The circular hall of the Drayvar fortress in Stormvale was an ancient construction, inherited from times when the Great Houses ruled with an iron fist and decisions were made under the gaze of hundreds. It was designed like an amphitheater, with ascending levels of carved stone seats surrounding an open center from where speakers addressed the assembly. Torches on the walls cast dancing shadows on the faces of those present, creating an atmosphere of barely contained tension.
On the different levels were the legion commanders, their polished armor reflecting the firelight. Regional lords occupied the seats closest to the upper level, dressed in the insignias of their territories. The council of elders, stooped figures with eyes as sharp as knives, sat in a reserved section. Commercial executives, men and women who managed the House's finances, adjusted scrolls and documents with nervous hands. And in the corners, the diplomats observed in silence, calculating every word that was spoken.
All had been summoned. All knew why.
The murmur of conversations filled the space, bouncing off the stone walls. Voices mixed in a constant hum of speculation and worry.
"Two weeks." A commander shook his head, arms crossed. "Two weeks since the attack and they only just summon us."
"This is a betrayal." Another man, a lord of the northern lands, pounded the armrest of his seat. "How does he deploy troops without the family head's authorization? It's a direct affront."
"It's not that big a deal." A younger executive leaned forward. "It was an organized attack with Lord Thailon's own troops. Own funds, own men. Technically—"
"Technically bullshit." The commander cut him off harshly. "Any attack must be authorized and reported. It doesn't matter where the money comes from. We are a House, not independent lords playing war."
"And what happens if the Emperor finds out about this?" A female voice, one of the diplomats, sounded worried. "Titus imposed peace. This could be interpreted as a direct violation."
"Our intelligence agents are handling the reports." Another executive, an older one, spoke with a tone of forced confidence. "They are delaying and disorienting the information. We have time before it reaches the capital."
"Delaying? Disorienting?" The northern lord laughed without humor. "Do they think they can fool Titus Draconis? The man has ruled for over three hundred years. He has seen more betrayals and conspiracies than we can imagine."
"That's precisely why." The young executive raised his hands. "That's why we need to present a united front. If we act as if this were a legitimate operation—"
"But it's not."
The voices continued to clash, each defending a position, each trying to impose its vision on the chaos Thailon had unleashed. Some saw betrayal. Others, opportunity. And some simply saw the end.
The sound of opening doors cut through the conversations like a knife.
"Announcing the arrival of Grand Duke Varen Drayvar and his advisor, Silas Torvan."
Silence fell instantly. All eyes turned towards the main entrance, where two figures emerged from the shadows.
Varen Drayvar walked with the posture of someone born to rule. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair barely touched by a few gray strands. His face was a mask of absolute control, revealing nothing of what he felt. He wore the formal attire of the House: black with silver details that reflected the spear, the symbol of the Drayvars.
Beside him, Silas Torvan moved with the discreet grace of someone who had spent decades in the corridors of power. His gray hair was tied back in a short tail, and the scar that crossed his left cheek seemed more pronounced under the torchlight. His eyes swept the hall with the experience of one who had seen too many assemblies like this.
Varen descended the stairs to his seat on the upper level, the most prominent, from where he could observe everyone present. He did not speak. He simply sat down, his hands resting on the armrests, and let his gaze sweep over every face in the hall.
Silas remained standing beside him, a rolled scroll in his hands.
The silence stretched. Everyone was waiting. Everyone knew someone was missing.
Minutes passed. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Varen did not move, but something in his posture began to change. An almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders. A slight clenching of his jaw.
The others felt it too. The murmuring began to return, now tinged with discomfort and confusion.
"Where is he?"
"He can't be purposely delaying."
"This is a lack of respect."
Varen finally opened his mouth, about to speak, when the doors opened again.
"Announcing the arrival of Lord Thailon Drayvar."
The figure that entered did not walk with haste. Thailon Drayvar moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect he caused. Forty years old, with the physique of a warrior in his prime. Dark, short hair, with a trimmed beard that framed a barely contained smile. He wore light armor, as if he had just come from the training ground, a detail that did not go unnoticed.
"Pardon the inconvenience." His voice resonated through the hall, clear and without a trace of remorse. "There was a small setback."
"These are not hours to arrive." A commander stood up, his face flushed with anger. "How dare you make us wait?"
The commotion spread through the hall. Voices rising, some in support, others in protest.
"Silence!"
Silas's voice cut through the noise like a whip. The advisor had taken a step forward, the scroll now unfurled in his hands. His tone was firm, professional, that of someone accustomed to controlling volatile situations.
"Calm down. We will begin the emergency meeting." He paused, letting silence settle again. "All of you already know why you are here, don't you?"
"The actions of Lord Thailon have brought us to a critical point." Silas walked to the edge of the upper level, looking down at the center of the hall. "Emperor Titus has imposed peace between the Great Houses and the lesser kingdoms. A peace that has maintained balance for decades. This peace, sirs, is the only thing that has prevented the Empire from crumbling into internal wars."
His voice became graver, sharper.
"An unauthorized attack against the Oakhaven Coastal Advanced Fortress is not just a violation of internal protocol. It is a declaration. It is an act that, if it reaches the Emperor's ears, could be interpreted as rebellion. And if Titus decides that we have acted against his will, the other Great Houses will not hesitate to seize the opportunity to destroy us."
He let the words sink in, observing the faces of those present. Some nodded. Others frowned. And Thailon, in the center of it all, simply smiled.
"The consequences are not just political." Silas continued. "They are economic. Our commercial alliances, our agreements with lesser houses, our position on the continent... everything is at risk. All for an impulsive and reckless act."
He paused, turning towards Thailon.
"What does Lord Thailon have to say?"
Thailon did not wait. He moved towards the center of the hall, descending the stairs with measured steps. When he reached the open space, he began to walk in circles, head bowed, as if thinking deeply. Everyone's eyes followed him.
Then he stopped. He turned on his heels. And he raised his head, looking towards the upper levels, towards the faces observing him.
"Since ancient times, the Drayvars have been conquerors." His voice filled the hall, firm and clear. "Warriors. Men of valor. Of courage. Our ancestors did not kneel to anyone. They did not ask permission to take what belonged to them. They did not wait for others to tell them when it was the right time to act."
He began to walk again, hands behind his back.
"What would our ancestors think of us? Reduced? Afraid? Fighting among ourselves while the world looks at us like weak dogs?" He shook his head. "I have taken the Coastal Advanced Fortress, a place that was believed invincible, in a single night."
There were murmurs. Some of admiration. Others of disbelief.
"The Oakhaven thought they were superior. They thought they were equal to us. But that is not so." Thailon raised his voice, passion growing with every word. "I have conquered them. We will take their lands. Our name will grow. We will reclaim what belongs to us. We are descendants of gods!"
The effect was immediate. Some of the commanders stood up, banging their armor with their fists. The younger lords shouted with enthusiasm. Even some of the elders nodded with barely contained approval.
"Drayvar!"
"Drayvar!"
"Drayvar!"
The cry spread through the hall, resonating against the walls, growing in intensity. Thailon remained in the center, arms outstretched, soaking up the adoration.
"SILENCE!"
Varen's voice cut through the noise like thunder.
The Grand Duke had stood up. His face, which had remained controlled throughout the meeting, now showed barely contained rage. He descended the stairs with heavy steps, heading towards the center where Thailon waited.
Everyone fell silent. The change in atmosphere was instantaneous.
Varen began to walk around the center, his eyes fixed on his cousin. When he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous.
"Do you think this is a joke?" Each word came out with glacial control. "Do you know the shit you just did?"
Thailon did not back down. He simply watched him, waiting.
"This is an excuse for the Emperor to destroy us." Varen continued walking, his hands clenched into fists. "He only needs one excuse. One. And the other Houses will take advantage of this. They will tear us apart like wolves on a wounded lamb."
"I was there too, Varen."
Thailon's voice stopped Varen dead in his tracks.
"What?"
Thailon took a step forward, also beginning to walk, creating a circular dance between the two.
"The meeting we had when you went to the capital." His tone was calm, almost conversational. "Don't tell me you don't remember."
Varen watched him, his eyes narrowed.
"What the hell are you trying to say?"
"We talked about many topics at the meeting." Thailon counted on his fingers. "Finances. Trade between Houses. The new emerging powers. The continental tournament." He paused. "But the topic that caught my attention the most was House Greythorn."
The name echoed through the hall like a bell.
"House Greythorn is preparing for its expansion." Thailon continued. "The topic came up with details. Plans. Strategies. Objectives." He stopped, turning towards Varen. "But do you know what Titus did?"
Varen did not answer.
"Nothing." Thailon smiled. "He did nothing. He just listened. And he laughed."
The silence in the hall was absolute.
"Do you know what that means?" Thailon opened his arms, addressing the entire assembly now. "It means the peace is over. That the Emperor is waiting for us to take action. To give him the triumphs. To show that we are still worthy of the name we bear."
"Yes!"
"Exactly!"
"It's true!"
The shouts began again, this time with more fervor. Motivation spread like fire through the hall. Commanders banged their shields. Lords raised their fists. Even some of the executives nodded in approval.
Varen watched it all from the center. He observed the faces full of emotion, of greed, of barely contained ambition. And something in his chest tightened.
'There are things only the heads of family know.'
The thought crossed his mind like a shadow. Histories. Pacts. Promises made in ancient times that still resonated in the present. Things that made this path impossible.
But he couldn't say them. He could never say them.
"NO!"
His voice cut through the noise again. He turned towards Thailon, his face hardened.
"No. The conquest is canceled. You will send your troops back." He pointed towards Silas. "Silas and the others will reorganize the reports to make it look like a minor problem. None of this must reach the Empire. Do you understand me?"
Thailon watched him in silence, the smile still on his face.
But before he could answer, another voice was raised.
"Lord Varen."
Everyone turned towards the source. An elderly man had stood up in the council section. He was old, older than anyone else in the hall, with completely white hair and a face marked by decades of experience. His name was Xytherion, and his tone, though respectful, carried the weight of someone who had seen more years than most of those present combined.
"I have known the Emperor longer than anyone here." His voice was firm, paternal, like a father speaking to his son. "I recognize that this situation sounds confusing and dangerous. But, Lord Varen, this matter is a matter for all."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"That is why there are emergency meetings. Everyone is essential here. Even if you are the head of the family, everyone has their vote."
Varen looked at him, with something close to disbelief growing in his chest.
"What are you trying to say?"
"As you interpret it." Xytherion spread his hands. "Let's decide. Whether to continue or retreat."
"I already decided."
"I vote in favor of continuing."
The voice cut the silence like a knife. A legion commander had stood up, his fist raised.
"I also vote in favor."
"Yes, in favor."
"Continue."
"Drayvar does not kneel."
"In favor."
"Yes."
The votes began to fall like an avalanche. One after another, without pause, without doubt. Commanders, lords, executives, even some of the elders. The voices mixed in a chorus of support that filled the hall with an unstoppable force.
Varen and Silas stood motionless, watching with something close to horror as the assembly slipped from their hands.
"What the hell is going on?" Silas murmured, more to himself than to Varen.
"This was already predicted." Thailon approached his cousin, the smile now completely visible. "See, cousin? The people want blood. They want glory. And you can't stop it."
"Against." A solitary voice was raised from one of the lower levels. An elder lord, his face marked by worry. "I vote against."
"Against." Another followed, an executive who had remained silent throughout the meeting.
"Against."
But there were only three. Perhaps four. Against dozens who shouted the opposite.
The vote was not even close.
Xytherion raised his hand, asking for silence. When he spoke, his voice was firm but calm.
"The decision is made. The conquest continues."
The roar of approval was deafening.
Thailon looked at Varen with an expression of barely contained triumph. He said nothing. He didn't need to.
With that, the meeting ended.
The attendees began to rise, talking amongst themselves with renewed enthusiasm. Commanders discussed strategies. Lords planned alliances. Executives calculated profits. The atmosphere had completely changed, from tension to euphoria.
Varen remained in the center, watching everyone leave. One by one. Group by group. Until only a few were left. And then they, too, left.
Silas approached, his face pale.
"Varen..."
"No." Varen raised his hand, stopping him. "Not now, Silas."
The advisor watched him for a long moment. Then he nodded, understanding.
"I will look for a solution. There are still ways to control this."
"I know."
Silas said goodbye with a brief bow and left the hall, leaving Varen completely alone.
The Grand Duke stood there, in the center of the empty amphitheater, the torches casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. He observed the empty seats. The now silent levels. The space where, just minutes ago, his authority had been shattered in front of everyone.
'When did I lose control?'
The thought had no answer.
Only silence.
And the cold certainty that something irreversible had begun.