The grand council chamber of House Thorneveil was less a room and more a throne of war. Crimson banners lined the stone walls. The chandelier above blazed with enchanted fire. Around the horseshoe-shaped table sat Thorneveil's finest—generals, merchants, bloodline mages, and killers in noble clothing.
And into their midst walked a boy.
Alaric Thorneveil, ten years old, clad in black and silver.
Dozens of eyes turned to him.
Some curious. Some amused.
Most sharp enough to kill.
"Alaric," Duke Caelan rumbled from the head of the table. "You're late."
The man was massive, a walking fortress with eyes like tempered steel. His mere presence stole the breath from weaker men.
But Alaric? He met his father's gaze and bowed low.
"I was preparing to be useful," he said.
A few snorts. One raised brow. The man to Caelan's right—a snake-like noble named Lord Elric—spoke with venom.
"Useful? What could a child offer at a war council?"
Alaric walked to the map laid across the center of the table. Soldiers of miniature bronze marched over it, enchanted to replay skirmishes in real time. One conflict flickered at the border near House Delvane.
A slow, drawn-out siege. Losing ground by the hour.
"I studied this campaign last night," Alaric said.
Muffled laughter.
He ignored it.
"You're rotating in spear units too late and letting frost mages linger in second line. House Delvane's troops are baiting your cavalry out with layered traps."
He picked up a carved knight piece and moved it.
"If you cut supply lines here and use misdirection tactics with fire illusions, you'll break the siege in two days."
Silence.
Then someone scoffed.
"Bold, for a child."
Duke Caelan raised a hand. "We'll try it."
Murmurs broke out. Elric's jaw tensed. Alaric bowed again—but behind his neutral expression, the system interface flickered.
[Strategic Application +1]
[Resonance with Caelan Thorneveil increased: Loyalty +2%]