Two days after the duel, Kaelen was summoned to the high chamber of Varrowyn's citadel — a hall of marble and silver, where braziers cast cold light against banners stitched with crescent moons.
The chamber was circular, with seats arranged like a theater. Each seat belonged to a noble house of Varrowyn, though only six held real power. At the highest tier sat Lord Deyran, presiding like a hawk surveying prey.
Kaelen entered with measured steps, Lysera shadowing close behind. Whispers rippled through the council:
The knight who beat Captain Garron.
Solareth sends broken men to plead for scraps.
Yet he stands tall… dangerous.
Kaelen ignored them. He had not come for their approval — but their alliance.
Deyran raised a hand, silencing the chamber. "Knight of Solareth," he said smoothly, "you asked for this council, and by your victory in trial you have earned it. Speak, then. Tell us why Varrowyn should bleed for Solareth's cause."
Kaelen bowed slightly. "Not for Solareth's cause — for humanity's. The Veil spreads. Shadows do not stop at borders. What consumed our kingdom will soon test yours."
Laughter erupted from a few nobles. A rotund man in purple silk leaned forward. "And why should we believe you? Solareth fell because your queen was weak. Now you seek to drag us into the same grave."
Another, a thin woman with hawk-like eyes, added sharply: "Varrowyn has stood against the wastes for centuries. Your desperation reeks of failure, not truth."
Deyran let their words hang, studying Kaelen.
Kaelen drew a breath, steadying the anger that flared in his chest. He recalled the ruins of Solareth — fire, screams, the black tide pouring from the Veil.
"I was there," he said, voice low but carrying across the hall. "I watched villages swallowed in hours. I fought on walls that crumbled under creatures no man should see. Solareth did not fall because we were weak. We fell because we stood alone."
The chamber stilled, though some eyes remained skeptical.
Lysera stepped forward then, her voice sharp. "And while you sit here weighing coin and comfort, do you think the shadows wait politely at your gates? I've fought them too. I've seen what crawls from the rifts. If you think Varrowyn can endure it without allies, you're more foolish than I thought."
A murmur spread. Some nobles bristled at her insolence, others leaned in.
From the shadows of the chamber, another voice slid in, calm yet venomous.
"Bold words," it said.
The speaker was a man cloaked in dark velvet, his face half-hidden beneath a hood. His fingers toyed idly with a silver ring shaped like entwined serpents. Kaelen had not seen him before, but the lords seemed to defer to his presence.
This was Malrec, Varrowyn's High Chancellor — a man of whispers and influence, rumored to hold more power than Deyran himself.
Malrec's eyes gleamed. "Tell me, knight, why should Varrowyn risk its soldiers, its coin, its blood, for a queen who could not protect her own people? What proof do you bring, beyond scars and tales?"
His words were honey and poison both. The nobles nodded, murmuring assent.
Kaelen's chest tightened. For proof, he had little — only his word, and the shadows that plagued him. But revealing too much of the corruption within him could undo everything.
He straightened, his voice resonant. "You ask for proof? Then look beyond your borders. Already rifts tear wider. Scouts whisper of villages lost in the east. Hunters vanish. Even your own Captain Garron has seen what waits in the wastes. Do you call him liar?"
Garron, standing at the edge of the chamber with his arm bandaged, shifted uncomfortably. The nobles' eyes flicked toward him.
The captain growled, "I've fought beasts that came from nowhere. I've buried men torn apart by things not of this world. If what he says of Solareth is true… then we may face it next."
Gasps, protests, arguments rose. The chamber dissolved into bickering until Deyran's fist struck the table.
"Enough," he snapped. His gaze turned sharp as a blade toward Kaelen. "Words and shadows still do not bind armies. What would you have of us, knight?"
Kaelen let the silence build before speaking.
"Not your armies. Not yet. I ask for alliance — open ears, open roads, open hands. Trade, steel, knowledge. Solareth bleeds, but it does not kneel. With Varrowyn's support, we can rebuild, strengthen, and stand beside you when the true war comes."
His voice lowered. "Or you may wait, and watch the Veil consume us one by one, until even Varrowyn's walls are not enough."
As the chamber fell into heavy silence, Kaelen felt it again — the creeping darkness coiling beneath his skin.
They will not listen. They laugh behind masks. Break them. Show them fear. Bend them to your will.
His gauntleted hand clenched, faint veins darkening at his wrist. For a moment he imagined rising, seizing Malrec by the throat, forcing them all to see the truth in his blood.
But Lysera's hand brushed his arm, grounding him. He forced a breath, driving the whispers back into silence.
Not yet. Not here.
Lord Deyran leaned back, studying him with calculating eyes. "You speak well, knight. But Varrowyn does not move on sentiment. We move on strength and gain."
The rotund noble barked: "He brings nothing but ruin. Cast him out."
The hawk-eyed woman countered: "No — if the Veil rises, we need allies. He may be our warning."
Another, gray-bearded and stern, muttered: "Better to prepare now than regret later."
The council fractured into debate, their voices clashing like steel.
And always, Malrec's calm voice threaded through, sowing doubt:
What if this is a trick?
What if Solareth's queen seeks to chain Varrowyn under her banner?
What if this knight is not savior, but shadow in disguise?
Kaelen felt the tide turning against him.
Then Garron stepped forward, his deep voice cutting through the din.
"I fought this man," he said simply. "He had every chance to kill me. He didn't. He fights with honor — and with fire I've not seen in years. If he says the Veil is coming, I believe him."
The chamber stilled. Even Malrec's tongue paused.
Kaelen met the captain's gaze and inclined his head in gratitude.
At last, Deyran rose, his cloak sweeping behind him.
"Enough. This council will not splinter itself into ruin. Here is my verdict."
He looked down upon Kaelen, his tone sharp.
"Varrowyn will not march under Solareth's banner. But neither will we ignore the threat. I grant you limited alliance: safe passage, supplies, and a place among our scouts to monitor the wastes. If your queen's words prove true, then Varrowyn may reconsider its stance."
A mixture of relief and frustration churned within Kaelen. It was not the full alliance he sought — but it was a foothold.
Deyran's eyes narrowed. "Fail to prove yourself, and you will not find Varrowyn so patient again."
As the council dispersed, Kaelen lingered. Malrec brushed past him, voice low as a serpent's hiss.
"You play a dangerous game, knight. Words may win applause, but shadows whisper truths louder than you know. Be careful that when the mask slips, you are not the monster they already fear."
His hand brushed Kaelen's arm as he passed, and the veins beneath his skin burned.
Kaelen froze. Malrec's knowing smile lingered as he disappeared into the crowd.
Outside the chamber, Lysera exhaled sharply. "Half a victory, half a trap. Deyran's no fool. He's watching you as much as he's weighing the Veil."
Kaelen nodded, though his thoughts were elsewhere — on Malrec's touch, and the way the whispers within him had stirred as though answering a familiar call.
"If the High Chancellor suspects what I carry," Kaelen said quietly, "then the real battle has only just begun."
Lysera's eyes narrowed. "Then we'd better be ready. Because something tells me he doesn't just suspect — he knows."