The skies above the Ashen Dominion remained shrouded, an agitated work of ominous clouds and faraway lightning. The air continued to resonate with hints of power—Regis's decree still lingered in the very air.
Down in wasteland where Red Talon raiders had dropped to their knees, there was silence. Not one of them dared move.
His will had broken them.
And they waited now for his judgment.
A Convocation in the Throne Hall
The throne hall shone with the same divine blue torches which cast unearthly shadows upon the cold stone. The incense was heavy with the air—Elyndra's, no doubt, for she would adore a ritual scent.
Regis sat in his throne, hearing.
Before him, Kaelen, Varian, and Elyndra stood in conference, their expressions mirroring their own natures—Kaelen, resolute and focused, Varian, thoughtful and analytical, and Elyndra, always amused, her golden eyes sparkling with sly interest.
Kaelen spoke first. "The Red Talon raiders carry on where you left them, my lord. They do not have the courage to flee."
"Of course not," Elyndra breathed, smiling. "Not after such a devastating spectacle. Their minds are broken. They've witnessed something beyond their understanding."
Regis set his fingers against the armrest of his throne, balancing. "And yet they remain."
Varian shifted closer, his black robes whispering over the stone floor. "Are you considering their death, Sovereign?"
Regis's face did not change. "No. Not yet. It would be simple to kill them. But I wish to know if their fear can be shaped into something. more useful."
Kaelen crossed his arms. "If you are going to subjugate them, it would be best to do it quickly. Fear dissipates with time. If they are not properly guided, they would turn to desperate rashness."
Regis nodded. Kaelen was right.
Anxiety itself was momentary. But anxiety, guided, became something far more powerful—loyalty.
Elyndra's smile widened, following his line of thought. "Then, my lord, how do we introduce them to the ruling of their new Sovereign?"
Regis released a heavy sigh. "Tour them through the Dominion. I shall speak with them myself."
The Procession of the Broken
Down at the base of the Ashen Dominion, the Red Talon raiders captured stood in tattered rank, their eyes still haunted. The sky above was impossibly broad, the hovering citadel casting a shadow that appeared to span the very wasteland itself.
They had not been fed. They had not uttered a word.
They simply waited.
When gates swung open and Regis's black-armored troops emerged, not a single one of them resisted. They marched silently.
Step by step, they ascended the winding road to the great fortress, where the one who had broken them awaited.
And when they were brought before his throne, no one had the courage to lift their heads.
Regis gazed down at them.
Their bodies trembled. Their breathing was light. Their minds—broken.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice as unshaken as ever. "You are afraid."
Not a single one of them replied.
Regis let the silence settle before he continued.
"Good. Wisdom is fear. It is recognition of power greater than self. But aimless fear is useless."
Gradually, one of the raiders—a scarred man on face and arms—had the bravery to raise his head.
His eyes were vacant, yet in them was the faintest glimmer of something more.
Regis recognized it instantly.
"Do you want to live?" Regis asked, his golden eyes slicing through the shattered state of the man.
The scarred man swallowed hard. He forced the words past his lips. "Yes."
Regis stood up. The hall darkened as his presence filled the room.
"Then kneel, not in fear—but in service. And you will live as more than a raider. More than a nameless scavenger in the wastelands. Kneel, and you will become something greater."
The raider's breathing was harsh. He hesitated—then, slowly, knelt.
Another a second later.
Then another.
Until all three hundred of the raiders kneeled before him.
And thus, the first of his subjugated were incorporated into the Dominion.
Beyond the Wastelands – The Gathering Storm
Deep beyond the Ashen Dominion, in the ruins of a lost fortress, dark-robed men gathered.
Candles flickered over an ancient table, on which a map of the world had been laid.
In the center of the map, in dark red ink, was the symbol of the Ashen Dominion.
A hooded figure spoke, his voice slow and deliberate.
"The Conqueror has begun. His power is more than we have ever seen."
Another, their face hidden behind a veil, responded.
"The world will not stay still. If he is not stopped now, then he will be unstopable.".
The hooded man's fingers flattened upon the map. His hands mapped the expanding dominance, the ripple of power expanding outward.
"Then it is time to make a choice."
He raised his eyes, and the light from the candle touched the edge of a silver sigil on his cloak.
A sigil not seen in centuries.
The world had forgotten them.
But they had not forgotten the world.