Lars — Capital of the Kingdom of Larrak
Throne RoomTwo months after the Führer's expansion.
A furious voice rang through the marble court.
"You said what?" Lord Helbrant shouted, rising sharply from his ornate seat.
A trembling advisor knelt below the dais, eyes glued to the polished floor. "They've taken ten of our noble houses, my lord. Several of our finest generals are confirmed dead."
Gasps rippled through the court.
"Those filthy human bastards…" growled Lord Drennos, gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly the wood creaked beneath his massive bear-like hands.
Helbrant's crimson cloak swirled as he turned, glaring fiercely at Lady Thariel. "You promised this rebellion would be crushed swiftly. And now you sit silent, as if none of this disaster rests on your shoulders!"
Thariel rose sharply, her golden eyes blazing, silver hair cascading over armored shoulders.
"Me?" she snapped, pointing accusingly at the tiger-kin representatives of House Dragan. "The felines pledged their claws would rip the humans apart. Instead, they hid in their dens and watched my army march alone. You treated me as your test run!"
A tiger-kin lord snarled in response. "You dare—"
"Yes, I dare!" Thariel interrupted harshly. "We don't even know if my army lost! They could still be fighting!"
"That's precisely the problem!" a wolf-kin noble barked. "No scouts, no messengers—nothing. Your forces vanished!"
Lord Drennos stood slowly, his booming voice filling the room. "Vanished or not, the damage is clear. The humans hold every village and farm in Larrak Valley—even Norhadar itself. Nearly a third of our kingdom is lost!"
Helbrant slammed his fist down. "Then stop cowering and raise a banner! Let's drive them out!"
A chorus of support surged—until a frail but commanding voice sliced through the noise:
"Fool."
All eyes turned to the ancient lion-kin noble, Lord Kaelen, wrapped in furs and leaning forward on a cane.
"It is winter," he said, voice brittle but commanding respect. "The cold-blooded among us would die before reaching enemy lines. The passes are buried. We must wait until spring."
"My people will starve before then!" Drennos thundered.
"Tell them it's famine," Kaelen answered calmly. "Better hunger than pointless death."
The room filled with angry muttering, each house casting glares at others. The tension was smothering.
Then, slowly, the king rose from his throne, his figure bent under the weight of years and sorrow. With a single raised hand, silence reclaimed the hall.
He spoke softly, his voice heavy with bitter exhaustion:
"Enough. All of you." He surveyed them slowly, weariness etched into every feature. "It was your pride and greed that brought this ruin. Every banner, every house… all of you share blame equally."
A stunned silence followed. Shocked expressions filled the nobles' faces. The king sighed deeply, as if the burden of a lifetime had broken him at last.
"I am tired," he whispered. "Too tired to wear this crown any longer. My son is likely dead, and with him, the last shred of honor my family possessed. This kingdom—my father's kingdom—died long ago. It no longer exists."
Lord Helbrant shot up, his voice tinged with panic. "Your Majesty, this is madness! Who will guide our kingdom? Our treaties, our foreign affairs?"
The king met Helbrant's gaze, his eyes hollow. "I was never truly a king, Helbrant. I was merely a diplomat, a figurehead. You have always wielded true power from the shadows. No more."
Lady Thariel stepped forward, her voice soft and imploring. "Your Majesty, without your authority, the nobles will destroy each other!"
The king shook his head slowly. "They already are."
Lord Drennos roared, his voice trembling with indignation. "You would abandon your duty? Leave us to chaos?"
The king's voice hardened. "Duty? My father failed to raise me into a proper king, and I have failed my own children. I refuse to pretend any longer. My family and I will leave for the Empire to live quietly. The kingdom is yours to sort out."
His words struck the room like a physical blow. Panic filled the eyes of some nobles, shock and uncertainty etched onto others. Yet, a few nobles already began exchanging calculating glances.
Count Brelmont stood swiftly, his eyes glittering with greed. "If Your Majesty abdicates, who inherits the palace? The royal treasury?"
Helbrant turned sharply, disgusted. "Is gold all you can think of, Brelmont? Do you have no shame?"
Brelmont sneered back. "And you, Helbrant—your eyes hunger for the throne itself. Save your hypocrisy."
The court erupted once again, accusations and threats flying in every direction.
Amidst this madness, Lady Thariel stood silently, her eyes downcast, whispering a prayer:
"Gods save us all..."
Unnoticed by anyone, the king descended from the dais. He cast one final, sorrowful look at the chaos he left behind. Silently, he exited the throne room, guards trailing behind.
His final decree had been spoken. The future of Larrak was no longer his burden to bear.