The wind howled across the sky, its hollow shriek echoing through the halls of the Ashen Dominion. Regis Vortigern stood on the topmost balcony of his citadel, his gaze on the ravaged land below.
The broad world stretched before him, a map of fallen empires, broken kingdoms, and forgotten histories. But amidst the ruin, there was activity.
Subtle, but unmistakable.
Fires smoldered on the horizon—camps, villages, settlements. Symbols of life. Symbols of rebellion.
He had known from the instant he had arrived in this world that he was not the sole human being. But now, the reality of it pressed upon him like a brewing tempest. They watched him. They feared him. And they would soon have to decide—bend, or perish.
Armored boots approached behind him.
"My lord."
Regis did not stir. He recognized the voice at once. Kaelen.
"Report," Regis commanded, his voice low but unrelenting.
Kaelen sank to one knee, his silver strands of hair catching the cold light of the Dominion's torches. "Our forces have begun mobilizing, as ordered. The elite guard is mobilizing and the training units are progressing well."
Regis nodded, his gaze still on the horizon. "And the land?"
Kaelen hesitated for the shortest instant. "Scouts report that the eastern ruins are stirring. Survivors—tribes, warbands, remnants of old factions—have begun to reassemble."
Regis drew a slow breath. They sense the change.
It was inevitable. Power did not reside in a vacuum. Even here, in a world lost for centuries, ambition still burned in men's hearts.
"What do we know of these factions?" Regis asked.
Kaelen stood up straight. "The biggest of them all is called the Red Talon. A raiding and slaving warband. They extort the meager resources of the wastelands' weaklings. Their leader, Var'Goroth, fancies himself a 'warlord.'"
Regis's hand flexed around the railing. Another barbarian seeking power.
"And the rest?
"News of a kingdom beyond the western mountains is getting around. We don't know much, but Varian believes that if they do exist, they might be some remnant of an old society. If they hold structure, then they will be worse than the Red Talon."
Regis shifted slightly, his gold eyes glinting in the dying torchlight. "Do they spy on us?
Kaelen nodded. "Naturally. Our citadel can no longer remain a secret. The world is beginning to pay attention."
Regis closed his eyes for an instant, letting the news filter. They gazed at him. They were terrified of him. But that was not enough.
He had to prove it.
The First Test of Authority
The throne room was somber. A great chamber of dark stone, lit by nonnatural torches burning with blue fire.
Regis sat upon his throne, his fingers steepled before him. He was ready.
Before him, Elyndra stood with a faint smirk. "I assume you're prepared to push the limits of your dominion, my lord?"
Regis exhaled. "I must know how far it extends."
Elyndra's golden eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Then let us begin."
She lifted her hands, and the air shifted.
A torrent of arcane energy flowed through the room, as if reality itself was compressing around Regis's presence. The air hummed, and the walls of the citadel seemed to shudder in reply.
Regis stretched out.
Not with his body. Not with magic. But with his mind.
And the world obayed.
The throne room walls stretched out, extending into infinity. The very fabric of space altered, reacting to his thoughts.
Regis stood up, his golden eyes burning with naked power. "This is it…"
The Dominion was his.
It wasn't just a fortress.
It wasn't just a throne.
It was him.
It was an extension of himself.
He thought, and the air was stilled.
And the wind outside ceased.
A single order. A single word. Reality obeyed.
Elyndra's mouth opened in hushed wonder. "Remarkable…"
Regis looked down. The Dominion—his dominion—was his to shape.
This was only the beginning.
A Challenge from the Wastes
Hours later, as Regis loomed over the war room map, Varian entered the room. The spymaster's usual smirk had fallen, replaced by a look of curiosity.
"Sovereign, it seems the Red Talon warband has drawn first blood."
Regis glanced up. "Tell me."
Varian's fingers tapped anxiously on the map in front of him. "A raiding force of nearly three hundred have begun to mass on our southern borders. Scout patrols, feeling out our reach."
Regis's mask didn't change. "Their commander?"
"Not Var'Goroth himself. Just his advance guard. They're likely testing us, seeing if we will act."
Regis exhaled slowly. They are testing my patience.
He turned to Kaelen. "Summon the elite guard. We'll make an example of them.".
Kaelen bowed obediently.
Elyndra folded her arms, a smile on her lips. "Will you go in person, my lord?"
Regis's lips curled into a small smile. "No. I will not waste my time on insects. But they will know I am there."
Elyndra arched an eyebrow. "Ah… a demonstration of your power?"
Regis nodded. "Yes. And when they have seen what awaits them… there will be no question."
The Battle of the Southern Wastes
The Red Talon scouts did not even see it coming.
They marched along beneath the gray sky, their swords out, their eyes scanning the countryside for threat.
And then—the earth itself turned against them.
The air thickened, weighing down upon them with a burden that was nearly too great to support. Their knees buckled. Their air was stolen from them.
The sky darkened, churning with a power unnatural that spoke in a voice they could not listen to.
And then, a single word resounded in their minds.
"Kneel."
It was not a voice that ordered. It was authority in the flesh.
And they fell.
One by one, the Red Talon scouts collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Their guns fell from their hands. Fear consumed them.
High above, on the floating citadel, Regis watched.
His golden eyes burned with cold amusement.
This is the power of dominion.
And soon, the world would kneel.