Chapter 1: The Silver Tongue's New Stage
I. The Disorientation and The Thrum
The sensation was not pain, but a searing, existential wrongness.
Thomson, the rising star of Washington, D.C. politics, whose currency was his rhetoric and confidence, found himself tethered to a body that wasn't his. He was Prince Evan, the Third Son of the Kingdom of Mecklace, lying in a chamber scented with sandalwood and anxiety.
Thomson's mind, accustomed to processing crisis reports and policy debates, immediately began an involuntary inventory. Where am I? Who am I?
The memories were fragments: Evan's life was defined by quiet inadequacy, royal expectations, and a desperate, secret pursuit of something called Sacrificial Magic. The original Evan was gone, consumed by the attempt. What remained was a residual power in the chest, a constant, low, volatile thrum that felt like a ticking bomb. Thomson instinctively knew that this powerful, unholy energy was dangerous, and its possession demanded a high, immediate cost—a cost he had yet to discover.
I am a politician trapped in a soldier's world, cursed by a power I can't control, Thomson concluded. His core programming—the relentless need to survive and control the narrative—kicked in. The first order of business: understand the battlefield.
II. The Quiet Assessment
For two days, Prince Evan remained unseen, "recovering" from his mysterious illness. Thomson used this time as any good politician would: by consuming intelligence. He studied royal ledgers, transcribed notes from tutors, and observed the subtle flow of court power from his window.
Findings (Mental Notes):
Mecklace: A warrior kingdom, valuing Sword Skill—Thomson's single greatest weakness. The whispers of the common folk revealed a deep, almost religious fear of powerful magic users.
The King: A master swordsman; the visible face of Mecklace's strength.
The Queen: The strategic mind; the true political backbone.
The Brothers: First Prince (volatile power) and Second Prince Theron (calculating strategy). A clear line of rivalry.
Thomson quickly identified the external threat: the Sovereign Empire of Volkar. The name of their King was spoken with terror, hinting at a power that transcended normal warfare. A stable Mecklace is my only viable political platform, Thomson resolved. To survive here, I must quickly become what the late Prince Evan never was: relevant.
His only asset in this new, brutal economy of power was his voice.
III. The Debut of the Orator
The time for seclusion was over. Evan, dressed in his finest robes, walked out onto the veranda to address a small unit of the Royal Guard recruits.
He felt the tension of the crowd—the silent scrutiny of those who knew the former Prince Evan was weak. He ignored the anxiety of his cursed body and focused on the familiar rush of a public stage.
"Men of Mecklace," Prince Evan's voice rang out. It was powerful, nuanced, and instantly commanding—a voice that had won elections on another Earth. "You look at your duties and see burdens. I see contracts. A contract between the Throne and the family on the furthest farm. A promise that your courage today guarantees their dignity tomorrow."
He didn't speak of Volkar, battles, or strategy. He spoke of unity, integrity, and shared purpose—the classic themes that transcend cultures. He was not giving a war speech; he was running a campaign.
Below, the recruits began to straighten, their faces slowly softening from skeptical assessment to admiration. Thomson's plan was working: he was establishing a persona that was compelling, eloquent, and dangerously new.
IV. Theron's Calculating Gaze
In the shadows of the outer courtyard, Prince Theron watched his brother with cold, professional detachment.
The voice, Theron thought, his mind already dissecting the performance. Where did he find that clarity? That resonance? Theron, the strategist, knew the speech was strategically useless—a lovely set of words that did not address the immediate, violent threats to the kingdom. Yet, it was politically potent.
Theron had always viewed his younger brother as a negligible piece on the board. Now, that piece had suddenly changed shape and color.
Nothing in this world comes without a cost, Theron concluded, his gaze darkening. He didn't believe in miracles, only transactions. "Keep a watch on him," Theron murmured to a nearby, trusted aide. "Every meeting, every movement. Find out what he paid for that new voice."
Evan had successfully debuted his new, powerful political persona and bought himself time. But in doing so, he had instantly placed himself under the deep, calculated suspicion of the most strategically dangerous member of his family. The quiet war for survival had begun.