"A storm seems to be brewing in the distance," Xhiamas remarked, the sound of distant thunder rumbling as they walked toward the council chamber where Byronard awaited.

  "It seems so," Uriel replied with a slight nod. "Come, we're almost there."

  A few minutes later, they reached their destination. Uriel opened the heavy metal doors, revealing Michael, Khandem the dwarven emissary, and the crown regent, all seated and waiting for their arrival.

  "Ah, good, you're here," Byronard greeted, standing as they entered. "Please, take a seat. We have important matters to discuss." He gestured toward the chairs. "I trust you've found the city to your liking during your stay?"

  Godric spoke first, his voice warm with enthusiasm. "Words cannot express how incredible the Capital is, Sir Byronard. We had high expectations, but those have been shattered completely. From the food to the culture, the scenery—everything has been outstanding."

  Wyatt added with a grin, "The royal guards were especially accommodating. A few of them even sparred with us. We lost, of course—but we learned quite a lot."

  Byronard nodded with a small smile. "Good to hear. I’m glad the city’s offerings have met your expectations. Now, let's move on to why I asked you to come." He rose from his seat and stepped to the center of the room, where sunlight streamed in, casting long shadows on the floor. The others focused on him, all ears.

  "To begin, we’ve received word that Flint has awoken—but he's still in poor condition. Lord Dunwick and I have agreed that he will remain here until he recovers fully. As for Lord Caine’s sentence, the Seven and I will review that matter ourselves," Byronard explained, his voice steady.

  He turned to Cassian and Wyatt. "Cassian, Wyatt. Lord Caine was adamant in accusing you of criminal activity, so I had Uriel investigate your stories. We’ve found that you were wrongfully convicted. By the authority vested in me by the crown, I officially clear you of all allegations. You are free to walk as free men once more. As the crown regent of Primera, I offer my sincerest apologies for the actions of the undisciplined soldiers involved."

  Turning his gaze to Xhiamas, Byronard continued. "And you, Xhiamas—or, if that truly is your name—yours is a strange case. Uriel attempted to trace your records, but found nothing. As expected."

  Xhiamas gave a small, knowing smile. "My companions would laugh at me if my true identity were uncovered so easily."

  But just as Xhiamas finished his sentence, his expression shifted. His gaze became sharp. "I know you're there. There's no need to hide."

  Suddenly, a figure materialized from the shadows cast by Godric’s seat. Godric leapt out of his chair in surprise, followed by the others, except for Xhiamas, Michael, and Byronard. Slowly, a man, as tall as Xhiamas, emerged fully from the darkness. He had a light brown complexion, rough features, and black streaks running across his body. He scanned the room before walking toward Xhiamas, his focus unwavering.

  "Even when shrouded, I'm still unable to surprise you," the man sighed, disappointment in his voice. "I truly admire your skills."

  "It's you," Wyatt muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing in recognition. "You're the stranger we met at Rosetown, and the same one I saw speaking with Xhiamas at Shire's Eye. Who are you?"

  The man looked at Wyatt, then back to Xhiamas, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Xhiamas? Is that the name you go by these days? How so?" His words only added to the mystery surrounding the situation.

  Xhiamas stood, raising a hand to calm the room. "My friends, this is Ziyad. A renowned warrior from our land... and my brother."

  A stunned silence filled the room as the group processed this revelation.

  "You have a brother?" Cassian asked in disbelief. "You never told us about him."

  Xhiamas' gaze hardened as he replied, "It was information I deemed unnecessary to share—and for good reason." His eyes flicked to Ziyad with an edge of caution. "We all know strangers can be treacherous—but family members are even more so."

  Ziyad’s frown deepened, and he shook his head. "Brother, still so cold-hearted. Time away from home hasn’t opened your heart to us."

  Xhiamas' voice was steady, though his words carried weight. "That place was never home to me. There’s a reason I left. I thought you would follow the same path, but it seems I was wrong."

  Michael stood up and stepped between the two siblings, his voice firm. "Enough of this. We know you're familiar with each other, but let’s focus on the matter at hand."

  Xhiamas and Ziyad stepped back, the tension between them palpable. Xhiamas sat back down, and Ziyad casually perched on a stone table, cross-legged.

  "My apologies for the sudden intrusion," Ziyad said, addressing the room with a hint of regret in his tone. "In our land, disputes are settled more... directly."

  Byronard gave a subtle nod. "Apology accepted. Now, where to begin?" He glanced around the room, his gaze landing on Khandem, the dwarven emissary. "Ah, yes. As you can see, we have Khandem here. The emissary from the north."

  Khandem, who had been silently observing, chuckled and stood. "Well, well, looks like even humans have their own family dramas," he quipped, grinning broadly. "You’re all a spirited bunch. I like that."

  Byronard gave a knowing smile. "Khandem here is returning north to Ghor Nheram, the dwarven capital, to share the outcomes of our recent discussions. Given that all of you are now free, I trust you won’t refuse a request from the Capital itself?"

  Wyatt and Cassian looked at Xhiamas, awaiting his decision. As the group’s unspoken leader, they trusted him to guide them. Without needing to look at them, Xhiamas spoke to the two men.

  "If you’re concerned about my consent, don’t be. You are free men—free to choose your path, even if you once considered joining the brotherhood." He glanced at Wyatt. "I promised your father I would watch over you and guide you to a better life. But you've grown now, and I see no need to hold you back. This is your second chance, the one your father wanted for you. Seize it."

  Wyatt’s eyes softened with gratitude. "We won’t let you down. Thank you, Xhiamas, for everything."

  He turned to Byronard, who had been awaiting his response. "What is to be done now?"

  Byronard smiled, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Without hesitation, you truly are the Blackwood’s son."

  Khandem, clearly surprised, looked at Wyatt with newfound respect. "The Ironhand’s runt, eh?" He leapt over the table and strode to Wyatt. "Hold out your hand for me, son."

  Wyatt extended his left arm, and Khandem grasped it firmly. With a deep breath, the dwarf muttered something that sounded like a spell, and the room erupted in a flash of light, blinding everyone.

  When their vision returned, Wyatt and Khandem stood surrounded by a glowing circle of hardened magma.

  "Well, I’ll be damned—the Smith himself, right here!" Khandem exclaimed in awe.

  Byronard’s voice cut through the excitement. "That’s why I thought it best to send Wyatt north with you, my friend. The dwarves have much to offer him. His father was close friends with your people during his youth. I’m sure the dwarves will help him learn more of his heritage."

  Khandem nodded, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Is the Hermit still around?"

  Byronard raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who knows? At best, the old man’s still up in the mountains, minding his business. But I’d wager he’s still alive... I think."

  The mention of the Hermit left Godric and the others more confused than ever.

  "Wherever Wyatt's headed, count me in!" Cassian interjected, a wide grin on his face. "I’ve never been up north, and I have nothing keeping me here. I’d like to see what’s there before I go back to practicing medicine."

  Byronard’s approval was immediate. "Very well, then. Cassian, as you can see, we are short on doctors here in the Capital, as Raphael prefers to handle most of the work himself. But I spoke to him, and he’s willing to open up positions to ease his load. Would you be willing to train under him? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the extra help."

  Cassian’s face lit up with excitement. "Of course! It would be my greatest honor to learn from the best!"

  Godric stood up, believing the moment had come to voice his intentions. "I'll go north as well," he declared.

  "No," Byronard replied firmly, catching Godric off guard. "I'm afraid you'll do no such thing."

  "Sir Byronard, with all due respect, may I ask why?" Godric questioned, curiosity piqued.

  "Because I am sending you in a different direction," Byronard answered. He turned toward a map of the known world carved into the council chamber's wall, pointing to the east. "Specifically, east."

  Godric studied the map, trying to process Byronard’s words. His mind whirled with a mix of excitement and confusion. "Azane?" he asked. "You want me to cross the Evergleam Ocean and go to the Continent of Sand? But... what would I do there?"

  Before Byronard could answer, Xhiamas stepped forward, his expression shifting. "I would also like to know why you’re sending young Godric to my homeland," he said. "As far as I know, Azane is still wild, and our clans are embroiled in constant conflict. A foreigner like him would only put his life in danger."

  Godric blinked, surprised at the sudden change in Xhiamas' tone.

  "I agree with my brother," Ziyad spoke up from the corner. "He'll die a brutal death. I can assure you of that."

  Byronard walked toward the map, turning to face the group. "This is exactly why I believe Godric's talents are being wasted here," he said. "Before the duel, Michael shared something with me that piqued my interest."

  "What did you find?" Xhiamas asked, turning to Michael, who stood and addressed Godric.

  "Godric," Michael began, "may I ask what your foundation of magic is?"

  Godric hesitated. "Well... I can only fortify my unarmed attacks with mana. I learned it by accident during a quest in the Caverns of Araphne."

  "I see," Michael nodded. "That places you under the foundation of enhancement, a rare trait. Those with this foundation can imbue their bodies with mana, but only for defense, and rarely for offense. You’re the first in over sixty years to possess this unique trait. The last person was my predecessor—even Sir Byronard himself doesn’t have this skill."

  The room fell silent as Godric processed the revelation. Michael continued, "But there's more. In the arena, I saw you tracing the flow of mana that lingered in the structure—presumably a trick you learned from the elves. But what really intrigued me was how you jolted back when the mana surged into your body."

  "Wait... how did you know that?" Godric asked, stunned by Michael's insight.

  "I was born with the rare ability to feel and manipulate metals," Michael explained. "I can bend them, change their form, or adjust their strength as I please. My magic allows me to wield my greatsword and deflect blows, like Wyatt's hammer. During the duel, when you paused, I could feel the metal around us reacting, as though my control over it was being overturned by an external force—coming from you."

  "Impossible," Ziyad muttered, approaching the table. "That can't be... Surely you're joking." He eyed Godric as though he were seeing something impossible. "Godric, I don't doubt Michael, but I need concrete evidence. Everyone, brace yourselves," Byronard said. With a subtle gesture, the room was flooded with vivid lights. The display was breathtaking, and everyone watched in awe as the scene unfolded, before everything returned to normal.

  "That was a simple trick I learned in my youth," Byronard explained. "I used it for games and entertainment back then, but I need you to be completely honest, Godric." He looked at the young man intently. "Which part of the room shines the brightest for you?"

  The others glanced around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. But Godric’s gaze fixed on the carved map, and suddenly, a strange memory surfaced. His eyes went distant, as if in a trance. Without hesitation, he pointed to a specific location.

  "There," he said in a monotone voice. "Mount Dorba. The site where the Civil War ended."

  His eyes snapped back to their usual color as he broke free from the trance, stumbling slightly. "A memory just entered my mind. It was brief, but... I saw myself holding someone unfamiliar. A man with golden hair and angelic features. His armor was shattered, and his body was bruised and broken. But he died with a smile." Godric’s voice faltered as emotions—anger, grief, despair—gripped him. It frightened him.

  "Wh-what's happening? Who was that?" Godric asked, shaking, his confusion evident.

  "I'm sorry for doing this, Godric," Byronard said gently. "But I needed proof. That memory you saw—it was me holding the late King Alaric in my arms after the war ended. The elves are known to trace mana, which I believe you learned during your time in their realm. But to confirm you were an empath, I had to burn a significant memory of mine into the map. If you weren't an empath, the memory would have gone unnoticed." He helped Godric to his feet.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Xhiamas approached with urgency, his voice rising. "This is impossible! No mortal can possess two foundations of magic—" His words faltered, and he grasped Byronard’s shoulder guard. "No. This can't be."

  He turned toward Godric with a mix of disbelief and urgency. "Please, don't do this. You risk throwing Azane into chaos. The little peace we’ve fought for will shatter."

  As if to punctuate Xhiamas’ plea, strange rhythmic hums began to echo from Ziyad. He knelt on the floor, hands extended in prayer.

  "Uhrihim! Magaz-val sulyek, vagar-val suldafin. Nadur ashtirinah-tuuhri!" Ziyad cried, his voice filled with anguish as he called to an unknown deity. He covered his face with his hands and extended his palms upward, as though pleading with the heavens.

  Wyatt shifted uneasily, walking over to Coraline and Cassian. "What’s going on with him? And with Godric?" he asked, confusion etched on his face.

  "Stop it, Ziyad!" Xhiamas pleaded, but his brother was unshaken, lost in his fervent prayer. "You’re scaring them. Please!" Xhiamas’ voice was filled with desperation.

  "Sir Byronard," he continued, "I am begging you. Do not send him to Azane. If you need evidence, here it is, standing right in front of you." His voice was filled with rising frustration.

  Byronard stood still, his expression one of reluctant resolve. "I'm sorry, Xhiamas. But I have no choice. With the recent events—the disappearance of House Polifio and Rosetown—we know this is only the beginning of something much larger than we’ve ever seen. We need to prepare. As acting regent, I will do whatever it takes to protect this land and its people."

  His voice softened with a weary sigh. "I know what I’m asking is reckless. It’s a desperate hope. But what choice do I have? We are facing an unknown threat. Panic is spreading. The northern beasts are stirring after hundreds of years. And now, a Great House has vanished without a trace. I can't bear the weight of this alone."

  The room fell silent, and for the first time, Byronard appeared human—tired and vulnerable.

  Godric approached the regent, his voice steady. "When do I leave, Sir Byronard?"

  Xhiamas looked at him, concern in his eyes. "You realize there’s no turning back once you go, right?"

  "I know," Godric said quietly. "I’m afraid, too. But I can’t sit by while everyone else does their part."

  Byronard’s expression softened, and he sighed in relief. "Thank you, lad. You don’t know how much this means to me."

  At that moment, Coraline raised her hand, her voice hesitant. "Pardon me, my lord," she asked Byronard. "I have so many questions. Why does Godric possess two foundations of magic? And why send him to Azane of all places?"

  Cassian leaned forward, equally curious. "I want to know too, milord. What's going on with Godric?"

  Wyatt stood silently, his gaze on Byronard, sensing the weight of the situation.

  "I believe it’s best if I explain this," Xhiamas said, stepping forward. "And as a child of the sands, I believe I’m better suited to explain our beliefs than any foreigner." He glanced at Byronard, who nodded in agreement.

  "Azane is much like the Primera of old—bloody, chaotic, and unforgiving," Xhiamas began. He paced the room as he spoke, ensuring everyone could hear. "Three royal tribes control the continent, each locked in a deadly deadlock for power, wealth, and—most dangerously—faith."

  "Faith?" Coraline interrupted. "Isn’t that a good thing?"

  "Too much of anything can be dangerous," Xhiamas replied darkly. "My brother, Ziyad, is proof of that."

  The room fell quiet as Ziyad continued his rhythmic chants, lost in his own world. Xhiamas continued, "There’s a story in Azane’s culture—a tale about a time when the continent was not the barren wasteland it is today. It was once full of life: shimmering waters, thriving regions. But no one knew of it. Not even the elves or the abussonians, who are said to be the first creations of your gods."

  "Then," Xhiamas continued, "a stranger arrived, decided to return to the known world, and told those who believed him of what he’d discovered. This event is known in Primera as the Evergleam Voyage, yes?"

  Godric frowned, confusion spreading across his face. "Wait, that’s a mistake. The story is about criminals and the worst of people being exiled to distant lands. It’s just a children’s tale."

  Michael let out an amused chuckle. "I get it now. That’s actually hilarious," he muttered under his breath.

  "What is it?" Cassian asked, looking puzzled.

  "The Evergleam Voyage—it's all a lie," Michael began, his voice sharp with conviction. "Think about it. In the past, Primera was nothing but a mess. Death, famine, war—everything wrong in the world was here. If you were trying to start anew, wouldn't you seize every opportunity to do so?"

  "True... but calling them criminals seems a bit harsh, don't you think?" Coraline interjected. "Why not explorers or voyagers?"

  "Good point, my lady. Unless... someone intentionally twisted the story midway," Michael replied, glancing at Byronard, who looked at him with a raised brow. "Something on your mind, Michael?" Byronard asked, intrigued.

  "If memory serves, the Evergleam Voyage happened around the time this kingdom was first established by King Unrel of House Ilyn. For him, it would have been disadvantageous to have his subjects leave for a peaceful new settlement. What if some of the first inhabitants of Azane were actually from Primera? And what if the king branded those who followed them as criminals?" Michael’s words hung in the air, offering a chilling possibility.

  "I think we've explored enough of Primera's history for one day, Michael," Byronard said, cutting the conversation short. "Let's allow Xhiamas to continue."

  Michael nodded, and all attention shifted back to Xhiamas.

  "Michael is not far from the truth," Xhiamas began, his voice steady. "One of the royal tribes in Azane is of Primeran descent. They possess magic similar to what Godric can do. It’s no surprise their tribe has held power for so long."

  "A Primeran tribe?" Coraline’s eyes widened. "How fascinating!"

  "Fascinating, yes, but not exactly how you might expect. They’re... different from what you think of when you picture a Primeran. It’s best not to cross them," Xhiamas warned, and Coraline's enthusiasm faltered.

  "Moving on," he continued, "the story tells that the first people who followed the stranger chose him as their leader. We call him Al-Xenos—the foreigner. Our people revere him as a god even today. They say he had great powers that helped the first kingdom of Azane prosper. Like Godric, he too possessed the ability to wield multiple foundations of magic." Xhiamas glanced at Godric, who listened with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

  "The people who followed him became royalty, each tribe ruling over different regions of Azane. But one day, a terrible storm struck, defying the laws of nature, and Azane became the wasteland it is today. Azanean culture tells it was a punishment from the gods for defiling their sacred lands," Xhiamas said, his gaze drifting to the map of Azane.

  "And when it mattered most, Al-Xenos disappeared, leaving his people to fend for themselves. Half of us believe that he caused the disaster as a test to see if we could live without his guidance. The other half—those who became fanatics—believe he returned to the realm of the gods to fight in our name, seeking vengeance for the lives lost in the storm. They believe that one day, when the war is over, he’ll return, triumphant but weakened, and restore his power."

  Xhiamas chuckled bitterly. "It’s a foolish tale, really."

  "So, are you saying half of Azane would see Godric as their promised messiah?" Wyatt asked, his tone heavy with disbelief.

  "Exactly. Just look at my brother," Xhiamas said, his voice laced with irony, "He’s all the proof you need."

  Wyatt glanced uneasily at Ziyad, whose prayers continued to echo through the room, growing more unsettling by the moment. "You're right. It’s an unsettling sight," he muttered.

  "But where does Godric fit into all of this?" Wyatt pressed.

  "If I may," Byronard spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension. Xhiamas stepped aside, allowing the regent to take center stage. "Godric, I want you to immerse yourself in Azanean culture. Get to know the people, their ways, and meet with the ruling tribes. We need to unite Azane into one powerful nation—an ally we can count on in the war to come." Byronard placed a reassuring hand on Godric’s shoulder.

  "W-what war?" Godric asked, his voice shaky with uncertainty.

  "A war unlike anything this world has ever seen," Byronard replied gravely. The silence in the room was palpable.

  Xhiamas wasn’t surprised by Byronard's words, but the others seemed caught off guard. "Uriel will lead an expedition north, accompanied by Wyatt, Cassian, and Khandem to Ghor Nheram. He’ll also take a detour to find Lord Rykard of House Wintertomb, who failed to attend the proceedings. His expertise in science and the divine is crucial. Uriel discovered something...," Byronard hesitated, as if revealing too much.

  "Discovered what?" Coraline asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.

  Byronard looked at Michael, who nodded in confirmation. "They're in too deep now, Captain. They have the right to know," Michael said.

  Byronard scanned the room, ensuring their conversation remained private. He met each person’s gaze, then spoke with a steely resolve. "Swear to the Divines that you will not speak of what you hear next." They exchanged solemn looks and silently swore their oaths.

  "Uriel... he discovered that the magic lingering in Rosetown—it shares the same properties as Dante’s. The rebel leader from the Civil War." Byronard’s words struck like lightning.

  "That’s impossible," Khandem gasped, standing in disbelief.

  "It’s true," Byronard said, his voice laden with sorrow. "I know that magic. I’d recognize the malicious energy of that kingslayer anywhere."

  "If Dante is planning a return, now would be the perfect time. The frost drakes stirring up trouble, the disappearance of House Polifio—it all fits too perfectly. The Great Houses believe we're on the brink of an all-out war. Not just with Dante, but possibly with his kind as well. Dante was no human. I could tell by the way he moved. He killed Alaric—our greatest prodigy. Alaric was destined to surpass even me. If not for his death, he would have already," Byronard’s voice faltered, tinged with bitter regret.

  "Hold on—what do you mean, his kind?" Cassian asked, panic rising in his voice. "My father fought for the rebels, and he always said that Dante was a different beast altogether—almost like a demon. Are you telling me there's an entire army like him?"

  "Not just an army," Michael responded, his tone grim. "We believe Dante belongs to an entirely different race, one that shares a similar physical structure to us mortals." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Uriel found traces of other lifeforms in Rosetown, ones whose magic matched Dante's. Imagine the havoc an entire race of his kind could cause—one like him single-handedly toppled Primera and killed one of its greatest warriors. If there's more of them, it could mean the end of everything."

  "Which is why we need to stand united," Byronard continued, his voice steady. "Not just Primerans, but everyone who stands for life—elves, abussonians, dwarves, all the other kingdoms. We've never seen eye-to-eye with them, but they all know the story of the Civil War. Word of Rosetown's disappearance might have already reached their lands." He took a deep breath. "We’re playing a dangerous game here, and Azane’s unification is a key piece. It’s a gamble, but we're at war, and we need all the help we can get."

  Xhiamas paced nervously. His mind raced with the weight of the decision before him. Sending Godric to Azane was a huge risk. It could either unite the nation or tear it further apart. And neither option would guarantee the boy’s safety.

  "If I may..." Ziyad spoke up, his voice firmer than usual as he rose from his prayers. "This might be an opportunity we’ll never get again." He turned to Xhiamas. "Let the boy go. He could be the one who unites Azane."

  Xhiamas, growing impatient, marched over to his brother and grabbed the collar of his shirt, his grip tightening. "Don’t start your fanatical nonsense here, Ziyad."

  "Xhiamas! Let him speak!" Wyatt and the others urged, moving to intervene.

  "Brother..." Ziyad struggled to speak, gasping for air as his brother's vice-like grip squeezed tighter. "I know we’ve had our differences... but listen. We share the same goal—united Azane... for our people!"

  "Through bloodshed?!" Xhiamas yelled, his calm demeanor cracking. "You try my patience, Ziyad. Choose your next words carefully."

  Ziyad gasped for air, barely able to continue. "I know we have different ways, but we can compromise. Think! For millennia, we’ve waited for the one to unite Azane... this boy could be that one! If we convince the tribes that war is coming, if we show them this vision—the one we both grew up with—maybe we can finally achieve it."

  "Xhiamas, let him go! You’re suffocating him!" Wyatt and Cassian shouted, rushing to pull him away. With a final angry grunt, Xhiamas released his grip, and Ziyad crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Coraline quickly knelt by his side, checking on him.

  "I’ll live... I’ve been through worse," Ziyad said weakly, trying to catch his breath.

  "You’ve never crossed me like that before," Xhiamas muttered coldly. "Be glad they were here."

  Ziyad shot a grateful look at his saviors as they helped him up. "My deepest thanks to all of you," he said, his voice raspy. "My brother and I rarely see eye-to-eye, and I seem to bring out the worst in him. Apologies for... for that family squabble."

  Xhiamas looked to Byronard, who met his gaze with weary resignation. "I know I’m asking a lot, Xhiamas, but we need all the help we can get. Godric needs someone to look after him in Azane. I’ve only been there twice, and I’d be a fool to think I could make it out alive. My place is here. You’re the only one I trust to guide him." Byronard's voice was laced with exhaustion. "The decision is yours."

  "Very well," Xhiamas said, his tone heavy with resignation. "I’ll help him. But I cannot guarantee his safety once we’re there."

  Byronard exhaled in relief. "Understood. Godric, prepare yourself for the journey. It may take some time, and when you return... things may have changed. If you can return." His voice softened.

  "I won’t let you down, Sir Byronard. That’s a promise." Godric responded, determination in his eyes.

  Byronard gave a small smile. "How I wish I’d met you sooner, lad. You’d have made a fine Royal Guard." He clapped Godric on the shoulder. "May the Divines bless your travels."

  Before anyone could speak further, Coraline rushed forward, her voice trembling with resolve. "Wait! I want to help too!" Her determination was clear, though her voice quivered.

  "I applaud your courage, my lady, but neither the north nor Azane is a place for you," Michael said gently to the heir of House Applewood.

  "But I can’t just stand by while everyone else risks their lives!" she insisted, her eyes burning with resolve.

  "Which is why, dear one, I’ll be sending you back to the South," Byronard interjected, turning to her with a serious expression. "The Seven and I, along with the heads of the other great houses, have decided that your House will take the reins in Lord Mikhael’s absence. House Applewood will hold the honor."

  Coraline was taken aback, her voice barely a whisper. "M-my lord, surely you jest. I mean no disrespect... it’s an honor, but what about House Dewblossom?"

  "Lord Isaiah’s condition is worsening. We’ve sent doctors, but the chances of him surviving are slim. Lord Caine is still under trial, and his siblings are too young. Only your House has proven worthy of this responsibility. You are the one who will lead." Byronard’s voice was firm.

  Byronard turned to the gathered witnesses and raised his hand. "By the power vested in me by the crown, and with all who stand here today as witnesses, I hereby name you Lady Coraline Applewood, Wardeness of the South. I am confident you will make us proud."

  Coraline stood frozen, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. The others applauded, but she could barely process the news. Wyatt’s voice broke through her shock.

  "I—I won’t let you down, my lord! I swear it!" Her voice, though trembling, was filled with conviction.

  "I think that settles it then," Byronard said, his tone final. "I’ll take my leave now. In two days, the northern expedition will begin. Wyatt, Cassian, you’ll meet with Uriel or Khandem to discuss the plans."

  He turned to Godric and Xhiamas. "Godric, you’ll travel east with Xhiamas the same day. You’ll have time to prepare. Lady Coraline, you’re free to return to the South whenever you’re ready. Your promotion has already been sent there, thanks to Gabby’s quick work. This meeting is adjourned. You are all dismissed."

  With a final thud of his hand on the stone table, Michael signaled the end. The room began to empty, with Godric following Coraline, Wyatt, and Cassian, while Khandem, Byronard, and Michael went deeper into the Keep.

  Xhiamas was about to leave when Ziyad grabbed his wrist. "What now, Ziyad?" Xhiamas asked, irritation in his voice.

  "Brother, I know we’ve had our differences, but I swear, on my honor as a shadow-walker, everything I said about the boy is true. Let me join you. Let me help protect him and convince the others."

  Xhiamas glared at his brother, his eyes cold. "Honor’s a rare thing these days, Ziyad," he said, his voice dark. "Very well. You may join us. But if you make one move against the boy... I will kill you where you stand."

  Ziyad smirked, his voice unshaken. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

  Xhiamas let out a frustrated breath and turned, his steps heavy as he walked away, leaving Ziyad standing alone in the council chamber. The echoes of his brother's footsteps reverberated through the marbled halls, leaving behind an air of tension and unresolved conflict.