The next morning, Eiden woke leaning against the cottage's stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted in a light, wary slumber. The early light washed over him in a soft, golden tide, catching the dust on his traveling cloak and the silver-white glow of his hair.
When his eyes opened, he was met by a wall of gazes.
The townsfolk were gathered along the dirt road, a living tapestry of conflicting emotions. Some wore masks of raw hatred, others the wide-eyed stare of paralyzing fear. But there were many who looked on with a strange, burgeoning curiosity—the kind that blooms when a monster performs a miracle.
Eiden pushed himself up, the dry earth crunching beneath his boots as he dusted off his clothes. The cottage door creaked on its hinges, and Prinston stepped out into the morning.
The old man looked rejuvenated, his newly restored brown eyes gleaming with a vitality that hadn't been there the day before. He adjusted his simple brown robe, cinched with a length of weathered rope, and smoothed his thick, curled beard.
"Ah, good, the guest is awake," Prinston chirped, his voice vibrating with a new strength. "Follow me. There is a council you must meet."
Despite his stature, the old man walked with a brisk, purposeful speed. Eiden trailed behind him.
As they moved through the town, they passed through a maze of stone and timber shops where moss-covered thatch roofs puffed thin ribbons of smoke into the sky. Merchants froze mid-shout, and children ducked behind barrels as Eiden passed. The people parted like a dark sea before a white stone, their whispers following him like a cold draft. But Prinston led the way with his head held high, waving at neighbors who stood paralyzed at the sight of their blind friend suddenly navigating the streets with perfect clarity.
They turned onto a side street dominated by a massive structure of dark stone and reinforced timber. Two black banners hung over the entrance, emblazoned with a silver rising sun.
Prinston pushed open the heavy doors.
Inside the Hall, the air was cool and smelled of old parchment and lamp oil. In the center of the wide room stood a long table cluttered with sprawling maps, intricate scrolls, and heavy ink pots. Six men stood around it, their presence heavy with the weight of authority.
Closest to the maps was a mage in a deep blue robe, tall and spindly, with pale skin and long black hair tied in a warrior's ponytail. Swirling silver runes pulsed faintly on his sleeves, and his sharp violet eyes glowed with an internal mana. An oak staff rested against his shoulder. This was Pokilo Caustra.
Beside him stood five men in red and silver, their polished armor peeking out from beneath their robes.
Prinston cleared his throat, his voice echoing. "Gentlemen. I'd like to introduce Eiden."
The men turned as one. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a square, muscular jaw and thick eyebrows, stepped forward. His armor fit him like a second skin.
"We know exactly who he is," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "We've heard the tales. But we won't be drawing steel today—not after Mayble spent the morning running through the streets like a madwoman, telling anyone who'd listen how he saved Prinston. You have our respect… for the moment."
Prinston nodded. "Good. Eiden, meet the keepers of this land." He gestured to each in turn.
"Tenadey Nipolla," a lean warrior with long grey hair and piercing green eyes. His presence was that of a man who controlled a battlefield with a whisper.
"Zanme Zanders," shorter but built like a siege tower, with a black beard braided with silver rings and dark, steady eyes that had seen a thousand deaths.
"Bevollo Tcil," a slender man with sandy hair and a thin mustache, his fingers weighted down by rings. His blue eyes were restless, constantly scanning for a hidden edge.
"Dartolio Daryon," a titan of a man with dark bronze skin and a scarred cheek. He was massive enough to bend iron, yet his expression carried an unexpected gentleness.
"And Hamphane Vareon," a middle-aged strategist with red hair braided down his back and wise, observant grey eyes.
"And if you didn't catch my full title," Prinston added with a proud puff of his chest, "it is Prinston Golden Throne. My father was of high blood."
Eiden inclined his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."
"Pleasantries aside," Tenadey interrupted, pointing a gloved finger at the map. "Let's talk business."
Prinston stepped to the table. "Eiden, we intend to forge our own kingdoms to stabilize these lands. You and your Devils have pulled the pillars down; the balance is gone. Towns are starving, the roads are infested, and there are no kings left to protect the weak."
He looked up at Eiden, his gaze searching. "I think you're different from the others. I think you might help us build something."
Eiden hesitated, his eyes tracking the borders on the map. "I could. But… strictly speaking, do you believe any of you will live long enough to see a kingdom rise from these ashes?"
Prinston stroked his beard. "You're right. Which is why I've had my scouts hunting for a grimoire of immortality. I need to be the anchor for the Golden Throne Kingdom—I have no heirs to take my place. I need the gift of time."
Eiden stepped closer to the flickering light of the lanterns. "I know a ritual. It is successful. It grants not just unending life and youth, but a natural, formidable strength. If you truly wish for it."
The room went deathly silent. Pokilo's violet eyes flared. "You can perform such a thing?"
"I can," Eiden said. "But the cost is material. It requires the Validu herb and a Tentor crystal."
Prinston's face fell. "Those are myths. Rarest substances in the world. How could we possibly find them in time?"
Eiden raised his hand, a soft blue glow gathering at the tip of his finger. He tapped the map.
Pulsing blue and purple dots blossomed across the parchment, glowing like tiny stars against the ink. "There," Eiden said. "Those are the locations of the materials. I only need one of each."
Tenadey didn't wait. He bolted for the doors, his voice booming into the street. "All scouts, to the hall! Now!"
Moments later, a swarm of men and women filled the room. Tenadey turned to Eiden. "Can you duplicate objects?"
"Items, yes. Living things, no."
"Good enough. Duplicate this map."
Eiden tapped the parchment twice, and two perfect, glowing replicas materialized beside the original. Tenadey snatched them up and thrust them into the hands of his lead scouts.
"Twenty of you on the blue, twenty on the purple!" he shouted. "Gather your steel. You'll be fighting the wilds and the gods know what else. Find the nearest locations and do not return without them. Move!"
The hall erupted in a chaos of clattering metal and racing feet. As the scouts vanished into the morning, Tenadey turned back to Eiden, his expression hard but his eyes reflecting a begrudging gratitude.
"Eiden… I may despise your history. I may hate the blood that clings to your name. But for this… I thank you. If Prinston drinks that potion, our dream becomes a reality." He paused, his voice dropping an octave. "But what of the other Devils? How will they react to you building a throne?"
Eiden crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the glowing map. "Two of the others and I have a plan to end the Six. But it is a slow game. I can help you succeed, but when the final move is made… I may need your armies to help me break Civilar."
The men leaned in, the air in the hall growing cold and expectant. "Tell us then," Hamphane whispered. "What is it you need from us?"