The Grand Hall of Solthera was no longer a place of celebration. A week had passed since the silver crown had been placed on Aetheron's head, but the air inside the stone walls remained frigid, as if the castle itself were holding its breath. The massive crystal windows, which usually flooded the room with light, were now veiled by heavy blue drapes, turning the hall into a place of long shadows and hushed whispers.
Aetheron stood at the head of a vast obsidian table. To the world, the crown was a symbol of power; to him, it felt like a shackle, pulsing against his skin as if searching for the heartbeat of the man who had worn it before him. The table's surface was etched with the maps of the Seven Kingdoms, their borders glowing softly with Drazhin magic.
Around the table, the emissaries of the Six Kingdoms stood in a tense circle. The chair belonging to Zhalver was empty—a loud, glaring statement of war.
"Draeven Zareth did not just attack a border," Aetheron began, his voice steady but burning with a smoldering fire. "He struck down my father using a dagger laced with forbidden Drazhin power. He murdered a King, yet he remains unpunished, hiding behind the silence of Zhalver."
He leaned forward, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the obsidian edge. "I ask you now: Will the Seven Kingdoms stand united against this darkness, or will we watch the world fall apart, piece by piece?"
A ripple of unease passed through the hall. Finally, the envoy from Lysvaen rose, her skin shimmering like moonlight. "Those are heavy accusations, King Aetheron," she said sharply. "But war requires more than grief. Where is your proof?"
"Proof?" Aetheron's eyes blazed. "My father's essence turned to silver smoke before his people's eyes. His body did not fall because there was no body left to fall. Is the disappearance of a King not enough?"
From the shadows, a Xeraphyn envoy leaned forward, their face hidden. "The ancient law is clear: Drazhin powers are banned in mortal war. But laws require evidence. Without a living witness, we cannot condemn an entire kingdom. To do so would start a fire that burns us all."
Aetheron's fist struck the table with a violent thud. He realized then that he wasn't just fighting a war against Zhalver; he was fighting a war against the silence of the world.