The doors to the throne hall burst open.

  Marrowen Kael nearly stumbled inside, breath ragged, robes disheveled—an image no one in Valenreach had ever seen. The guards lining the hall stiffened in shock but did not stop him.

  At the far end of the vast chamber sat the King of Valenreach upon his elevated throne of white stone and gold.

  Ardic Valenreach.

  He sat as he always did—back straight, hands resting calmly on the armrests, crown of etched crystal resting upon silver-streaked hair. His eyes, sharp and pale, lifted the moment Marrowen entered.

  “High Chancellor,” Alaric said evenly. “You are disrupting court.”

  Marrowen did not answer.

  He crossed the remaining distance, dropped to one knee, and pressed his forehead to the cold marble floor.

  The hall went silent.

  “My king,” Marrowen said, voice trembling despite his effort to control it. “I beg your pardon for the breach of decorum. But what I carry cannot wait for formality.”

  Ardic leaned forward slightly. “Rise—and speak.”

  Marrowen stood, hands shaking as he presented the black-bound file with both palms.

  “Crestfall Kingdom has fallen into catastrophe,” he said. “Not metaphorically. Not politically. Literally.”

  A murmur rippled through the assembled nobles.

  Adric's expression did not change. “Continue.”

  Marrowen swallowed. “An entity known as Yurei breached Crestfall’s defenses. Absolute-zero mana. Wildlife-based restraints. Entire districts frozen solid. Civilians shattered where they stood.”

  He flipped the file open, voice growing steadier as urgency overtook fear.

  “Three of Crestfall’s High Councillors are dead. A Royal Knight was sacrificed. Half the kingdom lies in ruin. Their defenses are fractured, their command structure destabilized, their people traumatized.”

  He looked up directly at the king.

  “My king… Crestfall is at its weakest point in generations.”

  The hall erupted.

  “Impossible—”

  “That’s war-level destruction!”

  “They’ll retaliate if provoked!”

  Adric raised a single hand.

  Silence returned instantly.

  Marrowen took a breath. “Which is why I urge this course of action now. Crestfall cannot mount a unified defense. Their attention is consumed by internal disaster. If Valenreach does not act, another kingdom will.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You are advising war.”

  “Yes,” Marrowen said, bowing his head. “Immediate declaration. Controlled invasion. Strategic annexation.”

  A long pause followed.

  The throne hall felt colder.

  Finally, King Ardic stood.

  His presence alone silenced even thought.

  “History does not wait for mercy,” he said calmly. “It rewards decisiveness.”

  He turned to his generals.

  “Send the orders. Declare war on Crestfall Kingdom. Mobilize the eastern legions. We strike while chaos reigns.”

  A chill ran through the hall.

  “Yes, Your Majesty!” the commanders answered in unison.

  Marrowen closed his eyes.

  May the gods forgive us, he thought. Because history will not.

  Blood on the Streets of Aurelion Spire

  Stone shattered.

  Gideon Falk skidded across the avenue, armor screeching as it scraped against the road. He rolled once, twice, and slammed into the base of a fountain hard enough to crack marble.

  His vision blurred.

  “Get up,” Brask Halden sneered, standing at the center of the ruined street. “You knights are always so dramatic when you bleed.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Gideon forced himself to one knee, breath coming in harsh gasps.

  Blood trickled down inside his helm.

  “…Civilians,” Gideon muttered. “You’re endangering them.”

  Brask laughed loudly. “They ran. Smart ones, anyway.”

  Gideon looked around.

  The street was devastated. Shops collapsed. Fires burned where his own attacks had missed. Arcane lamps flickered erratically.

  This was his fault.

  He gripped his sword tighter.

  Ice crept along the blade, thick and jagged. Flames followed, spiraling together in unstable union.

  The ancestral voices inside him stirred again—louder now.

  Stop.

  You have no right.

  This is theft.

  “I know,” Gideon whispered. “Just one more time.”

  He stood.

  Brask’s grin widened. “That’s the spirit.”

  They collided.

  The impact sent a shockwave down the entire avenue. Gideon moved with perfect discipline—each strike precise, each step calculated. Ice formed walls to redirect Brask’s blows. Fire erupted in controlled bursts, forcing distance.

  For a moment—just a moment—it worked.

  Brask staggered, chest burned, arm rimed with frost.

  He laughed anyway.

  “That all you’ve got?” he roared.

  The crimson glow around his veins flared brighter.

  The ground cracked beneath him as his power surged again.

  Gideon’s heart sank.

  “…He’s still growing,” Gideon realized.

  Brask lunged faster than before.

  Gideon raised his blade—

  Too slow.

  The punch hit like a siege hammer.

  Armor crumpled inward. Ribs shattered. Gideon was launched through the remains of a shop, crashing into stone with a sickening crunch.

  The world went white.

  Get up, the voices urged now—not with anger, but sorrow.

  Gideon coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth.

  “…I can’t,” he rasped.

  Brask approached, footsteps heavy.

  “You fought well,” Brask said almost respectfully. “But strength is everything.”

  He raised his fist.

  Gideon looked up at the sky beyond the ruined roof.

  “…Chancellor,” he whispered. “I hope you made it.”

  He pushed himself upright one last time.

  Fire ignited along his blade—not wild, not forced.

  Controlled.

  Ice followed, sealing cracks in his armor, stabilizing his stance.

  The ancestral voices went silent.

  Not in resistance.

  In acceptance.

  Brask’s eyes widened. “What—?”

  Gideon stepped forward and drove his sword straight through Brask’s chest.

  The fire detonated inward.

  The ice followed, freezing the man solid from the inside out.

  Brask screamed once.

  Then shattered.

  Silence fell.

  Gideon stood there, sword embedded in frozen remains, shoulders sagging.

  “…I did it,” he breathed.

  Then his knees buckled.

  The damage caught up all at once.

  Blood pooled beneath him as he collapsed onto the broken street.

  The sky above Aurelion Spire was calm. Too calm.

  Gideon smiled faintly beneath his helm.

  “…Worth it,” he whispered.

  His breathing slowed.

  Then stopped.

  When the guards arrived, they found a ruined street, a shattered corpse—and the fallen body of Valenreach’s First Royal Knight.

  By dawn, the bells rang.

  By noon, the declaration spread.

  War had begun.

  And far away, in a frozen, broken kingdom, fate shifted once more—unaware that another crown had just chosen conquest over caution.