The air in the Imperial Palace had grown heavier—not with magic, but with something deeper. Primordial. Like the hush before a divine verdict. It clung to the walls and ceilings, to every breath taken. Unseen, yet undeniable.
Kael stood on the obsidian balcony overlooking Valtheris, the heart of the Empire he now controlled. Below, the city spread in sovereign silence, its towers stabbing skyward, its streets winding like veins through a sleeping titan. Yet despite its majesty, unease rippled through the populace like a shiver down the spine of a beast.
Even those untouched by magic felt it—the shift in the air, the warping of silence, the stars that blinked not with light, but with intent.
Kael's fingers drummed absently on the cold stone railing.
The heavens were watching.
Let them.
Behind him, the great doors creaked open. Selene entered first, her stride purposeful, her expression carved from iron. She was no longer the knight of legend, but Kael's blade in human form—tempered, sharpened. Ilyssia followed, her ethereal presence pulsing faintly with elven magic, like moonlight flowing through glass.
They bore the weight of fresh revelation.
Selene spoke without preamble. "The High Seer has named you a harbinger."
Kael turned slightly, one brow rising in amused disdain. "How poetic."
"She claims the Archons' descent was a warning," Ilyssia added, her voice low. "That your rise defies the natural order."
Kael's gaze turned back to the heavens.
"They fear change," he said.
Selene's eyes narrowed. "The people whisper of omens. Nobles hesitate. And the Emperor..."
A pause. Kael turned slowly.
"What of him?"
Selene's reply was measured. "He has summoned the Eclipse Council."
Even Ilyssia's serene poise faltered.
The Eclipse Council—the Empire's final instrument, invoked only when the fate of the throne itself was uncertain. A gathering of powerbrokers, warlords, and arcane seers. Not to advise.
To judge.
Kael's smirk returned, but the shadows in his eyes deepened.
So the final game begins.
Far above the mortal realm, within the dominion of the Archons, time moved not by seconds but by wills. Their council chamber stretched across a sea of silver light, a place untouched by chaos or warmth. Here, truth was absolute.
They did not wear faces. They wore presence.
At the center stood the First Archon.
His armor was woven from collapsed constellations, his voice neither heard nor spoken—but simply known.
"He does not kneel," murmured one, their form bending like starlight under pressure.
"Mortals were not meant to defy the heavens," intoned another.
Still, the First Archon was silent.
Then, his decree echoed—calm, inevitable, eternal.
"Then we shall remind him of his place."
And the stars pulsed, brighter than they had in eons.
In the mortal world, Kael's fingers stilled.
He felt it.
A ripple through reality. A whisper beyond language.
A challenge.
The nobles would soon cast their lots. The Emperor would decide whether to bend or break.
And the Archons, for all their supposed divinity, would descend in judgment.
Kael's lips curled.
Let them come.
He had already chosen how this game would end.
To be continued...