A low murmur spread through the gathered elders.
One by one, these old heads nodded.
Then the citizens followed—quiet at first, hesitant… then firmer.
Agreement settled like falling leaves.
The Regent watched it all with heavy eyes. He could feel the will of the people crystallizing, hard and unavoidable. Slowly, he raised his staff and spoke, his voice carrying through the roots and branches of the Mother Tree.
"If this is what the Elven people desire," he said, "then so it shall be."
Silence fell.
"The one who captures the intruder," the Regent declared, "shall inherit the crown and become king."
Aetherion let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
"Of all things you could have chosen," he said mockingly, "you picked the one contest you are guaranteed to lose. You truly are foolish, Silmarien."
But Silmarien stepped forward instead of retreating.
"You do not understand," he said calmly.
"Right now, I have been touched by the heavens."
That alone drew attention.
