The heavy parchment of the official seal did not burn, but it hummed with the magical residual trace of the Council's member states.
It lay spread across the mahogany conference table in the central war room of the Coleus Royal Palace. At the top, stamped in gold leaf and black wax, was the double-crested emblem of the Western Nations Council. Below it, written in strict, archaic diplomatic script, was a formal directive, not an invitation, not a request for an envoy, but an extraordinary summons.
Loki sat back in his chair, leaning his elbow on the armrest as his violet eyes scanned the seal.
"They invoked the emergency charter," Veyron murmured softly, adjusting his white gloves as he stood behind Loki's left shoulder. "It requires the sovereign concerned to answer four matters before the Council in person."
"Four matters," Loki drawled, tapping a finger against the mahogany. "Let's see. Count one: Coleus's petition for full reinstatement to the Western Nations Council and its recognised trade framework. Count two: our expanding political and security ties with Jistav, Dwargon and Blumund."
"Count three," Testarossa chimed in, her long, manicured finger tracing the red wax line at the bottom, "is the presence of 'unregistered high-density entities of abyssal origin' operating within our central administrative apparatus. Namely, myself, Carrera and Ultima."
"And count four," Sauzer added, leaning over the table with a stern, furrowed brow, "is the report that every newspaper from Ingrassia to Lubelius has been printing for weeks. Feldway's public claim over Your Majesty and the devastation left across the Barren Lands. The reports have frightened every court between Ingrassia and Lubelius."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Testarossa turned toward Loki, a sharp, beautiful smile curling her lips. "Then we remind them what rejecting Coleus will cost. The loss of our markets, intelligence and protection. Fear is crude, Lord Loki, but mortals listen when it reaches their ledgers."
"Fear may win one vote, Lady Testarossa," Sauzer countered firmly, standing tall against the Primordial's intimidating presence. "It will also give every frightened kingdom a reason to conspire the moment His Majesty looks elsewhere. Coleus needs recognition that survives his absence."
"Then we need a place in their law, not merely their fear," Grand Duke Aslan spoke up, his broad shoulders squared, his hand resting on the pommel of his ceremonial rapier. "A treaty backed only by your strength will always look like a hostage bargain."
Loki looked across the table. Fom Testarossa's cold Primordial efficiency, to Sauzer's pragmatic statecraft, to Aslan's insistence on lawful standing.
"If I send a representative," Loki said quietly, "it looks like I'm hiding behind my court. If I send an army or a threat, it proves their narrative right, that I'm just another tyrant who views humans as ants to be commanded."
"Sire?" Veyron inquired smoothly. "You intend to answer the summons personally?"
"I am the King of Coleus," Loki said, standing up from his chair. The dark mantle of his coat settled over his shoulders, his violet eyes flashing with a calm, unyielding light. "I signed the law. I fought Guy. I answered Feldway. If the Western Nations want to put Coleus on trial, they're going to look the King in the eye while they do it. We go to Ingrassia."
Veyron and Sauzer spent the next three days selecting the delegation and preparing it for the hearing. Four individuals would step into the Council chamber, each filling a precise political role: Loki for sovereign authority, Testarossa for political force, Veyron for procedural expertise, and Shizue Izawa for human standing.
Shizue brought a human voice with enough standing to challenge both sides. Her presence would not absolve Coleus; it would force the Council to hear from someone who understood its fears and still chose to stand beside Loki.
During those three days, the palace grand salon became a mock Council chamber. By the final rehearsal, Loki had learned to pause before deciding whether a question deserved a careful answer or nothing more than silence.
Veyron stood at a podium, playing the role of a hostile delegate, while Sauzer and Aslan peppered Loki with every loaded question a frightened politician could conceive.
"Your Majesty!" Veyron projected his voice with theatrical pomposity, slamming a stack of papers down. "Is it not true that you harbor Primordial Demons. Entities recognized by the Holy Church as ancient disasters within your highest cabinet? How can the West grant economic legitimacy to a kingdom governed by the very devils that preyed upon our ancestors?!"
Loki leaned back in his mock witness chair, resting his chin on his palm, a bored smirk crossing his face. "Well, if we're firing people based on what their ancestors did, half the noble houses in this room would be facing execution for tax fraud. Testarossa does her paperwork on time. Can your ministers say the same?"
THACK!
Shizue hit the side of Loki's chair with the flat of her scabbard, her brow furrowed in severe disapproval.
"That answer turns their fear into a joke," Shizue said sternly. "They do not see the Primordials as difficult ministers, Loki-san. They see the nightmares their grandparents warned them about."
Loki let his head fall back with a long sigh. "Shizu... rehearsed diplomacy is agonizing. I'd rather take another headbutt from Guy."
"Guy Crimson does not negotiate the trade access our people depend on," Testarossa remarked smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of her blouse as she stood beside him. "Listen to Shizue, Lord Loki. The Council wants you to lose your temper. The second you do, they win. They don't need to defeat us in battle if they can convince the public that you are emotionally unstable."
Veyron stepped down from the podium, bowing impeccably. "They cannot challenge your strength, Sire, so they will challenge your restraint. Do not give them the monster they came expecting."
Loki looked down at his hands. He closed his eyes, taking a long, slow breath, letting the urge to joke or intimidate settle into a deep, icy stillness.
"Fine," Loki murmured, opening his violet eyes, which now burned with a calm focus. "Again. From the top, Veyron."
On the morning of the hearing, the sky above Ingrassia was overcast, gray wool clouds hanging low over the grand domes of the Central Council Spire.
The city around the seat of the Western Nations Council was stiflingly quiet. Usually bustling avenues were lined with citizens, merchants, knights, and visiting foreign nobles, all pushed back behind iron barricades guarded by ranks of the Ingrassian Royal Guard.
There were no cheers. No trumpets.
Only a heavy silence broken by the rhythmic footsteps of four individuals walking up the wide, white-marble stairs leading into the Council Assembly Hall.
Loki walked at the center. He wore a tailored coat of deep crimson and obsidian black, devoid of excessive gold lace, but carrying an undeniable majesty. Beside him walked Shizue, dressed in her clean coat, her flame sword resting at her hip, her expression calm and steady. On his left, Testarossa glided with lethal elegance, her red eyes turned slightly downward in an expression of polite indifference. Half a step behind them, Veyron walked with the rigid posture of a supreme butler, holding a single, silver-bound portfolio.
As they reached the top of the stairs, the massive bronze doors of the Assembly Hall groaned, slowly swinging inward.
Inside, the grand circular chamber rose up in tiered rows of dark mahogany benches. Numerous representatives. Dukes, prime ministers, grandmasters of merchant guilds, high cardinals of the Holy Church, and sovereign rulers from across the West sat packed shoulder-to-shoulder. The gallery above was filled with reporters, foreign envoys, and noble observers.
As the Coleus delegation stepped across the threshold, the low hum of nervous whispers in the chamber instantly died.
Many did not yet see a king entering a hearing. They saw the danger described in weeks of frightened reports. Some delegates squeezed the armrests of their chairs until their knuckles turned white. Others gripped holy talismans hidden inside their sleeves, their breaths hitching as they felt the faint, suppressed density of the magicules walking into their midst.
Loki stopped in the center of the marble floor, directly beneath the central skylight. He did not bow. He did not raise his hand. He simply stood tall, his dark coat settling around his boots, his calm violet gaze sweeping across representatives divided between fear, calculation and open hostility.
Beside him, Shizue took a quiet breath, her hand resting gently near her sword pommel. Testarossa offered a faint, razor-thin smile that sent a shiver down the spine of the front-row delegates. Veyron stepped forward, opening his silver-bound portfolio with a crisp, echoing snap.
Loki looked up at the presiding representative, who sat at the elevated central dais, pale-faced and holding his wooden gavel.
"The Kingdom of Coleus," Loki's voice echoed, not loud, but possessing a clear, unshakeable resonance that filled every corner of the vast assembly hall, "answers the summons of the West. Speak freely. We are listening."
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