The throne hall of the Sovereign Kingdom was built for intimidation. Marble floors reflected the cold blue fire of towering braziers, their smoke curling up to vanish into a ceiling carved with scenes of conquest. Every ruler of the line had left their mark here—a mural of dominance.
But tonight, dominance was absent. Tonight, fear crept in.
The Sovereign sat upon the obsidian throne, their armor black as voidstone, crown sharp as razors. Their crimson eyes—mocking Kael's own—burned with restrained fury. Before them knelt generals, ministers, and seers, all whispering like a nest of crows.
The chamber trembled when the Sovereign's voice cut through the air.
"Rivenhart lives."
A hush fell.
The name had been forbidden in these halls for years, erased from songs and history alike. Yet now, it was on the Sovereign's tongue, poisonous as venom.
"He has slain one of my chosen generals. His flame spreads across the borderlands, and men flock to him as if he were already crowned."
One minister dared to speak. "Majesty, he is but a pretender, a cursed boy. His power is… unstable. It will burn him before it burns us."
The Sovereign rose from the throne in one fluid motion, descending the steps with a predator's grace. With a flick of their hand, black lightning snapped across the chamber. The minister convulsed, shrieked, then fell silent, smoke rising from his lifeless form.
"Does that seem unstable to you?" the Sovereign snarled, their voice echoing with unnatural resonance. "You underestimate him, and in doing so, you endanger us all."
From the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in red silk, face veiled. Their voice was smooth, serpentine.
"He bears the Mark, Majesty. The Crimson Brand that has not been seen since the First Sovereign. Prophecy speaks of his kind—"
"Silence!" The Sovereign's fury shook the chamber. "Prophecy bends to my will. Not the other way around."
But their hand tightened on the hilt of their blade, a weapon forged from fragments of the Veil itself. Rage and unease warred in their eyes.
Another general bowed low. "Then, Majesty… how shall we answer him?"
The Sovereign turned back toward the throne, cloak sweeping behind them like a shadow of night itself. They sat once more, voice colder than death.
"Summon the Black Host. Recall every Veil-forged knight from exile. If Rivenhart wants a storm, we shall bring him a tempest that will drown the world."
Murmurs of awe and dread spread through the court.
Far above the hall, unseen by all, cracks spidered faintly across the mural ceiling. As if the very stones themselves shuddered at the path being carved.
The Sovereign's whisper carried through the silence:
"Kael Rivenhart will not take what is mine. He will die screaming."