The room seemed to subtly tense when Leonidas affirmed he would share his [Knight Oath], and Aylar felt her focus hone in on the Terran with newfound intensity, spurred by her own curiosity and interest. There was something very personal and intimate about the vow a Knight made prior to their First Temper. While the [Knight Oath] could evolve as they rose through Tiers, based on necessity, it was a known absolute that the core of the vow never deviated much from its initial creation.

  When Leonidas resolved himself to reveal the vow, it held a far deeper meaning.

  It would be the first time Aylar and everyone else present would see his heart.

  “{I take upon myself this [Knight Oath],}” Leonidas began calmly, confidently, with a voice that seemed to resonate with deeper intent. A subtle pressure filled the room when he spoke, and Aylar felt a spike of alarm when she recognized what it was—not an effect from the Terran himself, but a descent of attention; a feeling of overarching awareness. There were no screens, no alerts, not even a chime of an informative alert, but she knew, given the rest of the room seemed to spike in tension, that she was not the only one who felt it.

  The System itself was paying attention.

  “{I shall be the Sword that slays those who would challenge my path to peace.}”

  The first line of the [Knight Oath] fell like the strike of a cymbal, resonating within the room with a starting pressure that seemed to coil around Aylar’s spine. She unconsciously straightened and looked around at the other observers unbidden. At her side, Synthra had a look faintly like she was watching something that existed outside her conception of reality, and a faint glow took over her eyes while she watched Leonidas as if she had never seen him before.

  Around the room, the Haelfenn reaction was far more poignant.

  Nobles exchanged alarmed glances, and more than a few faces tightened in understanding of the unspoken element of the vow; the implied-but-unstated consequences attached to its construction. ‘Challenge my path to peace’ was the key verbiage, one that clearly stirred alarm among the Alteran nobles. What did ‘challenge’ entail? What did peace entail? The room for interpretation in the [Knight Oath] was immense.

  And uncertainties made a man like Leonidas far more dangerous.

  Her eyes returned to Leonidas when he looked around the room, as if gauging reaction with a faint smile, and then continued in the same calm, resonant voice.

  “{I shall be the Shield that defends those who are truly worthy of my grace.}”

  This one earned a more curious expression from all present, save Uriel, who remained impassive. The line seemed of particular interest to the non-Terran Nyrfenn. They regarded Leonidas with a new interest when he delivered the second line of his [Knight Oath], and seemed to consider that particular part of the vow more intriguing than anything else. The terminology was vague, but the intent was undeniable. He was promising safety for anyone who showed their worth to him.

  A Terran, not an Alteran. A man whose metric for worth fit no existing paradigm among the nobility.

  A few of the Haelfenn seemed to realize it as well, as more dark glances were exchanged between them upon the dawning revelation that Leonidas did not hold true to their view of worth and worthiness. More than that, he was training to become an Archon under Ceruviel, a woman notorious for bucking the norms of Haelfenn society and the expectations of the Aristocracy. This was becoming dangerous.

  When Leonidas delivered the next line, a sense of shock rippled through the room.

  “{I shall be the Symbol that leads those who give me their sincere loyalty.}”

  It was not the content of the section that caused alarm, Aylar knew, because she was among those who felt the alarm it elicited. No, the content was actually the most innocuous of all those that had come before. What alarmed them, and to a lesser degree her, was that there was no finality to Leonidas’ voice. His vow had been delivered, within normal terms, but he sounded as if he were simply delivering a line, not the ending.

  Her eyes snapped to Ceruviel, and she saw a satisfied little smile playing on the Dusk-Lord’s lips. She knew this would happen; that was a given, but what did it mean? If Leonidas had a [Knight Oath] greater than three convictions, it meant he had already transcended the essence of Knightly calling as ordained by the System toward low-tier Cultivators. Most Knights did not gain extra convictions until they passed various trials to solidify their character and motivations.

  Three was the understood limit of convictions for someone below Fifth Tier.

  If Leonidas had more, that meant the System saw him as someone with the mettle to be of a Knightly virtue far beyond the reckoning of normalcy. It treated him, in essence, as if he were already a storied Hero that had solidified the foundation of his beliefs and motivations in a way no one his age, with his Cultivation, should have been able to achieve.

  What is going on?

  “{I shall be the Salvation that delivers those who prove to be truly deserving.}”

  The room’s atmosphere sharpened when Leonidas spoke the fourth line of his [Knight Oath], and Aylar felt her heart rate spike. The pressure from the System seemed to deepen as well, and she felt it in her lungs, as if they were being subtly squeezed. A glance at Synthra showed that the quarter-Dragon Sorceress was experiencing the same, though it did little to reassure her. A four-line vow? It wasn’t unheard of, but it was surpassingly rare.

  Simply by merit of having a four-line [Knight Oath], Leonidas had cemented his dangerous nature. On instinct, her gaze drifted toward the Terrans in the room, and her [Heroine’s Will] blazed to life when she did, like a reflex of her nervous system. Those faces, which had before been considering all of the non-Terrans in the room, were now colder—colder, and resolved. They had gone from hope to something more intense, something more poignant.

  Conviction. Their eyes moved almost in unison to Leonidas, and she saw the same thing reflected in every Terran face to different degrees: steady certainty. Any illusion that the young Archon-in-Training was simply a symbol of hope vanished into flames. The looks the Terrans were giving him weren’t mere hope; they were possessive. She could feel the resolve hardening around the various natives like a palpable force. The Terrans had, without a word spoken between them, reached a consensus she could feel from her insights and experiences as a daughter of the Royal Court.

  They had claimed Leonidas as their own without a word spoken.

  If anyone attempted to harm him, the result would be catastrophic.

  Aylar started to calculate how to deal with that, and prepared herself to speak, when Ceruviel met her eyes. By chance or by inclination, Aylar had glanced at the Duchess at the exact same time she had looked at Aylar, and something in the Dusk-Lord’s gaze stilled her tongue. The lavender eyes, so often a point of security, held a depth of assessment in them that sent a spike of alarm through Aylar. Ceruviel did not speak, physically nor psionically, but only held her gaze, and even without psionic projection, Aylar could feel the meaning behind it.

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  Prepare yourself.

  Her eyes darted back to Leonidas, and he opened his lips to speak once more.

  The System’s pressure seemed to bear down when he did, like an almost physical thing. It seemed… intent.

  “{I,}” he began in a voice that seemed to thunder through the room despite the calm tone he spoke with, “{shall be the Sovereign that creates a sanctuary for those who I find worthy.}”

  His eyes drifted to Aylar, and he offered her the smallest of apologetic smiles before refocusing on Uriel.

  “{This [Knight Oath] I swear, with the System and Divines as my witness, now and forevermore.}”

  Aylar felt it the moment he finished, not as a surge, not as pressure, but as a satisfied retreat. The vast, suffocating attention that had lingered since the first line of the [Knight Oath] receded, not with rejection or disappointment, but in completion. It was as if something immeasurable, something beyond the comprehension of mortal minds, had weighed Leonidas and found him sufficient.

  The room did not relax with that withdrawal.

  If anything, the silence deepened and thickened as realization spread that the System had not merely witnessed the Terran’s vow, which it must have in order for him to possess it, but that it had accepted it—more than that, it had validated it. The [Knight Oath] was not merely a statement of one Knight’s intent; it was a declaration immutably burned into the very world, recognized by the System itself as not only valid, but actionable.

  Sovereign.

  Sovereign.

  Sovereign.

  Ceruviel warned me of this, she realized in shock. The hints, the cajoling, the subtle warnings. She knew. She knew all this time. What does she expect me to do?

  Aylar’s thoughts were interrupted, a moment later, by the woman at her side.

  “{Curse you, mother,}” Synthra whispered to herself. “{You knew all along. Damn you.}”

  Aylar felt her [Heroine’s Will] roar to full force before she could ask what the Sorceress meant, and her eyes snapped immediately to the various Haelfenn around the room when her political instincts screamed to life.

  In those faces, she saw what she expected: not outrage, not fury, not murderous intent—no, her people were not that simplistic. There was no visceral, animal reaction from the Alteran nobles. Instead, there was calculation—calculation, and cold assessment. Leonidas’ declaration had not been to claim the throne; it had not been so direct nor seditious.

  In many ways, what he had been was far more dangerous for him.

  It had been far more innocuous, but in that innocuity came the source of the problem: he had not stated he would try, he had stated he would.

  And the System had acknowledged its viability.

  She knew her people. She could already see the subtle glances, the firming of lips, the unspoken agreements. Leonidas’ very existence now presented an existential threat to their dominion, to their way of life, to their hierarchy—a thing held sacred among the Alterans of Eldormer for thousands of years.

  Slowly, those eyes turned toward her, and she saw the expectation therein.

  If she failed to handle this correctly, she knew, it would have consequences.

  Her attention drifted from them toward the Nyrfenn as her thoughts raced, and she observed the Alterans not of Haelfenn blood. Among their numbers, the reaction was markedly different. There was no immediate hostility, no instinctive recoil, and no overt calculation. Instead, there was a subtle sharpening of focus and consideration. Eyes lingered on Leonidas, not with dread, but with appraisal, as if measuring a door that had not existed moments prior. They were not seeing a threat the same way the Haelfenn would; they were seeing a chance, a possibility, a new piece on the board that could benefit them.

  To the Nyrfenn, the word ‘Sovereign’ did not signify treason.

  It signified an opportunity, one which they had never had before.

  As for the Terrans…

  Her gaze moved to regard them, and she felt an echo of dread.

  They did not shout, did not whisper, did not look to one another for affirmation. Instead, an acceptance passed through them with a quiet, absolute stillness, like a held breath shared across several bodies. Aylar felt it like a visceral thing, as if someone had used magic to create an image of clear meaning: a line had been drawn.

  Not in defiance, but in loyalty.

  A boom echoed throughout the Box, and all eyes snapped to Uriel, where the Dawn-Lord stood unyielding before the figure of Leonidas. A ripple of expectation passed across the room, and Aylar rapidly noticed several different reactions: the Haelfenn aristocrats smiled, the Nyrfenn became a study in cautious impassivity, and the Terrans became cold and resolved. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a blade.

  Only Ceruviel seemed calm, and that alone should have warned people.

  “{I have witnessed your [Knight Oath], Leonidas Achilles,}” Uriel declared gravely. “{Will you hear my judgment?}”

  In response, the Terran simply inclined his head—not in submission, but in consent.

  “{Dawnhaven is a colony of laws,}” Uriel began simply, his voice a low rumble, but absent hostility or ire. “{These laws were crafted in reflection of Eldormer, our ancestral home. My duty as Dawn-Lord is to be the arbiter of these laws, to ensure their fair and equitable application. As such, I have come to my determination for the sake of Dawnhaven’s future.}”

  Satisfaction flashed across the faces of several of the Haelfenn, but Aylar blinked. She knew Uriel, knew him like an uncle. His tone was strange to her, lacking in condemnation, but filled with resolve.

  At her side, she heard Synthra hiss in a breath in tension, and absently reached out to put a hand on her arm—an instinctive act of reassurance.

  The Sorceress jumped slightly from the touch, but when Aylar turned to her, the quarter-Dragon simply offered her a tight smile.

  “{It is my determination, as Dawn-Lord of this Colony,}” Uriel started, drawing Aylar’s attention back to him, “{that the [Knight Oath] of Leonidas Achilles does not constitute a threat to the infrastructure nor peace of this Colony. It is my determination, as Dawn-Lord of this Colony, that the [Knight Oath] of Leonidas Achilles does not constitute a threat to the peoples or interests of this Colony.}”

  A ripple of palpable shock rolled through the crowd, Haelfenn, Nyrfenn, and Terran alike—but Uriel was not done.

  “{However,}” he said in the same grave tone, “{the nature of your [Knight Oath] also does not permit me to consider you as under the Laws of Dawnhaven. Your vow has been accepted by the System and the Divines through your Tribulation, and that means you operate by the mandate of Heaven’s Acceptance. I cannot thereby act in defiance of that Supreme Will to bind you to my authority. This leaves me in a position of concern, Son of Terra, because you now represent an apolitical, independent force within the Colony I am charged to protect. As such, if you are to remain, I will have a condition.}”

  Aylar’s eyebrows flicked upward slightly in surprise, but she could roughly guess what it was that Uriel was doing. She could feel it coming, as much because of her political acumen as because of her knowledge of the laws of Dawnhaven and the laws of Eldormer they were based upon.

  “{While you remain within Dawnhaven, I will have your promise, on your [Knight Oath], that you will be subject to its laws, even though I cannot in truth deem you a subject of its authority. To many, this will seem a loose distinction—I assure you, it is not.}”

  That was as much for the audience as it was for Leonidas, Aylar knew.

  “{In times past, those with the potential for Sovereignty were recognized only rarely by the System, but it was not absent precedent. Some renounced their validated claim, others forged their own nations, and some took vows of isolation—to become heroes instead. This is the origin of the Archon Order, and it is proper that you walk the path forged by a Knight of a similar mettle.}”

  The Haelfenn nobles, she noticed, were no longer smiling.

  Angry mutters rippled between them, and they looked mutinous.

  “{With that said, Leonidas Achilles, I will now give you my condition,}” Uriel said, his stance as unbothered and unconcerned as ever, as if the mutters were irrelevant to him—which they probably were. “{If you wish to remain in Dawnhaven, my requirement is as follows: you will become a legal member of House Latherian, whereupon your actions will be a direct reflection of Duchess Latherian, until such time as you either depart the Colony permanently or enter into an arrangement that nullifies this need. Furthermore, you will be subject to all laws and edicts of the Colony, with the implicitly defined understanding that you are not a subject of Dawnhaven.}”

  “{I understand, Lord of the Dawn,}” the Terran Knight said with a faint smile, “{and I accept your judgment, with gratitude for your understanding.}”

  Aylar felt the moment when his answer shifted things following Uriel’s declaration. The silence that followed was not the fragile type that precipitated vocal outrage, nor the taut kind that led to violence. It was the silence of calculation behind carefully schooled expressions.

  This was the silence of a court deciding how to handle a threat.

  The Haelfenn had many years of practice in just such an arena.

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