As the emissaries filed out in a slow, solemn line, Aetheron stood alone in the hollow shell of the hall. He did not wait for the dust to settle. He turned and strode through a hidden corridor, his blue cloak brushing the stones like a whisper of ghosts.
Following close behind was LordKaelor. They entered a private chamber where the walls were carved with ancient runes that pulsed with a soft, rhythmic blue light.
"The diplomacy is over, Kaelor," Aetheron growled, leaning over a table made from the polished root of a Starfall Tree. "We can no longer rely on the words of other kingdoms. We must become a force capable of crushing Zhalver's walls to dust."
Kaelor nodded, his hand resting on his sword. "You and I are the only ones who truly know what happened in that pass. Draeven murdered the King and then killed his own soldier to bury the truth in the mud. He is mocking us."
"He thinks I am a weak, grieving boy," Aetheron's voice was cold. "Let him. We will build. We will wait."
"Building an army of steel is easy," Kaelor said softly, his hazel eyes clouded with concern. "But we must train our people to master their Drazhin gifts. We have kept the ancient creatures of light at a distance for too long. To fight a monster, we must bring back the Luminarsteeds and the Starbloomwraiths."
Aetheron met Kaelor's gaze. A spark of understanding passed between them; the time for following the old rules was over.
Kaelor hesitated before speaking again. "There is another matter, Aetheron. Something your father arranged long ago. Your betrothal to Princess Lysara of Lysvaen. The council believes it is time to honor the contract."
Aetheron's hand went still. The fire of revenge in his chest met a wave of cold reality. The weight of the crown felt different now—less like a weapon, and more like a cage.