Volume 2 – Inheritance of Fire
Chapter 12 – Embers of Alliance
We remained in the chamber long after the final words had fallen silent.
No one moved.
No one dared to be the first to break the spell that hung in the air like smoke—thick with decision, heavy with meaning.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the old war table, its etched runes glowing with residual heat. The question still lingered, unspoken but undeniable:
Should we return to the world we once knew… or forge a kingdom here, in the ashes of another?
No one answered aloud.
They didn't need to.
Resolve flickered behind their eyes. Ideas. Blueprints. Sacrifices.
The path ahead would not be easy. But it would be ours.
We agreed to part ways—temporarily. Each to return to their own domain. Each to prepare.
To stabilize. To rally what forces they could.
And then, in time, to return… not as scattered echoes, but as sovereigns, committed to a shared foundation.
Naomi departed first. She left not in silence but with purpose, accompanied by one of my captains and a contingent of Hollowreach soldiers—an emblem of our growing alliance. A silent promise to her people that they would not walk alone again.
Darius followed at dawn. He left on horseback, flanked by his own war-hardened escort, along with the resources I had pledged to help him quell the rebellion in the mountains.
He said little. But his grip on my forearm before he left—firm, familiar, and heavy with gratitude—said enough.
Soren, Ezra, and I remained.
Of all the domains, Velisport was the closest. Logistically. Politically. Economically.
Soren had offered consolidation.
I accepted.
Ezra lingered close, already isolating subversive merchant guilds and planting whisper-nodes beneath the port citadel.
In the days that followed, we laid the groundwork—plans for trade routes, currency conversion, and even cultural transition. It was delicate, deliberate work. When Soren returned to Velisport, the influence of Hollowreach would be ready to bleed into its edges.
From Hollowreach, I issued a trio of letters, each sealed with the signet of the High Magus:
• The first was a writ of shared sovereignty, granting Soren the right to govern Velisport as viceroy under the banner of Hollowreach. It was a symbol, not a leash—language crafted to comfort his merchant nobles while binding them legally to my throne.
• The second was a charter of currency validation, allowing Hollowreach coinage to be legally accepted in Velisport markets, and mandating a one-year grace period for dual exchange rates. Soren would use it to stabilize trade and quietly phase out the local tender.
• The third was a public declaration of alliance, addressed to the League of Coastal Powers. It named Velisport as an honored domain under Hollowreach, a political maneuver aimed at stalling foreign intervention.
Ezra, who remained at my side until the final seal dried, reviewed each letter with meticulous care. "These words are your swords," he said. "But remember: words alone don't hold borders. We still need to show presence."
Late one evening, I pulled Soren aside.
"The kingdom's coffers are thinning," I told him. "I've spent much to rebuild—walls, wards, armories, even food stores. I'll need your help if this merger is to last."
Soren only smirked and poured us both a glass of fireleaf brandy.
"You gave me a kingdom to believe in," he said. "Let me return the favor."
And so we moved—each of us—to enact our share of the plan.
Not as players. Not as kings.
But as builders.
The foundation had been chosen.
Now it was time to shape the world around it.
Soren set off the next morning with the caravan Soren rode in with. I watched from the tower balcony as the spell-warded satchels were secured to their steeds, disappearing down the northern road toward the coast.
Ezra lingered only another day before he departed—slipping into the shadows as easily as he had arrived.
He left behind only a whisper: "If I call, send fire."
A week after his departure, his first missive arrived—a sealed report, encoded in a cipher only I could read. It outlined the steps he and Soren had begun to take:
• Trade Routes: Soren was redrawing the merchant lines, rerouting southern goods to flow through Hollowreach's interior roads. It would cost more initially—but the symbolism of reliance mattered. He had already begun negotiations with three major merchant families, offering exclusive rights to northern wares in exchange for early compliance.
• Currency Control: Hollowreach minting agents would need to be dispatched within the month. Soren requested a vaultmaster, a sigil-engraver, and two warded caravans filled with stabilized coin—each bearing my mark. "Without your gold, I can only make promises," he wrote. "With it, I can make reality."
• Cultural Transition: Soren was planning public rituals of allegiance—symbolic gestures, staged feasts, temple blessings—events that would ease the people into loyalty without direct force. He needed blessing rites authored in my name and performed by emissaries of the Hollowlight Order. Naomi had agreed to send three, and I approved two more from my inner sanctum.
Ezra's role, however, was quieter—and sharper.
He had already isolated seven merchant guilds whose loyalty was transactional at best, traitorous at worst. Two had deep ties to southern war profiteers. One had covert communication with exiled nobles from the fractured East. He began placing whisper-nodes—hidden listening spells and embedded agents—beneath the Port Citadel, the Old Harbor Exchange, and the Chancellor's Vault.
Their next step was clear: control the city from the shadows before revealing the full extent of the transition.
Another letter arrived late in the week—this time in Ezra's hand:
"We will draw the dagger before they notice the sheath. Soren moves as a diplomat. I move as a blade. But the moment we are outnumbered in court or outmaneuvered by coin, we will call. And when we do… do not come with words. Come with steel."
I wrote no reply.
He already knew I would.