"It's a huge city! I've never seen so many carts, people, and buildings packed in one place!" Stella looked through the carriage window with sparkling eyes. For someone raised in a small rural town, the capital was a world apart from everything else.
"It's my second time here, and this place is just as incredible as I remember," Arthur said beside her, smiling at his childhood friend's excitement. "The food is great too, though some dishes are completely different from what you'd expect."
"Sightseeing can wait until tomorrow. Today, we proceed directly to the council chamber," Cedric instructed, his usual politeness giving way to a tense line of directives. "Nearly every key official is present. Ironwatch sent their supreme commander, which tells me they intend to control the narrative regarding Valenridge before we even present our findings. Aldermoor remains suspiciously silent. We cannot afford to be late or let them set the terms."
As the carriage rolled past refined crowds and trading stalls, Arthur's gaze caught the abnormally high density of armored soldiers patrolling the streets. Things were clearly not normal.
Stepping out of the carriage, Arthur felt the immediate bite of tension in the courtyard. While Cedric spoke to the coachman about their evening arrangements, Arthur scanned the grand staircase. At the top, beside the council's heavy doors, a massive demi-human with simian features and gilded armor was talking to a well-dressed, dark-skinned woman with a diplomatic posture.
"The one in armor is Ironwatch's Supreme Commander, Silas Grimwood," Cedric murmured, brushing past Arthur and Stella as he began climbing the steps. "Beside him is Aethergard's Head Treasurer, Lady Vivienne Ashford. Maintain propriety, but avoid catching their eye."
I doubt we can avoid their notice, Arthur thought, following his uncle. Today I am being presented before the Council as the heir of Thornharrow. After all the noble petitions we rejected these past weeks, someone is bound to take a jab at us. Beside him, Stella tensed, taking in their grim expressions and mentally preparing herself to avoid any misstep.
"Arthur, Stella, you two will sit in the third row behind me—Arthur on the right, Stella on the left," Cedric instructed the two after some light talk and compliments. "Keep your voices down. The acoustics here carry sound eerily well from the center outward."
They moved into the circular chamber and took their seats. Supreme Commander Silas Grimwood occupied the front row. Beside him sat Aethergard's Army Commander—an aging, corpulent man in a formal military dress uniform whose protruding belly drew more attention than the vast array of medals pinned to his chest.
Arthur kept his arms crossed behind his back, relying on the rigid posture Cedric had drilled into him. He forced his breathing into a slow, measured rhythm, keeping his eyes fixed ahead to let his silence act as a shield against the room's tension.
In the second row, directly in front of Stella, sat a noblewoman with soft feline features—Lady Chloe Sylvan. Turning slightly, she looked at the two youths with an amused glint in her eyes.
"I see young Arthur is back," Lady Chloe purred, her voice carrying smoothly. "And who is this cute lady, Lord Cedric? Don't tell me you've taken a concubine to displace poor Arthur..."
Stella's face flushed crimson as she blurted out before she could stop herself, "No way! Lord Cedric only helped me reunite with Arthur—I’ll never be a concubine!"
The sudden outburst echoed across the curved walls, drawing the eyes of half the chamber toward them. Lady Chloe offered a sharp, provocative smirk and turned back toward the center.
"Calm down, Stella. Just breathe," Arthur whispered, gently pressing her hand to steady her. "Give it a moment and they'll move on."
The chamber was nearly filled when silence rippled from the back doors. Arthur glanced back to see an elderly woman with silver gray hair and a solemn gaze. The crowd lowered their voices as Her Majesty Queen Margaret Aethergard took her seat. Beside her, a poised, middle-aged woman—whom Arthur only now noticed, overshadowed by the Queen's overwhelming presence—walked to the center of the floor and clapped once, commanding total silence.
"I thank you all for assembling today. Once again, I speak on behalf of Her Majesty Queen Margaret," Princess Eleanor announced, her voice echoing clearly off the stone walls. Her sharp eyes scanned the circular rows, lingering on those who had missed yesterday's preliminary session. "We open today's session with Supreme Commander Silas's findings regarding the investigation into Valenridge."
The monkey-folk rose with all the pomp a high-ranking military officer could muster, stepping into the ring beside the princess.
"Indeed," Silas said, his voice carrying across the chamber. "The intelligence is beyond dispute. Three Talamor host cities are mobilizing in full force. They reduced Valenridge to cinder—an insult to Aethergar no? Delay is simply an invitation to our own execution ."
He presented a parchment to the room before handing it to Princess Eleanor.
"The numbers are not exact, given the ferocity of their retaliation. Our soldiers have strict orders to keep their distance and avoid confrontation, but it is only a matter of time. Talamor razed Valenridge—a city of Aethergard—to ash, and now three of their own cities prepare for offensive action. We must make haste and prepare ourselves."
Princess Eleanor skimmed the report and passed the parchment to a lord in the first line.
Some people get war news before the ink even dries. Arthur mused as chatter broke out across the chamber once more.
* § *
"Silence!" Eleanor clapped once more. "High General Donald Prescott, what is your assessment of Sir Silas's war proposition?"
The old officer stepped into the ring with a stiff bow. "As Commander of Aethergard's forces, I concur. We cannot risk another city burning." and after this he sat again.
Eleanor frowned slightly. "Is that not a hasty judgment, General? Could Talamor's movements signify something other than an offensive?"
General Donald's face didn't change, and he didn't respond either; it looked like he had already said everything he had to say.
Cedric raised his hand, and Eleanor granted him the floor.
"Indeed, House Sterling aligns with Her Highness," Cedric stated. "Aethergard's domestic reserves are taxed to their absolute threshold. Compelling an offensive under these conditions is fiscal and military folly."
"Pardon my intrusion," interrupted Lord Roderick Pemberton, stepping forward. "Thornharrow turned away dozens of wealthy lords who offered coin and manpower. You discarded those resources, Lord Cedric, and now you preach hardship to this Council?"
"We simply lacked the leeway to support more nobles," Cedric replied, his voice firm over the rising murmurs. "The land is stretched thin already."
"My soldiers died because Aethergard cities ignored Valenridge's pleas for help," Silas said, stepping into the center ring. "Official dispatches prove help was requested for a number of cities and denied almost always."
Cedric stared at him as the pieces fell into place. Breaking eye contact, Silas addressed the room. "Now, with war on the horizon, every domain must supply troop quotas to hold the borders."
* § *
Arthur and Stella sat heavily on the sofa in the corner of their inn room. The day had been one surprise after another. In the end, the Council adjourned after Lady Vivienne placed strict conditions on the troop sizes and resources Silas was demanding, but war still felt almost inevitable.
"The Threshold Pact... in no time at all, this escalated straight to the heavens," Stella murmured, looking at Arthur as he lay back with his eyes closed.
"Tell me about it. That bastard Silas set a trap for us," Arthur muttered, opening one eye. "There was no way we could ignore a request for help, but Silas masked the truth. Even if the dispatch was delayed and claimed to be about bandits instead of an attack on Talamor, he still holds the upper hand."
Stella poured a cup of water from the pitcher, watching the ripples settle. "Is it really that bad? Maybe I should send word to mom and dad in Silverhaven to keep a low profile—or move to Thornharrow once we're back."
"Maybe that's a good idea. Let's speak with Uncle Cedric after dinner."
"And Arthur..." Stella's face reddened slightly. "I'm sorry for being so loud this morning. Please help me smooth things over with Lord Cedric; I feel like I was rude to him."
Arthur smiled and gently patted her head. "Don't worry. My uncle isn't a petty man, and Lady Chloe was intentionally baiting you. She did something similar in the past."
"Like what?" Stella asked.
Arthur smirked and stood up from the sofa.
"Hey! Why aren't you telling me?"
"It's just a little embarrassing."
"Not more than me screaming 'concubine' in a room full of important people!"
"Yeah, you're right, Yours are even worse..." Arthur muttered, walking toward the door as Stella stood up and followed him.
"You're so cruel, Arthur!"
"Let's go down and grab some water. Dinner should be almost ready, and I didn't even have time to train today..."
"You can practice communion with me after dinner," Stella offered. "The capital has less Numen than back home, so every little bit helps."
"Alright, alright. You won."
Later that evening, after dinner, Arthur sat cross-legged on the grass outside, performing a series of disciplined breathing exercises to steady his pulse, clear his mind, and reconnect his energy with the earth.
* § *
On the third day of the council—though only the second for Arthur—the hall was completely packed, with spectators crowding the upper galleries. As the hours passed, debates grew increasingly heated: some lords demanded tax exemptions for supplying troops, while others begged for garrisons to protect their own domains.
"Arthur, I'm sorry," a visibly exhausted Cedric murmured. "There is simply no room on the agenda for the succession topic right now."
The demands for war contributions were already draining the city's crops, and troop allocations hadn't even been settled.
"Lady Vivienne has presented the figures, and we shall finalize tax adjustments at a later date," Princess Eleanor announced, her voice cutting through the noise. "Sir Silas, please proceed with your statement on soldiers."
Silas stepped into the center ring once more as the galleries fell quiet. "A war is won with numbers, and we hold the clear advantage—three nations against one," he declared.
An aide unrolled a strategic map at his side, visible mainly to the front row. "If we amass sufficient force, we can win with minimal casualties. The enemy will simply surrender."
A lord from the second row raised a hand. "General Silas, Talamor possesses formidable magic. Numbers alone will not save us if we invade their lands."
Whispers of agreement stirred through the gallery and the upper benches. Numen was a terrifying force when weaponized, yet the Pact possessed few practitioners: the vast majority were bound to agricultural labor in the fields, a smaller portion supported municipal needs in the cities—much like Stella—and only a precious few possessed the mastery to wield Numen in active warfare. In Talamor, however, communion was second nature to nearly everyone.
Silas dismissed the concern smoothly. "We believe those capable of weaponizing Numen for war are few even in Talamor. Their martial tradition is weak, and numbers remain our decisive edge."
"Lord Cedric, you have a young woman at your side with Numen training, do you not?" Roderick interjected with a wicked smile. "I hear she does magnificent work in Thornharrow."
"Stella is indeed a fine practitioner," Cedric replied, attempting to turn the momentum to his advantage. "Which is precisely why neither she nor my heir, Arthur, can be spared—both are vital to our city's stability. Arthur is my heir, and I am nearing retirement," Cedric pressed on, biting his lip as fatigue wore him down. "If Arthur or Stella are drafted alongside our troops, Thornharrow will collapse."
"Sir Cedric makes a valid point," another lord chimed in. "A domain cannot surrender its heir and its workforce at once."
"An elegant compromise presents itself." Silas declared, stepping between them. "Why tax Thornharrow's peasantry when we can simply draft its two most exceptional prodigies? An officer and his priest belong in the vanguard."
Roderick laughed openly. "Then let us put the boy to the test! By a stroke of fate, I brought my nephew—a superb soldier looking to make a name for himself in this war. Let them spar to see if your heir truly has what is necessary!"
* § *
"It is settled then: those who offer capable family members first will receive an exemption from their soldier quotas, if approved" Princess Eleanor announced, her voice heavy with fatigue. "Sir Cedric of Thornharrow and Sir Roderick of Ravenspire shall present their family members for a trial of arms as the first petitioners, and Sir Silas will judge who earns the exemption".
In the second row, Cedric and Roderick exchanged fierce looks. Arthur and Stella made their way to prepare for the confrontation in the courtyard, while Silas maintained the placid expression of a man who would win regardless of the outcome.
As the hall cleared, Princess Eleanor stepped close to Cedric and spoke in a hushed tone. "My apologies, Lord Cedric. Ironwatch has pushed us to the wall recently; we have no leverage left to protect Thornharrow."
"Do not worry yourself, Princess Eleanor," Cedric replied, bowing respectfully despite the worry in his eyes. "We have been dealt a bad hand, but I believe in Arthur."
Cedric headed out to the courtyard with the rest of the council. Eleanor returned to her mother, assisting the Queen back to her quarters—a trial of arms was not something Her Majesty needed to endure.
In a side room adjacent to the courtyard, Stella helped affix Arthur's leather armor, a wooden sword already buckled to his belt.
"Win if you can, Arthur, but keep yourself safe," Stella murmured. "I can mend your wounds, but Silas has his eye on us. Every trick you show him is a weapon he'll use later."
"I know, I know. I'll try to hold back and win without making too much of a fuss."
Stella grimaced; Arthur was nowhere near a good loser. He was fiercely competitive on his best days, and a sore loser—an outright try-hard—on his worst.
"Just make sure to do enough—nothing more, okay?"
"Leave it to me," Arthur said with a radiant, confident smile as he stepped through the door.
Stella shuddered for a moment as she watched him leave. This was precisely the kind of Arthur she feared.
Arthur and Tristan stepped onto the improvised courtyard arena, both equipped with matching leather armor and wooden swords. Facing each other under the watchful eyes of the Council, they offered a brief, customary salute from the soldiers of Aethergard.
"Do try to keep your footing for at least a minute, 'My Lord' Sterling." Tristan smirked with disdain. "It would be terribly unseemly for House Sterling's heir to weep on the Council's dirt." and after he took a customary fight posture.
Arthur just smiled back without a word and put his sword by his side in a posture Tristan did not recognize.
Supreme Commander Silas gave the signal and in an instant Tristan lunged forward without hesitation. The swords clashed loudly in rapid succession. Arthur defended and parried the strikes; once in a while he made a counter-attack, but Tristan parried and took some distance before lunging once more.
I really have been slacking on my daily sword training, Arthur thought bitterly. Yet as he observed Tristan's posture and movements, he noted the stiffness of the moves, bound strictly to textbook military forms. I can use it against him.
"Is this the extent of your estate swordplay, 'My Lord'?" Tristan sneered, pressing the offensive and forcing Arthur back two steps as a solid blow hit Arthur's shoulder. "How remarkably pedestrian! Yield now before I ruin that fine tunic." The smile on Tristan's face made the gallery murmur louder.
"Pemberton's nephew got total control over him," someone remarked softly.
"Lord Cedric's heir managed to hold out longer than expected, but it's over now," another agreed.
Beside Lord Cedric, Stella bit her lip, her knuckles turning white as she watched Arthur being pushed back.
Arthur unleashed a flurry of strikes, pushing Tristan back, but the noble countered almost immediately, forcing Arthur back onto the defensive one more time.
"It's over now, 'My Lord' Arthur! This fight is mine!" Tristan settled into a well-known finishing posture, a textbook example of the form.
Arthur's eyes glinted, a fierce smile cutting across his face. "Nah, I've won already."
I'm sorry for the land here, but let this one slide, I’ll infuse just a little of my numen here, please let this be enough for now.
He stepped forward and instantly, a surge of Numen exploded beneath his boot. The moment his sole struck the earth, the share of his Numen and his will permeated the land and a shockwave of energy and gravel rippled outward slamming into Tristan's legs, instantly breaking his stance.
Arthur delivered a swift kick directly to Tristan's knee, sending him crashing to the dirt with a heavy thud. Before the young man could even process it, Arthur drove the point of his wooden sword straight into Tristan's chest, pinning him down.
A moment later, the disturbed earth settled back to normal, returning to a perfectly flat surface and became just a little more barren, but not enough to be noticed." .
"Try harder next time, ‘My Lord’ Tristan" Arthur said, looking down with a victorious smirk as he lowered his sword.
An eerie silence fell over the entire courtyard. Nobles and generals alike stared in shock at the sudden, overwhelming turn of events. Supreme Commander Silas broke his impassive mask as a hungry, predatory smirk spread across his face—the look of a hunter who had just found his prey.
At the edge of the arena, Stella dragged a hand over her face, shaking her head. It was exactly the competitive, over-the-top display she had feared.