Chapter 5: The Council of Lies
The city of Tervayne rose like a gleaming promise against the azure sky—its white towers reaching toward the heavens, its markets a symphony of color, scent, and ambition. To the thousands who called it home and the travelers who marveled at its splendor, Tervayne stood as the ultimate testament to what kingdoms could achieve through unity.
But Zero knew better.
From his perch atop the ancient bell tower at the city's edge, he watched the procession of arrivals below—diplomats in gilded carriages, mages on horseback, and the occasional noble astride an armored wyvern. The Council of Accord was gathering once more—that elite assembly of heroes, strategists, and magical advisors from across the realm.
A summit for peace, they called it.
Zero's lips curled into the ghost of a smile. Peace was just another mask, and he had come to Tervayne to tear it away.
The streets bustled with life as Zero descended into the city. His own face had been replaced by careful magic—now he wore the identity of a merchant's son, a minor noble whose credentials would raise no alarms. Krel's memory had yielded powerful glamour spells that masked not just his appearance but his very magical signature. Solarys, his weapon, lay concealed against his spine, wrapped in layers of illusion.
Every footfall was deliberate, every nod to passing guards calculated.
He'd spent weeks learning the rhythms of this place—the rotation of the palace sentries, the whispered passwords that granted access to the Inner Ring, even the name of the harried scribe who managed the Council's seating arrangements.
Brute force is for those with no patience, he thought as he slipped past another checkpoint with nothing more than a practiced smile and a forged seal.
The Grand Spire loomed above the city center, its crystalline walls reflecting sunlight in fractured rainbows. Inside, wards hummed with protective energy—spells designed to detect monsters, assassins, and those who would break sacred oaths.
But Zero was something different. Something new.
He moved through the marble corridors with practiced ease, a shadow drifting between pools of light. The bustling staff barely glanced his way—just another functionary in the grand machinery of diplomacy.
The Council chamber itself was magnificent—a perfect circle ringed with tall windows and adorned with the emblems of every major kingdom: the proud blue lion of Therondel, the smoldering black flame of Mordrah, the silver-winged compass of Elycia.
Inside, heroes whose names were sung in taverns across the continent gathered in small clusters, their ceremonial armor gleaming, their voices low as they discussed matters of state.
Zero found a place among the observers' gallery and became still, becoming nothing more than a pair of attentive ears.
"The balance of power must be preserved at all costs," High Archon Veylan announced, his golden robes catching the light as he rose to address the assembly. His voice carried the practiced calm of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "We cannot allow another rogue nation to rise as Darnor once did. The cost in blood was too great."
Lady Seris of the Iron Tower nodded, her silver-streaked hair bound in a severe knot. "Which is precisely why we must identify and neutralize whoever murdered Sir Calden and took his Light Sigil. That was no common bandit or opportunistic mercenary."
Zero felt a flicker of amusement. You're right, Lady Seris. I'm anything but common.
The debate raged through the afternoon—laws and jurisdictions, suspicions and alliances. They spoke of forming a coalition strike force to hunt down this new threat, arguing bitterly over who would command such a force and what powers they might wield.
And with each passing hour, Zero's contempt deepened.
These were the realm's champions? Its protectors and visionaries?
They weren't kings—they were sheep draped in lions' pelts, bleating about dangers they couldn't comprehend.
Night fell over Tervayne like a velvet shroud. The Council library stood nearly empty, its vaulted ceilings lost in shadow above rows of ancient tomes and sealed scrolls.
Zero moved silently through the stacks, a stolen key and a whispered incantation—pulled from Calden's dying memories—granting him access to sections reserved for Council members alone.
There, by the light of a single ensorcelled lamp, he found what he sought: private dossiers on each Council member, compiled by their own internal investigators.
High Archon Veylan: Secret meetings with necromancers from the Blighted Isles. Payments disguised as charitable donations.
Lady Seris: Falsified battle reports to shield her brother from accusations of cowardice. Three hundred soldiers dead due to his abandoned post.
Marshal Kaine: Evidence suggesting his involvement in the "cleansing" of a border village suspected of harboring dissidents. Forty-seven civilians unaccounted for.
Zero didn't smile as he read. These weren't hidden truths buried beneath layers of protection—merely convenient blindspots, things the Council chose not to see about its own members.
He didn't need to expose them to the world.
He only needed to remind them that someone was watching.
Two days later, as dawn broke over Tervayne, three sealed messages were delivered by different couriers to different locations.
One to Veylan's private estate outside the city walls. One to Kaine's quarters in the military district. One to Seris as she broke her fast in the Council's dining hall.
Each message contained the same precise handwriting:
"I know what you've done. I know where the bones are buried. I know whom you trust.
You will speak against the Coalition at tomorrow's vote.
Do this, or the truth becomes the next anthem sung in every tavern from here to the Frost March."
No signature graced these messages—only a crimson wax seal impressed with a single, perfect numeral:
0
The next Council session descended into chaos before midday.
Veylan, his face ashen beneath his ceremonial paint, denounced the very coalition he had championed just days before. Seris demanded an immediate investigation into "troubling corruption" within the Elycian command structure. Kaine, red-faced and trembling, stormed from the chamber entirely, swearing to raise his own forces to meet the growing threat if the Council refused to act decisively.
From his seat in the upper gallery, Zero watched it unfold with the calm satisfaction of a master craftsman observing his work.
Not a single blade drawn. Not one spell cast in anger.
Just words—the right words, applied with surgical precision where the armor of righteousness was thinnest.
By sunset, the Council of Accord had voted to suspend its proceedings "pending internal review." Diplomats and heroes alike departed the city with whispered accusations and hardened hearts. Some would blame foreign spies for the discord; others would see weakness in their allies' sudden changes of heart.
None would search for a man called Zero.
And while they scattered to contain the damage he had wrought...
He was already planning his next strike.
The bell tower stood sentinel over Tervayne as night claimed the city once more. Zero gazed down at the glittering streets, at citizens who continued their lives unaware that the first domino had already fallen.
From his coat, he withdrew a scroll of aged parchment, carefully unrolling a hand-drawn map of the realm. With deliberate care, he marked three locations with drops of red ink:
The forgotten tomb of the Broken Saint, hidden in the Whispering Woods.
The Temple of Echoing Light, perched among the Scarred Peaks.
The Vault of the Blood Crown, buried beneath the ancient capital.
Each site housed relics of power. Weapons from an age when gods walked among mortals. Secrets that had shaped and broken empires.
Each would be another step on his ascent.
Behind him, the great bells tolled midnight, their bronze voices rolling across the sleeping city.
"First the heroes," Zero whispered to the darkness, his true face emerging as the glamour spell faded away. "Then the villains."
His eyes, cold as winter stars, surveyed the realm that would soon know his name.
"Then... the kings."