The great bronze bell of the Latian Clan tolled through the night, its deep peal rolling across rooftops and waking every ear within the compound. It wasn't ceremony, nor ritual. This was the bell of summons. When it rang, every elder, every captain, every strategist was required at the council hall without delay.
The Phoenix Pavilion's long chamber glowed with lamplight, shadows twisting across the carved phoenix pillars that lined the walls. At the far end of the table, Varun Latian, clan head and bearer of the Phoenix Seal, stood with an imperial edict in his hand. The parchment was sealed with red wax, stamped by the royal crest of Assure.
Around him, the council gathered. Elders with long beards and heavier brows, men and women who had fought, governed, and schemed for decades. Along the walls stood captains of the guard, their armor gleaming bronze in the firelight. Zed sat at his father's right, silent but attentive, his sharp eyes taking in the currents of the room.
Varun broke the seal. The crack of wax echoed like a whip through the hall. He scanned the words, his jaw tightening, before he set the scroll down upon the table for all to see.
"The king calls every banner," Varun said, voice low but iron hard. "Every clan is ordered to send its forces to the capital. The beast tide is not rumor. It is upon us."
The words spread like fire through the room. Elders muttered. Some leaned forward with clenched fists, others leaned back with faces pale.
"This edict will strip us bare!" Elder Nahir slammed a palm against the table, rings clattering. "If we march, our walls will be undefended. The beasts need not reach the capital before we are torn apart!"
"And what of the villagers in our domain?" another cried. "Without soldiers to patrol, they will be the first slaughtered!"
A third elder growled, "We cannot refuse the king's order. Refusal is treason. Yet if we obey blindly, we hand our throats to the beasts."
Voices overlapped. Fear was thick in the air, mingled with anger, pride, and self-preservation.
Zed listened in silence until at last he spoke. His voice was calm, steady, but cut through like a blade.
"Then bring them inside the walls."
The room stilled. Dozens of eyes turned to him, some incredulous, others scornful. A boy among elders. A young master they still whispered of in private — powerful, yes, but burdened with a cursed summon.
Zed met their stares without flinching. He leaned forward, hands resting firmly upon the table.
"The villages are scattered, isolated. If we pull them all into the stronghold, we protect them and consolidate our forces. Yes, the walls will be crowded. Yes, we will open the granaries. But if they live, they can rebuild. Dead farmers cannot till soil."
Elder Nahir scoffed. "Open the granaries? Boy, do you know how long it takes to fill those stores? Once emptied, we starve before the tide ends!"
Zed's eyes narrowed. His words came slow, deliberate.
"No. You see only loss. I see opportunity. The tide will bring beasts in numbers we've never imagined. And when beasts fall, their hides, their bones, their crystals — they are coin. They are food. The tide is tragedy, yes, but also harvest. Other kingdoms not struck by the tide will pay in gold, in grain, in steel for what we gather."
He paused, letting the words sink in. Some elders shifted uneasily.
"We have flying beasts," Zed continued. "They can carry spoils swiftly, in bulk, to trade. Our reserves will not empty — they will replenish faster than we could in a decade of peace."
Elder Myra, stern and sharp-eyed, leaned forward. "You speak boldly. But what of after? Do you think these forests will remain safe?"
Zed nodded once. "Yes. The tide will thin their numbers. For years after, the forest will be ours. Safer hunts. More farmland. Better yields. This disaster can be our clan's chance to rise, if we endure it. But endurance means protecting our people. Bring them into the walls."
The room was quiet now, save for the crackle of braziers. Elders exchanged glances. Doubt lingered, but also consideration. Zed's words had struck deep.
At last, Varun Latian's voice broke the silence. "You hear him. The imperial command leaves us no choice — we march. But the Latian clan does not abandon its own. Gather the villagers. Open the granaries. Prepare the flying beasts for trade. We will fight. We will endure."
Reluctant bows followed. No elder dared stand openly against both father and son together.
The council adjourned. Outside, the clan compound erupted into motion.
Messengers sprinted through torchlit courtyards with sealed orders. Blacksmiths stoked their forges, sparks flying as blades were reforged. Warriors tightened straps of armor, the ring of steel echoing into the night. Drums thundered from the walls, summoning soldiers to muster.
In the outer villages, horns blew. Families packed what they could carry — tools, keepsakes, heirlooms — and left homes behind. Caravans of villagers trudged under torchlight toward the looming walls of the Latian stronghold. Children clutched their mothers' hands, wide-eyed at the sudden urgency. Old men muttered prayers to long-forgotten gods.
As they entered the gates, phoenix banners flared above them in red and gold. Soldiers stood guard, nodding grimly as wave after wave of villagers streamed inside. For many, it was the first time seeing the clan's inner walls — a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
The granaries opened. Grain sacks were rolled out and accounted for. Clan scribes kept ledgers as measures were distributed, carefully rationed. Already, the weight of survival pressed heavy, but hope clung as well.
From the wall, Zed stood watching. The banners whipped in the wind, the fires below lighting the clan like a fortress ready for war.
He thought of the elders who doubted him. Of the villagers pouring through the gates. Of the beasts that even now stirred in the depths of the forest.
The tide was coming. The kingdom stirred like a great beast, banners called to arms by the king himself.
And for the first time, Zed knew the elders had looked at him differently — not as the boy with the cursed summon, but as a commander who could carry the weight of survival.