The capital of Aerthos was nothing like Blackhaven.
Elias had known this intellectually.
He had read about Aethelberg in books, studied maps of its districts, memorized the names of its gates and boulevards.
Knowing was not the same as seeing.
From the moment they stepped into Aethelberg, the difference was immediate—palpable in a way that went beyond size or sound. It pressed against the senses, heavier than Blackhaven ever had, like stepping from a controlled flame into a furnace that had never been allowed to cool.
Elias noticed it first in the skyline.
Blackhaven had always felt grounded. Its structures followed a familiar rhythm—low, sturdy buildings constructed in a Tudor style, with timber frames and whitewashed walls intersected by dark wooden beams. Roofs sloped gently, tiled in muted reds and browns, chimneys rising like quiet sentinels. Even its larger structures, like Blackwood Keep which had incorporated stone, still carried that same rooted identity—broad, fortified, practical.
It was a place that grew outward.
Aethelberg grew upward.
The buildings here reached for the sky. Stone replaced timber and towers of these pale stones rose six, seven, eight stories high, their facades decorated with pointed arches and intricate tracery. Spires stabbed upward like accusing fingers. Windows stretched tall and narrow, lined with intricate tracery that filtered light into fractured patterns. Flying buttresses curved outward from massive structures, giving them an almost skeletal elegance.
Tudor Gothic.
It retained the bones of the old style—but refined it, sharpened it, elevated it into something grander, colder.
More deliberate.
And unlike Blackhaven, where the passage of time was visible in every worn stone and weathered beam, Aethelberg looked… newer.
Not untouched.
But maintained.
The streets were wider, paved with fitted stone instead of cobbles. Iron lampposts stood at regular intervals, their glass lanterns already lit despite the morning sun. Like a city that refused to decay.
Elias's gaze lingered on the towering facades, the symmetry, the intentional design.
Then it shifted to the people.
That was where the difference truly settled.
From his vantage point, walking just behind his father, Elias watched them. They moved quickly, heads down, eyes fixed on where they were going rather than who or what surrounded them. Their clothes were finer—velvet and silk, pressed linen, polished leather—but their faces were harder. There was no warmth in their glances. No curiosity. Just the cold efficiency of people who had learned that looking too long at someone could be mistaken for a threat.
There was a tension beneath everything.
Conversations were quieter. Laughter, when it came, was brief and contained. Eyes flickered—quick glances, assessing, calculating.
Are they important? Are they dangerous? Can they be used?
No one lingered without reason.
No one spoke freely.
And when they noticed Alaric—
That was when it changed.
The shift was subtle but undeniable.
The moment Lord Alaric Dukker stepped into view, attention followed. Not openly—not with the bold curiosity Elias was used to in Blackhaven.
Here, it was sharper.
Quieter.
Some looked away too quickly.
Others stared just a moment too long.
And beneath it all—
Something else.
Back home, he could walk freely among the people. He had explored every corner of Blackhaven with Jamie, unescorted, unremarked upon. The knights knew him. The merchants recognized him. The other children chased him through the market stalls sometimes.
Elias frowned slightly. He glanced at Jamie who simply couldn't be bothered by the stares and craked on.
Before he could dwell on it further, the city guard arrived the moment they stepped into the main thoroughfare.
Not approached.
Arrived. They were not like the knights of Blackwood. Those men had been trained by Eddie Gable—rough around the edges, quick to laugh, slow to draw their blades.
These guards were different.
Their armor was darker than that of Blackwood's knights—less ornate, more uniform. Polished to a dull sheen that reflected light without warmth. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes fixed straight ahead. They moved with mechanical precision, their boots striking the stone in perfect unison.
They were cold.
They were efficient.
They were terrifying.
"Lord Dukker," one of them said, voice flat.
"We will escort you to the Council."
Alaric nodded once.
"Very well."
And just like that—
They were surrounded.
Not tightly. Not aggressively.
But definitively.
Elias walked between them, aware of every step, every synchronized movement of the guards around him.
It felt—wrong.
In Blackhaven, they walked freely. Guards were present, yes—but they were part of the environment, not a cage around it. People greeted them. Spoke to them. Kev would crack a joke or nod as they passed.
Here—there was none of that.
These guards did not speak unless required.
Did not react.
Did not exist beyond their function.
Elias found himself glancing at one of them, searching for something—anything.
There was nothing.
He exhaled quietly.
'I miss Kev.'
The thought came uninvited and lingered longer than expected.
Kev was...extra. Kev made terrible jokes. Kev had probably done something to make Liora vexed just before they left. But Kev would have grinned at him, clapped him on the shoulder, made some stupid comment about the fancy buildings.
These guards would not clap him on the shoulder.
They would not grin.
Elias's eyes narrowed.
He felt it now—not the cold of the architecture, but the cold of the people. The guards were not the source. They were simply the most obvious symptom.
There was malice here.
Not directed at him. He was a child, a stranger, beneath notice. The malice was directed at his father.
As they moved through the streets, the distance between them and the people became more apparent. The crowd parted—not out of respect alone, but necessity. A space was maintained around them, invisible but enforced.
Untouchable.
Unreachable.
Elias's gaze flicked toward a group of civilians watching them pass.
Their expressions— were not admiration.
Not fear.
Something sharper.
He tilted his head slightly.
'Why?'
His father worked tirelessly for the people. He had stayed behind to rebuild Blackhaven instead of answering the Council's summons. The man who trained, who listened, who carried the weight of his territory without complaint. And even beyond that would do his duty as a member of the council for all the people of Aerthos
So why—
Why would anyone hate a man like that?
The question burned in his chest.
He did not ask it aloud.
They were led to a carriage.
It was not like the carriages of Blackhaven—simple wood and iron, designed for function rather than display. This one was lacquered black, its fittings silver, its windows tinted dark. The crest of House Dukker was painted on the door, the bird of prey descending, claws outstretched.
The guards opened the door.
Jamie climbed in first. Then Elias. Then Alaric.
The interior was plush. Velvet seats, silk curtains, a small table folded against the wall. It smelled of leather and cedar and something floral—lavender, perhaps, or dried rose.
Jamie barely made it in before collapsing into the seat.
The moment she sat down—
She was out.
Her head tilted back, arms crossed, breathing steady.
Elias stared at her.
"Seriously?"
No response.
"We haven't even left the street."
He leaned forward slightly, poking her shoulder.
"Oi."
Nothing.
"You're the one who said listening to old people argue was going to be fun."
A faint grunt.
"I won't let you sleep just because we got into a carriage."
She shifted, swatting his hand away without opening her eyes.
"Leave me alone…"
Elias frowned.
"Jamie—"
"Shhh."
"Don't 'shhh' me—"
Alaric chuckled quietly from across the carriage.
"Let her rest."
Elias turned to his father.
"She just fell asleep. We've barely moved."
"Traveling through compressed time is exhausting for those unaccustomed to it. She likely tried to resist the sensation, which would have depleted her energy reserves. Let her sleep. "
Elias glanced back at Jamie who resumed snoring.
"…so she exhausted herself?"
"Yes."
"Then she deserves it," Elias said flatly, leaning back.
The carriage lurched forward.
The city scrolled past the tinted windows—towers and spires, banners and statues, people who hurried past without looking up. Elias watched it all with a strange sense of detachment. It was like watching a play. Beautiful, but not real.
For a while, there was only the rhythmic sound of wheels against stone.
Then—
The shadow shifted.
Elias noticed it first.
Not with his eyes—but with instinct.
Something in the space across from them… deepened.
Darkened.
And then—
It moved.
The shadow detached from the corner of the carriage, rising, folding in on itself until it took shape.
A person.
Elias's body reacted instantly.
His hand shot forward, fingers curling as if to grasp a weapon that wasn't there, sparks crimson light materializing the Jade dagger.
Jamie stirred.
Alaric chuckled softly.
"Relax."
The figure settled beside him.
"She's a friend."
The tension didn't fully leave Elias's body—but it eased.
Slightly.
The woman was dark-skinned, her presence composed, precise. She wore a fitted outfit that leaned toward formality—a tailored blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt, sleeves rolled just enough to allow movement without sacrificing neatness.
Her hair was styled into a rounded afro puff, tight curls framing her head with deliberate care with two braids on each temple.
Her posture—
Perfect.
Back straight. Hands resting neatly in her lap.
"Gyan," Alaric said, "these are my children."
he gestured at the two.
"My son, Elias. And the one sleeping is Jamie."
Gyan's lips did not twitch. She turned her gaze to Elias, then to Jamie. Her eyes lingered on the sleeping girl for a moment—assessing, cataloging. She nodded once before her gaze returned to Alaric.
The Dagger was still in Elias' hand. He relaxed and the blade was swallowed back into his beads.
"Father," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "You have a secretary."
"I have many things, Elias. A secretary is among them."
"Lord Dukker," Gyan said, her tone even. "I've gathered preliminary information."
Alaric nodded.
"Report."
" With you here, all fifteen Lords are present."
Elias's attention sharpened slightly.
"Additionally, both Lord Mellou and Lord Vaughn have arrived in person."
"Ortis was in my territory until recently so I am aware that he decided to attend personally." He glanced out the window.
"As for Lord Vaughn—"
"Thats…unexpected. To think she would also be making ana appearance."
Gyan nodded.
"Our Paragons are mostly neutral, if it does not concern their territories, they cannot be bothered with national affairs."
Elias's mind snagged on the name.
'Lord Vaughn.'
There were only three Paragons in Aerthos.
Ortis—
He knew.
But Vaughn—
Elias leaned slightly toward the window, watching the city pass.
'I wonder what she's like.'
Was she as peculiar as Ortis? Did she have a jacket she never took off? Did she lounge on other people's sofas and demand snacks?
It rose higher than most, its architecture distinct even among the towering skyline. It was...softer, somehow. Arched windows lined its sides, stained glass casting faint colors onto the stone below. A bell tower that rose to be the highest among any of the surrounding structures.
A chapel.
Or something close to it. Elias had seen some clergymen around even back in blackhaven but he wasn't interested enough to draw closer. He had never been inside a church since coming to this world. He used to go back when he was Ethan but meeting with an actual deity had altered his perspective. Within him though, he knew that there was a Greater Power, greater than that bastard Deus or any other deity.
Still, this building was beautiful, in its way. Peaceful.
His eyes lingered for a moment—
Then shifted back.
Gyan continued.
"The Council convened before your arrival."
Alaric exhaled quietly.
"I expected as much."
"Amberose is leading the proceedings."
A faint pause.
Then—
A sigh.
Alaric leaned back.
"I don't understand that man."
Elias turned his head slightly.
"There's always been tension," Alaric continued.
"But this…"
His gaze hardened, just slightly.
"He went to great lengths. Even married one of my cousins. And still, it's not enough."
He had never heard Alaric speak about this before. His father was an only child. But he had female cousins.
"He went as far as marrying one of my cousins."
In their society, cousins were not distant relations.
They were siblings. Uncles and aunts were parents.
Family in the truest sense.
That was why Aina treated him like a little brother. Why he called her 'big sis.'
If Amberose had married one of his father's 'sisters'…
It added a new layer to the tension.
It was personal.
Elias said nothing.
But the pieces shifted in his mind. The carriage slowed.
Then stopped.
A voice called from outside.
"We've arrived."
Elias reached over and shook Jamie.
"Wake up."
She groaned.
"…five more minutes."
"We're here."
"…where?"
"The place you insisted on coming to."
Her eyes opened slowly.
Confusion flickered—then clarity.
"Oh."
She stretched, cracking her neck as she stepped out of the carriage.
Elias followed.
He took a moment.
He looked up at the Council building.
It was massive.
Stone carved with intricate detail, scenes from Aerthos's history—kings receiving crowns, warriors defeating beasts, scholars opening books. Pillars rising like ancient guardians, the entire structure exuding a weight that pressed down on those who approached it.
The entrance itself was a massive arch, its doors thrown open, its threshold worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
Elias took a deep breath.
Then he followed his father inside.