Lord Darius Evernigh sat at the table, a quiet presence in the vast room. He carried himself with calm authority, his posture straight and relaxed, as though he owned not only the space around him but the weight of whatever came next. The faint golden light from the tall windows cast a soft glow across his dark velvet tunic, bringing out the rich embroidery of gold thread woven through its fabric. A fur-lined burgundy cloak draped over his shoulders, falling in neat folds behind him.
His fingers, long and steady, tapped softly against the table's polished surface as he studied her. His emerald eyes—sharp, yet carrying a quiet weariness—were already on her, as if he had been waiting for her to speak first. The silence between them stretched—not uncomfortable, but thick with the quiet understanding of two people who both knew what this meeting was about.
Elsera sat across from him at the long table, her back straight and hands resting calmly in her lap. She held his gaze with quiet determination—respectful, but never submissive.
"My lord," she said softly.
Darius gave the faintest nod in return. "Elsera Kelyndor," he replied. "I've heard your name more than once these past few months."
"I hope in a good context." she replied
"Always in interesting context," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The chair across from him was carved and polished, more throne than seat. It creaked faintly as she settled in, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
"I assume," Darius said, folding his hands together, "you already know why I agreed to this meeting."
"I do," Elsera answered. "Because you're a cautious man."
He tilted his head slightly. "And yet you're here to convince me to take your side."
"Yes." Elsera nodded
"You don't waste time," he said. "I like that."
Elsera stayed still, watching him with careful eyes. "Time is something I don't have much of. Not if I want to stay ahead."
"Or catch up," Darius said. "Depending on how you see things."
His tone wasn't mocking, just honest. He wasn't someone who offered comfort easily. Elsera took a breath, then nodded. "Then I'll be direct. I need your support, Lord Darius."
"I figured." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "But support is not something I give lightly. You're not the first to ask."
"I know," she said. "You were approached by Lord Irevyn. And Lady Marros."
Darius raised a brow, the first real sign of surprise in his expression. "You did your homework."
"I had to."
"They were both refused," he said.
"And now you sit across from me, wondering if I'll be any different."
He smiled faintly, not denying it. "They made the mistake of assuming I could be won with promises. Titles. Power."
"You refused both," Elsera said. "Why?"
Darius looked down for a moment, as if remembering something distant. Then his eyes met hers again. "Because neither of them saw the full picture. They believed they were already powerful enough to decide the future. I don't follow people who believe they've already won. I follow people who know they still have to fight."
Elsera didn't respond right away. She let the silence settle for a few seconds, then said, "I don't have titles. I don't have land. I barely have recognition. But I have the mark."
"That you do," Darius said. "And that means you'll be hunted. Watched. Judged. You're already a piece in someone else's game."
"Then I need someone who knows how to play," she replied.
He chuckled lightly. "You're bold."
"I have to be." she replied quickly
For a moment, Darius just studied her. His gaze wasn't threatening, but it held weight. As if he was trying to see through her words, through her confidence, to something deeper.
"You remind me of someone I used to know," he said quietly. "That's not a compliment. She was reckless."
"I'm not her."
"I hope not," he said. "Because she's dead."
That hung in the air for a moment.
Elsera leaned forward just slightly. "I don't plan on dying, Lord Darius. I plan on surviving. And more than that—I plan on winning."
He smiled again, this time with a bit more interest. "You talk like someone who has already seen the worst."
"I have," she said, her voice steady.
Another pause passed between them. It wasn't hostile—it was the kind of silence that only came when two people were measuring each other.
"And what do you want from me, Elsera?" he finally asked. "Not the rehearsed answer. The real one."
"I want you to stand by me when it matters," she said. "Not just as a name. Not just as a sword. But as someone who understands how deep this goes. I need someone who knows how to move in silence. Someone with power, yes—but also someone who sees the world the way it is."
"And how do you see the world?" Darius asked.
Elsera didn't flinch. "Broken. Twisted. Ruled by the loudest, not the wisest. I'm not trying to fix it—I'm trying to survive it. And maybe—just maybe—change a few things while I do."
Darius let out a soft breath, as though the weight of the conversation was finally settling in. He looked past her for a moment, toward the window, then back.
"You speak like someone who doesn't expect to be saved."
"I don't."
Another beat of silence. Then Darius stood, the movement smooth and quiet. He walked around the table slowly, not threatening, just thoughtful. He stopped behind her, then spoke, his voice low.
"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Elsera?"
She didn't answer. She waited.
"I see a storm," he said. "Not the kind that passes. The kind that changes the land it touches. And storms like that... they either destroy everything in their path, or they create something new."
"Then which one do you think I'll be?" she asked
Darius paused, then turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the tall window where the morning light streamed in, casting long shadows across the marble floor. He didn't leave. Instead, he stood in thoughtful silence, hands clasped behind his back.
"I don't know yet," he said at last, his voice calm. "You've made your offer clear. But I don't give answers lightly."
He turned his head just enough to glance at her over his shoulder.
"Elsera," he added, "I haven't said yes. I'm still deciding. But you've given me a reason to think—and that's more than most manage."
The quiet lingered after his words, not as a closing—but as a beginning of something still unfolding.