippling through the gathered nobility. Sophron's disappearance at the end of the Frozetrian campaign was a legendary, open wound for the kingdom's military pride.
Before the terrified counselor could even attempt an apology, a sharp, arrogant voice cut through the murmurs of the court.
"With all respect, Your Grace."
From the front ranks of the nobility, Amros Everheart stepped forward. The patriarch of the Everheart family, and father to Jerter, held his chin high, his impeccably tailored robes a stark contrast to the King's battle-worn armor. He looked up at the dais, completely unfazed by the King's explosive temper.
"Erenia has done fine these five years since he disappeared from the front lines," Amros stated smoothly, his tone dripping with quiet dislike for his missing son in law. "If you ask me, I believe he is a deserter. The man always did have a chaotic, undisciplined streak."
The entire throne room went dead silent. Even Vaelora, maintaining her perfectly serene mask, shifted her gaze sharply toward Amros, genuinely surprised by the man's sheer audacity.
King Briar's jaw clenched. Seconds passed by. When he finally spoke, the raw fury in his voice was terrifyingly controlled.
"You speak of desertion regarding a man who bled to secure for his country, Amros," Briar growled, taking a slow, heavy step down the stairs of the dais, his dark eyes locking entirely onto the Everheart patriarch. "Funny coming from someone who has never stepped foot on a war vessel. If you question my authority, or drag the name of one of my finest warriors through the mud in my hall one more time... I will not just strip you of your titles. I will seize the entire Everheart estate and assets. Do I make myself clear?"
Amros's arrogant posture instantly stiffened. The blood drained from his face as he realized he had drastically overstepped. He bowed his head quickly, gritting his teeth. "Crystal clear, Your Grace."
The Frozetrian counselor looked more pale than before, swaying on his feet as if he were about to pass out. King Briar's heavy boots stomped against the marble as he descended the dais, and though the King's wrath had been momentarily directed at Amros Everheart, his presence was almost too much for the frail diplomat.
The counselor let out a massive gulp. He shrank back, clutching his ledger to his chest like a useless shield. "Y-Your Grace!" the counselor stammered, his voice cracking into a panicked, breathless squeak. "P-please! The records, uh, according to our sealed records regarding Commander Mercer... he is not in our dungeons! … Anymore."
King Briar stopped his descent, his eyes snapping back to the trembling northern councilman.
"H-he escaped, Your Grace!" the counselor blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in absolute terror. "He broke out of his holding cell before the war even officially ended! He.. he somehow shattered the elemental-blocking cuffs! We swear it to the Divines, we lost him in the wastes! If he hasn't returned to Erenia, w-we truly don't know where he is or what became of him!"
His knees finally gave out. He collapsed onto the polished marble floor, his hands shaking violently as he looked up at the towering King, desperate to secure the survival of his own people.
"A-as for the other prisoners, Your Grace... the rest of your men," the counselor begged, his eyes wide and watering as he frantically offered his final bargain. "If you just give the order to open the blockade... just a fraction, I swear it upon my own life! Every single Erenian soldier we hold will be returned to your shores before the next full moon!"
The suffocating silence of the throne room hung suspended for one agonizing second. Then, a sharp, deafening CRACK echoed through the hall.
The Frozetrian counselor violently flinched, instinctively throwing his arms over his head as if expecting to get hit or get attacked by an element. It was King Briar, bringing his heavy hands together in a single, resounding.
To the absolute shock of the gathered nobility, the lethal fury vanished from the monarch's face. In its place, a wide, gleaming smile stretched across Briar's weathered features. It was a terrifying, victorious grin of a predator that had just snapped its jaws around its prize.
"I'll open the blockade," King Briar announced, his voice suddenly light, yet carrying a booming resonance that left no corner of the room untouched.
The counselor let out a shuddering, tearful gasp of relief, pressing his forehead against the cold marble floor. "Oh, thank you, Your Grace, thank you—"
"But," Briar interrupted, his smile remaining perfectly fixed as his voice dropped back into that dangerous, rumbling baritone. He leaned down, bringing his commanding presence closer to the trembling diplomat. "If my men are not back on Erenian soil before the very night of the full moon... I will make sure to sink your island into the sea."
The absolute certainty in his voice left no room for interpretation. The room remained quiet. The nobility looked back and forth at each, exchanging silent words.
"Y-yes, Your Grace! By the full moon!" the counselor scrambled, practically tripping over his own heavy wool robes as he backed away, terrified that the King might change his mind if he lingered a second longer.
Once the counselor found his spot back amongst the crowd, the throne room erupted into a frenzy of shocked whispers. Nobles started to fiercely debate the lifting of the blockade, the logistics of the returning soldiers, and the staggering revelation that the great Sophron Mercer was alive and loose somewhere in the world. Vaelora remained perfectly still on the dais.
Her mother, Queen Vaela, gasped at the news of the prisoners, leaning over to speak with Prince Borel. King Briar turned to bark orders at his remaining generals to prepare the ports. The entire royal court was completely consumed by the political earthquake.
It was the perfect distraction.
Vaelora's serene smile never fell. She stood up from her seat, gracefully smoothing her blue and silver silks. She caught Amara's eye and gave a nearly imperceptible nod toward the grand doors. It was time to tie up the loose ends her father had unknowingly created.
"Now we need to put out a search for Sophron." The King yelled as Vaelora, Amara, and Magnus left the room through the royal entrance to the left of the dais.
"And we need to stop the King's investigators. Back to Havenport." The princess commanded her two guards. "I cannot leave as soon as I return. Suspicion would fall upon the King and Queen." With that, Amara and Magnus parted ways with Vaelora. "Be safe out there."
The princess continued to walk down the torch lit hallway. Her mind was racing with the events that unfolded in the hall, a new determination settling into her.