"You told me my call was undefined! You told me my Velori was wild, dangerous, and broken!" Arinthal shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
"I've endured the fearful stares of everyone in this kingdom for years. Today, I will prove to you that Nhavae's training was not wasted on me!"
King Roran gazed at his fiercely determined son, a quiet pride blooming in his chest. He had always known this confrontation would come, though he hadn't anticipated it so soon.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Arinthal lunged, initiating the duel with a lethal arc of his blade. King Roran parried the strike effortlessly, countering with a lightning-fast thrust aimed low. Arinthal sidestepped cleanly, spinning to press the offensive, only to realize too late that his father's counter had been a mere feint.
King Roran unleashed a devastating wave of concentrated, scorching fire. The sheer heat forced Arinthal into an immediate, desperate backward somersault to avoid being incinerated. But the King gave him no room to breathe. Barrage after barrage of dense fireballs flew across the chamber at blinding speeds. Arinthal met the onslaught strike-for-strike, deflecting the blasts with his own magic, but the friction and residual heat turned his sword white-hot, searing the skin of his palms.
Refusing to drop his weapon, Arinthal dove through the deadly curtain of fire, desperately searching for a blind spot. Dashing across the chamber, he slipped behind a massive stone pillar. To his horror, the fireballs curved mid-air, tracking his movements with a mind of their own.
With only a split second to act, he had a brilliant idea. As the flames collided with the pillar and exploded, Arinthal used the blast radius to shatter the massive ceremonial pools lining the throne room, creating an instant, blinding wall of thick steam and smoke.
King Roran paused, scanning the dense vapor for any sign of his son. The chamber fell dead silent ,until the sharp echo of fracturing crystals shattered the peace.
Thousands of high-grade velori crystals lined the throne room walls, placed there to maintain a perfectly serene environment for royal meditation. Arinthal was draining them. He was absorbing the energy of the crystals to forcibly stabilize his wild, chaotic magic for one final strike.
King Roran looked up just as the smoke split overhead. Arinthal was descending from the high rafters, sword raised. The weapon radiated an energy so dense and heavy it visibly warped the air around it, distorting time itself. Arinthal hurled the blade downward, falling gracefully right behind it.
The impact was devastating. A colossal shockwave ripped outward upon contact, obliterating the pillars, the throne, and the very foundation of the room.
Arinthal let out a ragged sigh of relief, dropping heavily to his knees in the thick settling dust, entirely exhausted.
"Excellent work, Arinthal. You have proven yourself entirely worthy of the mission to Nadindel," his father's booming voice echoed from the haze.
"Really?" Arinthal gasped, coughing through the dust, hardly believing the words.
"Yes. But there is a catch."
"Which is?"
The dust cleared fully, revealing King Roran standing tall. Arinthal's jaw dropped. There wasn't a single scratch, bruise, or mark anywhere on the King's skin. If it weren't for his royal tunic being completely shredded to ribbons by the force, it would have seemed as though the strike had missed him entirely.
"You will not go alone. You will be accompanied by sixty delegates from each of the five Great Houses," the King stated flatly.
"What? But Father....."
"It is non-negotiable," King Roran interrupted, turning his back as he walked toward the ruined exit. "A will of war has been signed. They have a right to know every single move we make against Nadindel."
Arinthal shook his head bitterly, letting out a heavy sigh as he collapsed backward onto the rubble, staring up at the newly exposed, starlit sky.
Deep within the lowest levels of the palace, Prince Althaeon stood in the absolute dark, his piercing gaze assessing the three cloaked figures gathered before him. They met in the absolute black of the deepest dungeons, where only a pair of flickering torches illuminated their hidden alcove.
"Your orders, my liege?" the center figure asked, their face completely obscured beneath a heavy cowl.
"My brother departs for Nadindel at dawn," Althaeon spoke, his tone dripping with cold authority. "The crown claims it is nothing more than a routine scouting expedition, but my instincts tell me there is a far darker truth hidden beneath the surface. Follow them. Find out what they are truly hunting, and report back to me directly."
The three figures bowed seamlessly in unison, dissolving into the heavy shadows of the dungeon before the torches could even flicker.