The throne room of Dravoryen had been transformed into a battlefield—though no swords would be drawn here. This was the Council of Lords, the true arena where kingdoms were built and destroyed, where one misplaced word could mean more than a hundred lost soldiers.
The marble floor gleamed beneath the light of towering braziers. Banners of every noble house in Dravoryen hung high, their sigils swaying faintly in the draft. Rows of lords, ladies, and generals lined either side of the chamber, while the dais at the far end loomed like a mountain of judgment.
At its peak sat King Daemon Dravoryen, cloaked in sable and iron, his wolfish eyes sharp as ever. Beside him, as always, was Prince Aedric, posture immaculate, jaw tight with controlled confidence. The Queen lingered in her own throne, draped in velvet, her eyes glittering with schemes unspoken.
And into this den of predators stepped Prince Toru.
---
Whispers swept through the chamber as he walked the long path toward the dais.
"The weak prince…"
"…he defeated a knight, did you hear?"
"Coincidence. Or trickery."
"But what if it wasn't?"
Toru ignored them. His back was straight, his steps measured. The memory of sweat, pain, and blood in the arena still clung to him, fueling each breath.
Behind him trailed Cedric, his ever-diligent secretary, with scrolls tucked beneath one arm, and Kael, who kept to the shadows like a ghost, unseen yet everywhere.
The King's voice broke the murmurs.
"Let the council begin."
---
It was Lord Veynar who struck first, his corpulent frame barely contained by the gold-threaded robe he wore. He waddled forward, bowing only slightly before raising his voice loud enough for the hall to hear.
"Your Majesty, noble lords, honorable peers… I must speak plainly. We live in perilous times. Dravoryen's coffers run thin, our borders are threatened by raiders, and our people hunger. Yet here stands a prince who plays at being a warrior, seeking glory in childish duels while the kingdom bleeds."
Gasps rippled through the court.
Veynar turned, his eyes gleaming with malice as they fixed on Toru.
"Prince Toru risks dragging this kingdom into chaos with his reckless displays. Shall we entrust Dravoryen's fate to a boy who, until last week, could not even lift his own sword?"
Murmurs surged like a rising tide. Some nodded, others frowned.
Aedric smirked from the dais. His mother's lips curved in amusement.
Toru stood still, letting the venom drip into the air. Then, slowly, he stepped forward.
---
"Chaos?" Toru's voice rang steady across the hall, sharper than steel. "You speak as though chaos has not already gripped our land, Lord Veynar. But perhaps you have grown fat enough not to feel hunger. Perhaps you have grown safe enough behind walls not to see the raiders at our borders. Tell me—when was the last time you stood beside the soldiers you claim to worry for?"
The hall erupted—gasps, mutters, even stifled laughter.
Veynar flushed crimson. "How dare you—!"
Toru raised a hand, silencing him. His eyes swept across the chamber, catching noble after noble in his gaze.
"Yes, I was weak. I will not deny it. For years, I was nothing but a disappointment to my name, a burden to this court. You all laughed, and you were right to laugh."
The honesty caught them off guard. A silence fell, heavy and uncertain.
"But weakness does not last forever. I trained, I fought, and I bled. I have proven I am no longer the boy you mocked. And unlike some here, I do not measure strength in coin or words. I measure it in sacrifice."
He turned his gaze back to Veynar, his voice cold as winter steel.
"So if you call me unworthy, then say it again. But look me in the eyes when you do it. Because if I can stand in the arena and bleed for this kingdom, then by the gods, I can stand here as well."
The chamber roared—not in laughter, not in derision, but in stunned murmurs. Some nobles leaned forward, intrigued. A few even clapped their hands against the table, murmuring approval.
For the first time in memory, Toru had turned their mockery into doubt.
---
King Daemon's lips twitched into something between a smirk and a smile.
"Well spoken," he said, his gravelly voice silencing the chamber. "But words are still wind. Dravoryen needs more than speeches—it needs solutions."
He leaned forward, his eyes like daggers.
"Tell me then, boy. If you truly wish to rise, if you truly wish to be more than a shadow, what would you do for this kingdom?"
The hall grew still. Nobles waited, breath held. This was more than a question—it was a challenge, perhaps even a trap.
Toru's mind raced, drawing on memories from another life. The soldiers he had trained. The gyms he had built. The strategies whispered during nights of military drills. Slowly, he spoke.
"We strengthen the body of the kingdom, as we would the body of a man. First, we feed it. Crops must be improved—better irrigation, stronger tools. I have ideas to share with our farmers."
He saw a few nobles exchange surprised glances.
"Second, we harden it. Our soldiers train as they always have, but strength is more than swinging a sword. Endurance. Discipline. Strategy. I would see them drilled not only in combat but in resilience. I know methods that have never been seen in this world."
Now generals leaned closer, curiosity breaking through their doubt.
"And third," Toru's voice rose, strong and sure, "we arm it. Not with rusted steel and outdated bows, but with innovation. I have designs, from memories long past, of weapons and fortifications that could give Dravoryen an edge."
He paused, letting the weight of his words hang.
"A kingdom that is fed, trained, and armed will not only survive—it will rise."
The chamber burst into chaos. Nobles whispered furiously. Some scoffed, others looked visibly shaken.
---
From one corner, Lady Seraphine rose, her emerald gown shimmering.
"I, for one, find merit in these words. A prince who thinks beyond the banquet table is rare indeed. Perhaps it is time we gave him the chance to prove himself."
Others joined in tentative agreement. Merchants especially murmured excitement—innovation meant profit.
But Veynar spat, his jowls quivering.
"Lies and fantasies! Irrigation, training, weapons—empty promises from a boy who dreams too much. We cannot risk our kingdom on delusions!"
Aedric finally spoke, his voice calm but cutting.
"Indeed, Father. My brother speaks well, but words are not deeds. Let him dream his dreams, but Dravoryen needs certainty, not experiments. Better to entrust its future to those who have already proven themselves."
The Queen nodded in silent support.
The chamber hung on the King's response.
---
King Daemon sat back, his fingers steepled. His sharp gaze pinned Toru like a hawk sizing its prey. For a moment, silence reigned.
Then the King chuckled. Low, rough, almost dangerous.
"Perhaps dreams are exactly what we need. I have heard enough of the same voices repeating the same failures. Let us see what new blood can do."
He rose from the throne, his voice booming across the hall.
"Prince Toru. You will be given a trial. A test not of words, but of deeds. Beyond the eastern hills lies the village of Kareth, plagued by raiders and famine. You will go there. Feed them. Defend them. Prove your words have teeth."
The hall exploded in uproar.
"Impossible!"
"He'll be slaughtered!"
"Or… he might succeed…"
Toru bowed his head, a faint smirk on his lips.
"As you command, Father."
The King's eyes glimmered with a mix of pride and cruelty.
"Then rise, boy. For Dravoryen watches you now."
---
As the council dispersed, factions already shifting, Toru felt the weight of countless eyes upon him. Some mocking, some doubting, some curious, a few… hopeful.
The weak prince had been given a chance. Not in the safety of the court, but in the fire of reality.
And Toru knew one thing for certain:
This was not punishment. This was opportunity.
And he would seize it.