The voyage to the Scarlet Kingdom involved a transition from the domain of deities and creatures into a land of silk and mistrust. The atmosphere. Warmed, filled with the aroma of hay meadows blooming linden trees and the faint smoky aroma of smithies. The mountains stood as a backdrop a scenic veil, behind the central scene of human events.
Alexander stuck to quieter paths his visage now concealed beneath a brimmed hat he had obtained through work. He was a wayfarer, a roving worker, nothing beyond that. Still his gaze overlooked no detail. He noticed the frequent patrols of Scarlet lancers clad in gleaming armor and red surcoats their expressions strained beneath feathered helmets. He moved past merchant caravans whose wagons carried not spices and fabrics but also boxes of freshly made spear tips and stacks of pale ashwood fit, for crafting longbows. The realm was preparing for battle torn between the decree it dreaded and the dark invasion it feared.
He arrived in Silberbrücke, the capital on a bustling market day allowing the flow of people to guide him over the arched bridge that lent its name to the city. This city was a testament to striving—cobbled lanes twisting past timber-framed dwellings, majestic stone guildhalls and, at its core the Schloss Fallon, a palace crafted from white marble and rose-quartz sparkling under the sun its spires reaching toward the towering mountains above.
It stood as a stronghold of elegance founded on dread.
He dedicated two days to observing. In lit pubs close to the armory he caught soldiers murmuring about "exercises, for a phantom conflict" and "angels requiring flesh as payment." In the craft markets he overheard traders murmuring about frozen trade paths, remote mountain hamlets mentioning "grey silence" and missing animals. Beneath the towering cathedral he listened to priests from the sect fiercely disputing with Radiant Host fanatics clad in sunburst tabards; their religious argument was a barely concealed contest, for the kingdom's spirit—and its military assets.
The Scarlet Kingdom represented the reward, the plain that both parties required to dominate for the ultimate showdown.
On the day he took action. He shed the worker's garments. In a bathhouse he washed away the dirt of travel from his body and hair. He possessed neither armor nor white garments. Instead he bought finely tailored clothes, in charcoal grey and dove-white from a frightened tailor who didn't inquire when handed a single perfect abyssal obsidian chip that Giovani had once provided him "out of curiosity." He appeared as a learned man or perhaps a stern counselor to a noble. He seemed… commonplace. It was the camouflage.
He came to the palace not as a petitioner. As someone with a scheduled meeting. The sentries at the entrance noting his composed manner and respectable attire guided him to the Chamberlain's office, in the west wing.
The Chamberlain, an individual buried in documents and formalities scrutinized him from head, to toe. "You lack any letters of introduction. No declared purpose."
"My matter is with Queen Greta " Alexander stated, his tone calm and firm. "It involves the Radiant Host, the quiet, in the mountains and the kind of war she is being summoned to fight. Inform her that the man who refused the Weisshorn has arrived."
The Chamberlain's eyes widened in surprise. Evidently the gossip had made its way, to this desk piled high with documents. He hurried off.
Alexander was kept waiting in a waiting room, for two hours. He used the time observing courtiers passing by their silks whispering, their talks a murmur of politics and rumors. This was the environment he needed to shake up.
At last another figure appeared. A woman, tall and imposing her silver hair twisted into a braid her sharp blue eyes observing everything. She donned not a dress. A fitted dark blue jacket atop a white silk blouse, a jeweled pendant at her neck the sole nod, to ornamentation. General Nicolette Louisa.
"You " she stated, her tone sharp, slicing through the murmur of the antechamber. "The individual known as the Apostate Messenger. Follow me. Her Majesty wishes to meet you. However you must be unarmed."
He possessed no arms to offer. He opened his palms. She examined him with detached hands her eyes tightening upon sensing the river stone in its pouch. She ignored it.
She guided him along marble hallways beyond murals depicting countryside scenes and heroic battles reaching the palace's core. The entrance, to the throne chamber was enormous adorned with the Scarlet Kingdom's emblem—an eagle holding a sword and a bundle of wheat.
They flung wide.
The throne room was a display of deliberate grandeur. Rays of sunlight poured through stained-glass panes casting jeweled splashes across the white marble flooring. Courtiers stood along the walls draped in a spectrum of fabrics. On a raised platform, at the end perched upon a throne of ivory and gold sat Queen Greta Fallon.
She appeared younger than he had anticipated her allure striking and perceptive of gentle. Her blonde locks tumbled in waves and her off-the-shoulder dress was a stunning creation of white satin and golden embroidery that appeared to seize the room's very light. The splendid ruby necklace adorning her neck was a symbol of authority, than mere decoration. Her eyes, a analytical grey observed his approach without any hint of fear or greeting but with the concentrated attention of a chess player considering a fresh unfamiliar piece.
On her right was a gentleman clad in elegant subdued garments—Oliver Lancelot, the Royal Advisor, his expression one of cautious worry. On her left was Nicolette, positioned firmly her hand placed on the hilt of her dress sword.
Alexander halted at the designated spot. Offered a subtle courteous nod, rather, than the profound reverence of a subordinate.
"You profess a designation " Queen Greta declared, her tone bright and harmonious echoing through the quiet chamber. "Apostate. Messenger. What right do you have to approach us unaccompanied, unarmed discoursing on battles and quietude?"
"My name is Alexander Magnus " he announced, his tone audible, without raising it. "I served as the Messenger of the War Angel. My mission was to collect the Trinity of Atonement to close the Abyss."
A wave of surprise and quiet dread swept across the court. Oliver bent forward to murmur, to the Queen. She raised a slim ring-adorned hand quieting him.
"What?" she asked.
"I discovered the relic. The Penitent's Blade. I confronted the second the Chalice of Echoes. I stood in front of the third the Blue Ring of Stillness, atop the Weisshorn peak." He stopped, allowing the reverence of those titles to sink in. ". I abandoned them all."
The silence now was absolute, profound.
"Why?" The word was a knife from General Nicolette.
Alexander fixed his gaze on the Queen disregarding the court the advisor and the general. Addressing her he said, "Because the Trinity does not represent salvation. It is a decision, between two outcomes. The Ring would bring about a quiet tranquility. A realm halted,. Lifeless. The Angel's triumph means the conclusion of all narratives." He advanced a step. The guards stiffened, yet Greta signaled them to stand down. "The Abyss presents the side of that coin. Not quietness,. A calm mournful acknowledgment of perpetual imperfection. A breaking of determination. Both parties aim to conclude the battle by destroying the source: ourselves. Our clamor, our fight, our flawed, breathing hearts."
He took the river stone out of its pouch lifting it into a beam of sunlight. It was merely a grey pebble. "This is all I brought back from the mountains. A fragment of the world, in its form. Imperfect. Living."
Queen Greta's gaze remained fixed on the stone. "The Radiant Host declares you a betrayer of heaven. That you have condemned us."
"The Radiant Host is assembling an army to wage a war that determines the kind of ending we face not the fact that there will be one " Alexander declared, his tone growing intense. "They will command your troops into a conflict where the real armamentsre relics that ponder in epochs and regard mortal lives as mere collateral damage. The Abyss will retaliate similarly. Your realm, your citizens will become the war zone.. Once the dust clears the victor will unleash their ultimate weapon on those left alive."
Oliver Lancelot spoke up. "So you propose another option? One man armed with a stone?"
"I speak the truth " Alexander declared, facing the whispering court. "The war is not as they describe it. It isn't light, versus darkness. It's two weary forces disputing how to end the story. We do not need to be the page they rip away. We have the choice to decline fighting their battle."
"Reject?" General Nicolette's tone was frosty. "The Abyssal beings aren't a doctrine. They destroy. They taint. I have reviewed the accounts, from the frontiers."
"The Angel's 'cleansing' will incinerate all it judges flawed " Alexander retorted. "That includes your kingdom's autonomy, your past and your fundamental right to decide. This is not salvation being presented to you. It is a selection of annihilations."
He glanced again at Queen Greta, who remained still her expression. "Your Majesty a suitor seeks your hand offering peace yet bearing a coffin while a rival menaces you with a grimmer offer. I come to inform you there exists a path: resistance. Not, through armies that succumb to their strategy. Through rejecting their conditions. Strengthen your borders indeed. However do not dispatch your sons and daughters to perish for a mission that considers them merely fuel. Do not gather under a flag that will be employed to suffocate the planet."
The throne chamber exploded with noise. Yells of "Heretic!" and "Traitor!" blended with calls of "Is it true?". What should we do?"
Queen Greta stood up from her seat.
Silence returned to the room the power, in that gesture undeniable. She made her way down the dais steps her dress rustling softly. Then paused in front of Alexander. Her gaze shifted from his sincere expression to the modest stone clutched in his hand.
"You demand a rebellion that might summon the fury of both heaven and hell against my people " she whispered softly speaking to him.
"I request you select the world that created this stone " he answered, softly. " Than the worlds that would destroy it."
For a moment she gazed into his eyes. She detected no deceit, no desire, for power the tormented certainty of a man who had encountered the brink of all things.
She faced her assembly her voice resonating again. "This individual shall be housed within the palace. He remains under our safeguard. He is not detained,. He must not depart." Her eyes scanned the chamber resting on the supporters of the Radiant Host. "We shall… deliberate, on his account. The council is dismissed."
She. Returned to her throne leaving Alexander enveloped in stunned quiet watched over by Nicolette's cautious eyes and grasping for the first instance, the delicate daunting focus of a human monarch.
He had not offered an army. He had not offered a relic. He had offered a question. And in the gilded heart of the Scarlet Kingdom, the question had been heard.