That night, the Grand Hall of the Council of Realms flickered with
torchlight, each flame trembling as if it too sensed the weight of the moment.
Ten royal banners hung along the stone walls, their colors dimmed beneath the
burden of history being written anew. From the upper balcony, advisors and
envoys sat with anxious faces, while outside, people from distant cities waited
restlessly, eager to learn what their rulers would decide.
At the heart of the chamber stretched a long table of stone. Around it sat
kings whose presence carried both dignity and unease.
King Alaric Stormveil
of Stormwatch, broad-chested, his voice like crashing waves.
King Darius Ironhelm
of Ironclad, his face set in the unyielding hardness of steel.
King Leofric Arden of
Greenhaven, bearing the calm weight of a father's authority.
King Voren Duskbane of
Shadowfen, cloaked in black, his gaze impossible to read.
King Thrain Halvarr of
Highmount, towering, his braided beard marking him as a warrior born.
King Alistair Veylor
of Eastmarch, lean, sharp-eyed, always cautious.
King Garrick Van Wood
of Northaven, cold and stiff, as though carved from his northern forests.
King Barthol Van Stones
of Sunstones, robed in crimson and gold, aflame with ambition.
King Eryndor of
Silverwood, steady as an ancient oak, his eyes as sharp as tempered steel.
And finally, Councilor Thaddeus Veymar
of the Veritas Republic, quill and parchment at his side, as though every word
spoken might bind them all in contract.
When the speaker of the hall called the session to order, his rasping voice
echoed.
"Today's matter before us: the rise of the Valorian Empire. The question—shall
this Council recognize it… or oppose it?"
The hall erupted in voices.
King Alaric Stormveil rose, chest swelling.
"Valoria is a storm. If we bow now, we drown tomorrow! They must be stopped
before they swallow us all."
"With what, Stormveil?" replied King Eryndor of Silverwood, his voice soft
yet cutting like a blade.
"You speak of resistance—but ask yourself first: do you give your people more
than Arthur has given his? Valoria rules with law blind to rank— even nobles
stand trial. They have mana-driven trains linking city to city, easing trade
and travel. Their taxes are fair, not crushing. Their schools, markets, and
food are shared with justice. Can you promise the same for your people?"
Whispers rippled through the chamber. Some advisors muttered approval,
others lowered their eyes, for they knew Eryndor spoke no exaggeration.
King Barthol Van Stones sprang to his feet, his voice shrill with anger.
"Do not be fooled by Arthur's sweetened lies! He wraps his people in false
comforts only to strip them of freedom. Today you enjoy his trains—tomorrow you
are nothing but puppets of an empire."
King Garrick Van Wood slammed the table, eyes colder than the northern ice.
"Puppets? No, Van Stones. I have seen it with my own eyes. Valorian markets
free of fear, their people no longer squeezed by nobles. They live beneath just
law. Northaven chooses that, over living in terror beneath crowns that only
feed the bellies of the highborn."
The uproar swelled. Advisors in the balcony cheered softly, then quickly
silenced themselves when guards struck their spears against the floor.
Councilor Thaddeus Veymar lifted his hand.
"We cannot deny facts. Valoria does not wage war blindly. Their reasons are
plain to all—even our people know them. Ethereal was destroyed for poisoning
Valorian soil with dark experiments. Riverbend fell because they broke their
word, though they themselves sought aid when Solaris pressed them. And
Sunstones…" his eyes cut sharply toward Barthol, "…you know this well. Solaris
had prepared to strike you down, and if not for Arthur, your realm would
already be ash."
Barthol clenched his jaw, his face red with rage, but he had no answer.
King Darius Ironhelm's voice rumbled like hammer against anvil.
"Perhaps those reasons are but excuses. One crown after another falls, and now
we are told to accept Arthur as emperor? Today Ethereal, tomorrow Riverbend—who
is next? Greenhaven? Ironclad? Eastmarch?"
At last, King Leofric of Greenhaven spoke, his tone steady, almost soothing.
"Not who is next, Ironhelm. The true question is—who dares defy such reasons?
Shall we defend warlocks of black magic? Or oath-breakers? Or Solaris armies
set to devour their neighbors? Yes, Valoria hungers for land, but every war
they fight is given just cause. And their people… live better than before. That
is fact."
King Voren Duskbane gave a thin smile, his words like a whisper rising from
a swamp.
"Justice, you call it. Law blind to all. But what happens when that law one day
turns against us?"
The debate flared hotter. Voices clashed, advisors shouted from the
balconies, some in support, some in scorn. The speaker's gavel struck stone,
his words lost in the noise.
At last, King Thrain Halvarr rose, towering above all, his voice booming.
"We may despise Arthur's methods, but we cannot deny that he rules with
fairness. I will not surrender my crown, yet I will not oppose the recognition
of Valoria as empire."
Those words tipped the balance. One by one, heads began to nod. Stormwatch
and Sunstones resisted, Ironclad held firm, but the tide of majority was clear.
The speaker's gavel struck three times.
"By majority, this Council recognizes the Valorian Empire as lawful."
The hall had only just begun to calm when the great doors burst open. An
envoy stumbled inside, pale and breathless.
"Your Majesties! News from the east! The Eldorian Empire has declared war upon
Eastmarch!"
All rose to their feet. King Alistair Veylor froze, his face draining of
color.
"On what grounds do they strike?"
The envoy swallowed, trembling.
"They claim Eastmarch is weak, unfit to guard its borders. Eldoria declares
that for the people's safety, Eastmarch must fall under their rule."
Chaos broke. Shouts, curses, and accusations filled the air. Some decried
Eldoria's bloodlust, others voiced fear—if Eastmarch fell, who would be next?
King Thrain Halvarr slammed his fist upon the table.
"This is an outrage! If Eastmarch falls, my borders will be next!"
King Leofric Arden added his voice.
"I agree! We must send aid before Eldoria grows too strong."
Councilor Thaddeus Veymar raised his hand, pleading calm.
"If we intervene, we drag this entire Council into the abyss. Diplomacy must
come first. Send envoys, not swords."
Stormveil scoffed loudly.
"Why should my soldiers' blood spill for Eastmarch? That is their fight, not
mine."
Barthol Van Stones sneered.
"Indeed. Let Eldoria and Eastmarch tear each other apart. There is no profit
for us in their war."
Voren Duskbane laughed quietly.
"I agree. Let the swamps swallow whichever fool steps into them. We need only
watch what ashes remain."
All eyes turned toward Silverwood and Northaven.
King Eryndor of Silverwood answered curtly.
"Silverwood will wait for Arthur's decision."
King Garrick Van Wood followed without hesitation.
"As will Northaven. If Arthur stands still, so shall we. If he moves, we move."
The speaker's gavel struck in vain amid the din.
"Divided we stand, this Council issues but one decree: to condemn Eldoria's
actions formally, without collective arms. Each realm may choose its own
course."
The session ended in heat and bitterness. Kings rose with grim faces; some
argued still, others left in silence. Advisors in the balcony hurriedly copied
notes to carry home, while outside, common folk strained to guess the outcome
from the rulers' expressions. The decision soothed tongues, but not hearts.
Far away in Valoria, word of war already echoed through Kaelenspire. Arthur
listened calmly, gazing from the high windows of his citadel.
"The war lies far from us—it is not our concern. Let Eldoria and Eastmarch burn
each other. When the ashes fall, then shall Valoria choose what is worth
saving."
Meanwhile, in Solaris, the war council chamber filled with thin smiles.
Generals exchanged glances, then short laughter.
"Let Eldoria spill blood in the east. The more the realms shred themselves, the
easier it will be for Solaris to claim the west."