The new territory in the North dominated the plain like an unmoving presence.
Gigantic.
The black structures rose against the gray sky in long, aggressive curves.
Narrow towers.
Points like fangs.
Suspended black stone passages connecting elevated parts of the fortress while enormous stairways disappeared between corridors of dark stone.
Nothing in that place resembled ancient castles.
It was beautiful.
But in an unsettling way.
Like something created to inspire awe…and unease at the same time.
The cold wind stirred the black banners spread across the elevated structures of the territory.
The background of the standards was an absolute black.
Too absolute to be mere fabric.
It almost resembled an endless void.
At the center—
a great dragon coiled around itself in a spiral.
It did not look like a creature.
It looked like an ancient symbol.
An omen.
The dragon's body formed an incomplete circle around an astral core marked by a crescent moon, white stars, and a cosmic spiral that resembled ancient galaxies…
or something far older than the heavens themselves.
The stars scattered around the symbol did not seem decorative.
They looked like celestial alignments.
Seals.
Below them—
beyond the fortress raised at the center of the plain—
the new Northern territory spread in layers around the main structure.
Dark stone streets descended along the slopes while entire districts had been rebuilt during the last two years.
Houses.
Markets.
Forges.
Watchtowers.
Life.
The central fortress dominated everything above.
And around it—
three enormous circular walls protected the new heart of the Northern territory.
The one closest to the fortress was the Golden Wall.
Tall.
Imposing.
Built to protect the noble districts and the ascent toward the fortress's main structure.
Beyond it—
the Silver Wall surrounded the military and administrative centers rebuilt after the devastation of the old barony.
And beyond them all—
the Bronze Wall protected the outermost districts of the city and the villages raised across the surrounding plain.
Soldiers watched the plain from the elevated edges of the fortress.
People crossed narrow streets while merchants opened stalls beneath the morning cold.
Children ran through stone alleys as though that place had never been reduced to ruins.
As if the territory itself had refused to die.
Inside the main structure—
footsteps echoed rapidly through a wide corridor of black stone.
A knight advanced without slowing while the enormous gates of the main hall slowly opened before him.
The metallic sound echoed through the chamber.
Then he entered.
And immediately slowed down.
The hall was vast.
Too tall.
Part of the columns disappeared into the darkness above while torches scattered along the walls cast golden reflections across the stone.
At the far end of the hall—
an elevated structure dominated the chamber like an altar built for ancient kings.
Black curtains descended around it in long, heavy layers.
Fabric too dark.
Thick.
Moving slowly with the cold wind passing through the upper parts of the fortress.
Partially concealing the figures behind them.
And above the structure—
two pairs of purple eyes silently watched the entrance.
Small.
Unmoving.
The two heads turned at the same time when the knight crossed the hall.
Synchronized.
Far too silent.
The man felt the pressure immediately.
Heavy.
Wrong.
As if those eyes could see something beyond flesh itself.
The knight lowered his head at once.
Only then did he notice—
another man was already kneeling before the elevated structure.
In silence.
Like someone awaiting permission even to breathe.
Beside the structure—
Marcus stood still without saying a word.
Tall.
Broad and powerfully built.
His ash-white hair was short and slightly disheveled.
The thick beard partially hid the deep burn marks spread across his neck and part of his jaw.
Gray eyes watched the knight with the unsettling calm of a man accustomed to surviving wars that had lasted far too long.
The straight posture immediately betrayed the military past.
Unmoving.
Attentive.
Like a guard before his own queen.
Behind the black curtains—
golden eyes revealed themselves between the dark fabrics.
Intense.
Far too calm.
Like the distant glow of a rising sun piercing through the night.
And a woman's voice echoed through the hall:
"Speak."
The voice came soft and calm.
Like wind passing through very ancient trees during the night.
The newly arrived knight immediately knelt beside the other man.
Head lowered.
"Marchioness."
His breathing remained controlled.
"We received a report from the Bronze Wall."
"Messengers from the East crossed the first wall a short while ago."
The torches flickered softly against the dark walls.
"According to the guards…"
"they carry the seal of the court of Tirésias."
Marcus did not move.
But his eyes shifted a fraction.
Attentive now.
The knight hesitated briefly before continuing:
"They will reach the fortress soon."
Silence.
Long.
The wind crossed the upper reaches of the hall, slowly stirring the black curtains above the elevated structure.
The Marchioness's voice crossed the chamber once more:
"The port falls in one day…"
The voice remained low.
Distant.
"and on the next the East crosses our walls."
The silence in the hall felt heavier after that.
"Coincidences rarely cross continents alone."
The two children remained motionless above the elevated structure.
Purple eyes silently watching the two kneeling knights.
Then the Marchioness spoke again:
"Leave us."
The two men immediately struck their fists against their chests.
"Yes, Marchioness."
And withdrew without turning their backs.
Footsteps echoed rapidly through the hall until the great gates closed once more.
The metallic sound echoed before silence reclaimed the chamber.
Heavy.
Cold.
The two children above the elevated structure lost interest in the empty entrance.
The purple eyes closed.
Marcus remained unmoving beside the elevated structure.
Behind the black curtains—
the voice spread calmly through the hall:
"What did you think of the report from the port?"
Marcus remained silent for a moment.
"I expected resistance."
His eyes shifted a fraction.
Hesitation.
"But I did not expect the heir herself to open the gates."
The Marchioness's voice returned:
"She saw the movement before those trapped inside it."
The golden eyes slowly turned toward him.
"That makes her more dangerous than men who only know how to wage war."
"But I believe that is not what troubles you, Marcus."
Marcus remained silent for a few seconds.
Then answered:
"Everything continues moving forward exactly as he predicted."
The voice came low.
Heavy.
"The North continues pressuring the Central Kingdom."
"The East has consolidated a new power."
His eyes remained fixed ahead.
Distant.
"All of this movement began because…"
"he calculated that he would be present when the structures began to move."
His fingers closed behind his back.
"But the plan continues advancing…"
A small pause.
His eyes lifted only a fraction.
"…without him."
Silence lingered in the hall for a few seconds.
Heavy.
The torches trembled softly against the dark walls.
The Marchioness's voice sounded calmly:
"I understand…"
"So it is his absence that troubles you."
Marcus remained motionless.
Gray eyes distant.
His hand rose to his own face.
His fingers touched the burn mark spread across his neck and part of his jaw.
"Ordinary men do not survive when the Thrones begin to move."
"I saw the true terror they hide…"
The voice emerged low.
Heavier now.
"in what the temple came to call the War of the Hundred."
The wind crossed the upper parts of the fortress.
"Nations vanished in a single night."
His fingers slowly moved away from his face.
"Entire cities were reduced to ashes…"
"before anyone even understood what had begun."
A brief pause.
His eyes lifted only a fraction.
"I have already seen what remained after that."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"And with the Empire itself beginning to move…"
"I cannot imagine many on this continent capable of facing it."
The shadows swayed softly across the black columns.
Then the Marchioness spoke once more:
"Those seated upon the Thrones do not see ruptures…"
"the way mortal men do."
The voice emerged low.
Ancient.
Like something that existed long before those kingdoms.
"To them…"
"kingdoms rise and vanish like tides washing against ancient shores."
The silence seemed to deepen around her words.
"All disorder always seems temporary…"
"in the eyes of those who believe they stand at the top of the world."
Her eyes fixed on him.
"One need only observe how the Thrones reacted to the fall of the Twenty-Third."
The silence remained unmoving in the hall.
"One year ago one of the empires fell…"
"and none of the others moved."
The black curtains rippled above the elevated structure.
"Because they still believe themselves beyond any change."
A brief pause.
"It is this arrogance…"
"that transforms their silence into our greatest opportunity."
At that moment—
the great gates of the hall opened abruptly.
The metallic sound hung like a physical rupture in the chamber itself.
Footsteps echoed rapidly across the black stone.
The golden eyes shifted away from Marcus toward the entrance.
Calm.
As if they had already expected this.
"It seems we will continue this conversation later."
A knight knelt before the elevated structure.
Head lowered.
Breathing heavy.
"Marchioness…"
The voice emerged firm despite the haste.
"The messengers from the East await outside the hall."
The silence remained unmoving for a brief instant.
The golden eyes turned toward the great gates.
Calm.
As though this merely confirmed something.
"Let them enter."
The knight struck his fist against his chest.
"Yes, Marchioness."
The knight's footsteps quickly faded through the hall.
And once more—
the great gates slowly began to open.
The metallic sound echoed through the tall columns like a blade crossing the chamber.
Cold wind invaded the hall along with the opening.
Seven figures crossed the gates.
The two at the front wore armor marked with golden details that slowly reflected the torchlight.
On the chest—
the symbol of a golden lion rose across the armor.
Majestic.
The other five remained partially concealed beneath long cloaks crossed with astral symbols stitched in golden thread.
None of them carried visible weapons.
Even so—
the hall felt heavier when they advanced.
The two children opened their eyes once more.
Watching.
Unmoving.
Marcus remained standing beside the elevated structure.
But his gray eyes silently followed every step of the figures.
Attentive.
The seven advanced to the center of the hall.
They stopped simultaneously.
Synchronized.
The two knights from the East struck closed fists against their own chests.
A formal greeting.
Diplomatic.
Not submission.
The difference was immediate.
And calculated.
One of the men slowly raised his head.
"We bring a message from the court of Tirésias."
The voice crossed the hall firmly.
Controlled.
"Two years ago…"
"an agreement was forged between Tirésias and the Second Prince of the Northern Kingdom."
A brief pause.
"Today known as…"
"the Lord of Vhaelor."
The golden eyes remained motionless behind the dark fabrics.
The messenger continued:
"While Tirésias would consolidate its rise as a Kingdom in the East…"
"we would continue pressuring the borders of the Central Kingdom."
A brief pause.
"And so it was done."
The torches flickered softly against the black walls.
"Since the first day of the first month…"
"the armies of Tirésias have continuously advanced against the central borders."
Marcus remained motionless.
Eyes lowered.
Silent.
"Territories have been taken."
"Trade routes have been severed."
"And territories continue being pressured even now."
The voice remained calm.
Cold.
Like someone merely reporting inevitable facts.
"And yet…"
The messenger's eyes lifted only a fraction.
"during two months of war…"
"not a single soldier of Vhaelor has been seen on the battlefields."
The silence deepened in the hall.
The messenger's voice crossed the chamber once more:
"Tirésias honored its part of the agreement."
"Now the court awaits for the dominion of Vhaelor to honor its own…"
The wind slowly crossed the upper reaches of the fortress.
"If no movement occurs before the first day of the fourth month…"
"Tirésias will begin withdrawing its forces from the central borders."
The golden eyes remained fixed upon the messenger.
"Intriguing…"
The voice crossed the hall calmly.
Low.
Almost distant.
"Tirésias consolidated itself as a Kingdom…"
"and little time later already sends words wrapped in deadlines and withdrawals."
The silence briefly deepened among them all.
"I knew the relationship between the new rulers of the East…"
"and the Lord of Vhaelor had not been built upon trust."
A brief pause.
"But I did not imagine the fragility of this alliance would reveal itself so soon…"
"in the midst of a continental war."
The man maintained his upright posture.
"With all due respect, Marchioness…"
"it was the Marquis himself who designed this strategy."
His eyes lifted only a fraction.
"The simultaneous advance against the Central Kingdom."
"The continuous pressure upon the borders."
"The gradual weakening of internal routes."
The voice remained firm.
"Tirésias fulfilled the role entrusted to it."
A brief pause.
"And after two months of war…"
"the forces of Vhaelor remain behind their walls."
The Marchioness's voice crossed the hall once more:
"So this is what unsettles Tirésias."
The golden eyes moved between the seven figures.
"The forces that remain silent beneath these walls."
None of the messengers answered immediately.
Only the distant sound of wind crossing stone remained in the chamber.
Then the man answered:
"Tirésias recognizes the military power of Vhaelor."
"And understands the weight that has not yet been cast upon the continent."
A brief pause.
"It is precisely because of this…"
"that the court wishes to understand Vhaelor's silence."
The messengers' eyes remained fixed upon the elevated structure.
The golden eyes slowly shifted sideways.
"Marcus."
The voice crossed the hall with that same ancient calm.
Marcus slightly raised his face.
"Marchioness."
The black curtains moved softly.
"Has Ekaterina finished training the new soldiers?"
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
"The final exercises were concluded at dawn."
The eyes remained motionless behind the black curtains.
"Deliver my orders to Ekaterina."
"She will depart today."
A brief pause.
"One hundred soldiers will follow under her command to reinforce the forces of the Prince of the North."
The torches flickered softly against the black walls.
"The stalemate against the army of the prince of the Central Kingdom has already lasted far too long."
The messengers from the East remained motionless.
Her voice returned:
"Perhaps this will ease the unrest of the new rulers of the East."
The man lowered his head.
"We will deliver Vhaelor's position to the court of Tirésias."
The golden eyes remained upon the seven figures for a few more seconds.
"If this is all…"
"do not allow the cold of the North to keep you for too long."
The messengers slightly bowed their heads before beginning to withdraw through the hall.
At the same time—
Marcus finally moved beside the elevated structure.
Heavy footsteps began descending the black steps while the messengers crossed the great gates of the hall.
Until the great gates began to close once more.
The metallic sound lingered through the hall like the quiet closing of something that had already begun setting the continent in motion.