The stone corridor outside the war chamber was dim, lit only by streaks of sunlight that filtered through the narrow windows. Calen stood silently, arms crossed, his thumb tapping unconsciously on the hilt of his father’s sword. The distant sound of boots echoed from behind the chamber doors—General Ironheart was still in council.He waited.Moments later, the doors creaked open.Evan Drake stepped out, his expression thunderous. His sharp jaw clenched as his gaze locked onto Calen, holding for just a breath—enough for something unspoken to pass between them. Disdain. Jealousy. Maybe both. Then Evan turned away with a scoff, brushing past without a word. His shoulder grazed Calen’s with more force than necessary.Calen didn’t flinch. The rumors about Lila Drake had been spreading like wildfire: the noblewoman who’d seduced a war hero only to be discarded. Lila hadn’t been seen in public for days. It no longer concerned him.He was here for something far greater than gossip.A palace g

Calen could not shake the feeling that Ironheart was hiding something. The dismissive way the general had brushed off his concerns only fueled his suspicion. Determined to uncover the truth, Calen decided to visit a place he had not set foot in for years—the old military library, specifically his father’s study within it.The library was part of the eastern wing of the palace, a place few bothered to visit since Aldric Storm’s passing. Calen remembered the countless evenings spent there as a child, listening to his father’s tales of valor while surrounded by maps, books, and battle records. After Aldric’s death, the small, private study had been locked and left untouched as a sign of respect—a room preserved in honor of the great commander who had once shaped Aerondale’s military strategy.The corridor was dimly lit, the air carrying a faint scent of dust and old parchment. Calen hesitated at the heavy wooden door, its iron lock gleaming dully. He fished the old key out from a small l

Calen carefully pulled a rolled-up map from the shelf, its edges frayed and yellowed with age. Dust clung to the parchment, and he gently blew it off before unfurling the map across the desk. The paper crackled as it stretched, revealing the old, intricate lines depicting the known world. He weighed down the corners with old brass candle holders, squinting at the faded ink.The map depicted the central kingdoms: Aerondale, Vynoria, Eryndall, and the vast, uncertain lands to the far east—once believed to be Drakhtarion. Calen traced a finger along the familiar borders of Aerondale, its capital, Ardenfell, marked with a proud sigil. To the west lay Vynoria, a land steeped in mystery and spirituality, known for its sacred lineage of women believed to possess divine ancestry.Further north, the towering mountains marked the boundary of Eryndall, its capital Falwyn drawn as a cluster of spires atop a rugged peak. Eryndall was a kingdom of scholars and mages, blending

Evan leaned back in his chair, the tension from his earlier outburst still coiling in his chest. He was trying to regain his composure when a faint, rhythmic knock echoed through the door. His eyes narrowed, and he straightened, signaling the guard outside to open it.A figure slipped inside—dressed entirely in black, from the worn leather boots to the long, dark cloak that pooled at his feet. A hood shadowed his face, and a black scarf covered the lower half. He moved soundlessly, like a whisper of darkness itself.Evan’s gaze sharpened. “Close the door,” he commanded.The guard complied, and the room fell silent once more. The figure approached, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment. Evan gestured for him to speak.“It’s done?” Evan asked, his tone low and expectant.The figure nodded, his voice muffled and raspy. “I have news, my lord.”Evan leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “Go on.”The figure glanced around the room, making sure they were truly alone. Then he spoke, his word

The grand hall of Aerondale Palace was transformed into a vision of opulence. Golden candelabras lined the aisle, their flickering flames dancing across polished marble floors. Flower arrangements of rare blue roses and white lilies adorned every corner, their fragrance mixing with the crisp evening air drifting through the open windows. The vaulted ceiling loomed high above, its intricate carvings gilded and shimmering in the candlelight.Nobles from both Aerondale and Vynoria filled the hall, their whispers a soft, curious hum. Everyone had gathered to witness the union that would mark a new era of prosperity—or domination, depending on whom one asked. The tension was palpable, woven into the smiles and murmurs of anticipation. Musicians played a solemn yet hopeful melody, their instruments harmonizing in a way that seemed to echo the mixed sentiments of the gathered crowd.At the far end of the hall, King Theron Ashford stood tall and imposing, his dark ceremonial armor polished to