Antares watched the heavy silence settle over the Grand Hall, sensing the raw expectation of the assembled leaders. He had made his statement, established his new pillars, and now he moved to shatter tradition.
He descended the Ancestral Throne—a deliberate, slow movement that drew every eye. He wore no heavy crown, only the simple, crimson high-collared tunic favored by the previous King, cinched with a black military belt and his Helios' grip now transformed into a golden bracelet on his left wrist. This intentional simplicity starkly contrasted with the ornate, looming seat he had just vacated.
"The Grand Hall serves well for ceremony, but poorly for consultation," Antares announced, his voice carrying the authority of his lineage, not the acoustics of the room. "We are not here to observe tradition; we are here to talk about the state of the tribe and how we can improve it's current state."
The Antmen watched him go with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. He speaks to us, not at us, the thought seemed to ripple through the chamber. He leaves the power seat. The shift was unsettling, making his next actions unpredictable. The family leaders and commanders like Yanrid shifted, trying to gauge this new King's true nature.
Antares led the assembly out of the Hall. The corridor they entered was less grand but infinitely richer: the Gallery of Kings. The walls were lined with luminous, carved portraits detailing the history of the Antis lineage, each King staring forward with stoic, stone eyes. They chronicled every era—from the first King to settle the Deep Caverns to the last, Antares's father, Alexis.
As Antares, the living King, walked among the carved dead, the symbolism was potent: he was measured against his ancestors. The officials hurried to keep pace, their focus now split between respecting the carved history and observing the young man who now held their fate.
They eventually reached a recessed chamber designed for intimate counsel. The room featured a massive, polished Darkwood Table at its center.
Antares took the seat at the head of the table.
Eli and Levi, his two loyal bodyguards, took up silent positions, standing sentinel behind his chair.
The four Main Clan leaders followed, taking their assigned seats:
Commander Yajin Ashfang and Lord Kael Tharvok sat to Antares's right. Lady Sira Serthyn and Lord Velas Arcanis sat to Antares's left.
The family leaders and military commanders, including Yanrid, found places further down the expansive table. The setup reinforced the hierarchy: the Four Pillars were closest to the King, ready for consultation.
Once the rustling of robes had ceased and the room achieved a tense silence, Antares's gaze swept across the table. He did not ask for the sweeping failures of the kingdom; he started small and immediate.
"The first matter is the last foraging campaign, recently concluded. Given the extended winter, I want to understand our current yield efficiency and the true scale of the dangers we faced," Antares said, resting his hand flat on the cool Darkwood.
Silence followed. Everyone expected a Clan Chief to speak.
Finally, the immense frame of Yajin Ashfang stirred. He rose slowly, no longer clad in his imposing battle armor, but in heavy, undecorated black garments—a subtle display of humility, though the sheer mass of muscle underneath was undeniable. Antares scanned him, noting the shift in attire.
"Your Majesty," Yajin rumbled, his voice deep but respectful. "That operation was not led by a Clan Chief. I recommend that Yanrid, my son, provide the accounting. He commanded the four-month campaign."
Antares nodded, eyes still on Yajin. "Agreed. Let the commander who faced the danger speak."
Yajin took his seat. Yanrid, further down the table, straightened, preparing to rise.
[System Panel: Initiate Scrutiny Protocol - Target: Yanrid Ashfang]
[Name: Yanrid Ashfang]
[Clan: Ashfang]
[Age: 20 Standard Cycles]
[Rank :Rank 3 Aura Practitioner, Senior Knight Rank]
[Abilities:Exceptional tactical mind, unparalleled speed, fully developed Insectoid Wings (achieved at five standard cycles ), Ice Affinity.]
[Current View: Distrusted by Ashfang mainline; seen as a prodigy who lacks political standing.]
Antares watched Yanrid move—a figure of imposing, powerful build—and a familiar memory surfaced—a briefing Ian had delivered hours after Antares conqueror the first levels of the ant King's tower.
Ian's voice echoed in Antares's mind: "Yanrid Ashfang is the open secret of the court, Your Majesty. Bastard son of the Patriarch. He is a phenomenal talent—his development of insectoid wings at five standard cycles is unheard of, easily putting him among the top prodigies the tribe has ever produced. Unfortunately, the Ashfang court does not forgive illegitimacy, hence the mistreatment from his legitimate siblings. Even his looks are different from those of the Ashfang clan, but his prowess is undeniably his legacy."
The King allowed the thought to settle. This young commander was a source of both immense potential and deep political friction.
Antares focused his attention back on the present. "Commander Yanrid, your report."
Yanrid began to speak, his voice clear and sharp, cutting through the heavy air of the chamber.
"The foraging campaign lasted four months, covering the extended winter period. We rotated our forces monthly, and the yield was successful in terms of volume. We secured massive quantities of dried beast meat, furs, medicinal herbs, timber, pelts, and other vital resources necessary to see the tribe through the lean season."
Yanrid paused, the shift in his tone signaling the difficult truth. "However, the cost was devastating. The total loss of Antmen over the four months was one thousand lives."
A collective, sharp intake of breath filled the room. A thousand lives, a catastrophic loss. Antares kept his expression carefully neutral, but the number struck him with the force of a physical blow. A thousand men represented nearly a quarter of their viable surface forces. The tribe was bleeding, and the previous council had clearly failed to check the flow. This wasn't just a military loss; it was a resource drain. Every seat at the table felt the pressure of that number.
"The majority of these losses were due to the demon wolf packs and other beasts," Yanrid continued, his voice now granite-hard. "Their aggression and organization have increased exponentially. They show no fear of fire or large formation, striking deep and quickly. The threat level on the surface is not increasing; it has fundamentally changed. They hunt with strategy now, not instinct only."
A cold, heavy silence filled the meeting room. The magnitude of the number settled like a shroud over the gathered leaders.
The silence was finally broken by a nervous cough and the scraping of a chair.
Lord Kael, the newly elevated Tharvok patriarch, leaned forward, his bronze face white with dread.
"My King, Commander Yanrid," Kael began, his voice tight, betraying the fear gripping him. "My three sons,Tarin, Vorn, and Jek, they took part in the foraging campaign on the surface. They… they were stationed near the northern extraction point during the third rotation, weren't they? I specifically assigned them to the supply chain, ensuring they remained clear of the vanguard." Kael's eyes pleaded across the table, seeking any assurance. "They returned safely, I trust?"
Yanrid met the gaze of the Tharvok patriarch, his expression unreadable, hardened by the months of command and loss. He did not immediately speak.
A heavier, grim silence filled the room again.