The Drunken Night and the Quaking Earth
Meanwhile, two of the most powerful men in the Drake Kingdom sat apart, each cloaked in their own quiet gloom and drink.
In his study, Prime Minister Thomas White sat before a table littered with scrolls and half-empty jars of aged wine. His once-steady hands trembled slightly as he poured himself another cup, his grey hair catching the warm flicker of candlelight. His face, flushed from drink, carried a deep, weary sorrow.
"I never imagined," he said hoarsely, voice tinged with disbelief, "that one day I would be dismissed from my post—and by His Majesty himself! I have served faithfully, with heart and soul, and never once strayed from loyalty. Yet now, for the sake of a woman, he is willing to cast aside not just the state… but me as well." He let out a broken laugh that turned into a sigh. "Ah… my heart aches beyond words."
In another chamber nearby, Grand General Eldric Bennett—broad-shouldered, bald, his eyes still sharp despite age—sat nursing his own wine. Hearing the Prime Minister's lament, he exhaled through his nose and shook his head slowly.
"It can only be said," Eldric replied solemnly, "that His Majesty is still young—driven by emotion, not reason. A moment's infatuation blinds even the wisest man. But he's not without sense. Given time, he'll understand our intentions. We must not hold his youth against him."
Thomas gave a bitter smile. "Let's hope you're right. Enough talk. Drink, my old friend. Let the wine wash the bitterness away."
Eldric raised his jar in agreement. "Yes—to drink! One drunken bout to scatter a thousand worries!"
Their laughter—half joy, half sorrow—filled the quiet room.
Just then, the door slid open, and Walton, the imperial eunuch, stepped inside with a smile that could outshine the lamplight. His black hair was neatly combed, his expression deferential yet knowing.
"Eunuch Walton?" Eldric blinked, surprised. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be attending to His Majesty within the palace walls?"
Walton clasped his hands and bowed slightly. "His Majesty sent me, General."
Both men exchanged a puzzled look.
"Sent you?" Thomas repeated, brows furrowing. "For what purpose?"
Walton chuckled softly and set down the wine jar he'd carried in. "His Majesty asked me to come drink with the Prime Minister."
Eldric blinked, confused. "That's all? No hidden meaning behind it?"
"Tsk, you big oaf," Thomas said, suddenly laughing, his earlier melancholy breaking. "Can't you hear it? If His Majesty sends wine to share with an old minister like me, what else could it mean? He's offering an apology."
Eldric's face lit up. "Ah, so that's it! Hah! I'm slow today. It seems His Majesty still cares for you, Thomas. He knows he wronged you and sent Walton to make peace. You can rest easy now."
Walton nodded eagerly. "That is indeed His Majesty's intent. But you know how it is—certain things cannot be spoken too directly in court."
Thomas leaned back, the corners of his mouth lifting with quiet satisfaction. "So His Majesty still has me in his heart… Good. Then my worries were misplaced. I only regret how things unfolded. In court that day, I spoke too harshly. His Majesty, young and proud, couldn't back down. That's how this calamity came about. I should have handled it differently."
Eldric raised his cup. "Aye. The method must change. The throne is young, but it's still the throne. Let him make his own judgments. You've served long enough, my friend—take some rest. Sooner or later, he'll call you back."
Thomas smiled faintly. "You're right. Then… let's drink to that."
"Drink!" Eldric echoed.
And so the three men—Prime Minister, General, and Eunuch—lifted their cups beneath the mellow glow of the candles, laughter and good wine easing years of loyalty, regret, and unspoken understanding. The night stretched long, their hearts growing lighter as the stars wheeled quietly above.
Meanwhile, far beyond the palace, the Ironforge Kingdom stirred with excitement.
The trade agreement had finally been fulfilled—the promised supplies delivered to the Drake Kingdom's capital. As planned, the Drake laborers and soldiers stationed at the Red Rock Iron Mine withdrew in perfect order.
Moments later, a vast Ironforge army of two hundred thousand marched in to replace them. Rows upon rows of soldiers clad in black armor filled the valley, their banners fluttering like storm clouds.
At their head rode the Crown Prince of Ironforge, his gaze fierce as he surveyed the long-coveted iron mine that now belonged to them.
His lips curved into a smile brimming with ambition. "With this mine under our control," he declared, his voice carrying across the ranks, "our Ironforge Kingdom shall rise with unstoppable momentum. We will forge our destiny in steel—and one day, the Drake Kingdom will crumble beneath our iron hooves!"
A thunderous chorus erupted from the soldiers. "Your Highness speaks the truth!"
"Begin the excavation at once!" the Crown Prince ordered, raising his arm high.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Immediately, the army moved like a well-oiled machine. Miners and laborers swarmed into the caverns, their torches casting wild shadows across the jagged walls. The rhythmic clang of pickaxes echoed through the valley—metal striking stone, a song of greed and triumph.
But before long, that rhythm faltered.
The earth itself seemed to shiver beneath their feet.
At first, it was a faint vibration, easily mistaken for wind. Then—
Boom.
A deep, guttural rumble rolled through the mountains.
Rumble… Rumble…
The ground cracked. The mine walls trembled. Soldiers stumbled, shouting in confusion. The banners above quivered violently as pebbles and dust rained from the cliffs.
The Crown Prince's triumphant grin froze on his lips.
"What—what's happening?" he barked.
No one could answer.
The once-celebratory mine now groaned like a beast awakening from its slumber.
And beneath the surface of the Red Rock Iron Mine, something ancient stirred.