The greenhouse's cracked glass panes rattled softly as a cold morning breeze swept through Eldoria Academy's gardens, the faint glow of dawn casting a pale light across the tangled roses where Kael Veyrin stood, the deep blue Veyrin crystal pulsing in his hand. It was 06:40 AM WIB on Tuesday, June 3, 2025, in the world beyond this magical realm, but within Eldoria, the passage of time was marked by the rising stakes of their rebellion. The ledger from the council chamber lay on a rusted table, its pages open to the damning proof of House Vaelthar's crimes: centuries of rituals draining noble bloodlines, the Veyrins among them, to sustain their power. The air in the greenhouse was thick with tension, the scent of damp earth mixing with the lingering heat of Elara's fire magic as the alliance prepared for their next move.
Kael's storm-gray eyes scanned the group, his lean frame tense beneath his tattered gray cloak, the forged Merivale crest glinting faintly in the dim light. His jet-black hair, tied back with a worn leather strip, fell slightly into his eyes, and he brushed it away with a scarred hand, his mind racing. The echo within the crystal whispered of the throne, its voice a constant pressure, but Kael's focus was on the immediate goal: rallying the nobles to turn against the king. Elara stood beside him, her crimson robe dusted with ash, her amber eyes burning with determination as she clutched the ledger, her freckled cheeks flushed from the night's exertion. Rylan, still frail but growing stronger, leaned against a table, his amber eyes mirroring his sister's resolve. Lir, Gav, and Mara completed the circle, their faces set with a mix of exhaustion and defiance.
"We have the proof," Kael said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest from overusing Severance. "The nobles can't ignore this. House Draven, House Lirien—any bloodline that's been drained will want justice. But we need to reach them before the king finds us."
Elara nodded, her hand tightening on the ledger. "My family will listen," she said. "House Draven has always distrusted the Vaelthars. But we'll need more than words. The nobles are cautious—they'll want to see the Scepter destroyed, proof the ritual can't be restarted."
Rylan shifted, his voice hoarse but firm. "There's a neutral ground—the Hall of Concord, where noble houses meet for disputes. It's warded against royal interference, a relic of older laws. We can summon them there."
Gav grunted, his massive frame looming as he crossed his arms. "And if they don't believe us? Or worse, if they turn us over to the king?"
Mara smirked, her scarred face lighting up with a dangerous glint. "Then we fight our way out. We've got Kael's magic, Elara's fire, and my blades. They won't expect us to be ready."
Lir, flipping through his spellbook, added, "I can craft a truth spell—something to amplify the ledger's authenticity. It'll make it harder for them to deny the evidence."
The plan coalesced quickly. Kael and Elara would lead the delegation to the Hall of Concord, with Rylan as their witness, while Gav, Mara, and Lir prepared a fallback—wards and traps around the hall to slow any royal ambush. Kael spent the morning training with the crystal, the echo guiding him to refine Severance's precision, unraveling Lir's test spells with a flick of his hand. The effort drained him, a dull ache spreading through his chest, but the echo's clarity kept him focused.
As noon approached, they moved. The Hall of Concord stood on the academy's outskirts, a domed structure of white marble veined with silver, its wards shimmering faintly in the sunlight. The alliance slipped inside, the air cool and heavy with the scent of old magic, the hall's walls lined with banners of every noble house—crimson for Draven, sapphire for Lirien, and dozens more. Kael stood at the center, the ledger in his hands, Elara and Rylan flanking him as they sent enchanted summons to the noble houses, the parchment glowing with Lir's truth spell.
The nobles arrived one by one, their silks and crests a stark contrast to Kael's tattered cloak. Lady Seris of House Lirien entered first, her ice-blue eyes narrowing as she recognized Kael from their duel, her sapphire robe swirling around her. Lord Draven followed, a broad man with Elara's amber eyes, his crimson cuffs glowing with restrained fire. More came—House Merivale (a real noble, not Kael's forgery), House Thalor, House Veyn—until the hall buzzed with murmured suspicion.
Kael stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of years of survival. "House Vaelthar has betrayed us all," he began, holding up the ledger. "For centuries, they've drained your bloodlines to fuel their power. The Veyrins were the first to fall, but you've all felt the cost—your magic weakening, your heirs failing. This ledger proves it, sealed with a truth spell. The ritual is broken, the Scepter destroyed, but the king will try again unless we stop him."
Lir activated the truth spell, the ledger glowing a soft silver, its authenticity undeniable. The nobles murmured, their expressions shifting from skepticism to outrage. Lord Draven's fists clenched, flames flickering at his fingertips. "My son—Rylan—was taken for this?" he growled, stepping forward to embrace his children.
Seris's voice was cold but sharp. "If this is true, the Vaelthars have violated every pact. But why should we trust a lowborn with a forged crest?"
Kael met her gaze, the crystal pulsing in his hand. "Because I'm the last Veyrin, and my magic broke their ritual. I'm not here for power—I'm here for justice. Join us, or the king will drain you next."
The hall fell silent, the tension palpable. Then, Lord Thalor, a wiry man with emerald robes, spoke. "I've felt my magic fade for years. If this is true, I'm with you."
One by one, the nobles pledged support—Draven, Thalor, Veyn—though some, like House Merivale, hesitated, their loyalty to the crown wavering. Seris finally nodded, her ice magic flaring. "House Lirien stands with you. But we need a plan."
The alliance outlined their strategy: a march on the palace, the nobles' combined magic overwhelming the royal guard, while Kael's Severance targeted the king's defenses. The nobles agreed, their banners rallying under a shared cause, a rebellion born of betrayal.
But as they prepared to move, the hall's wards flared, a golden storm erupting at the entrance. King Vaelthar himself stepped through, his golden eyes blazing, his crown a beacon of stolen power. "You dare defy me?" he roared, his magic a tidal wave of light.
Kael raised the crystal, Severance flaring as he countered the king's spell, the effort nearly breaking him. Elara's fire joined the fray, the nobles' magic clashing with royal guards flooding the hall. The echo roared, urging Kael to strike the king's crown—the ritual's last anchor.
With a desperate lunge, Kael severed the crown's magic, its golden light shattering. The king faltered, his power draining, but guards surged, forcing the alliance to retreat. The rebellion had begun, but the war was far from won.