The Ashen Dominion was no longer a peaceful fortress.
Its previously empty halls now echoed with the beat of marching troops, the clashing of steel against steel, and the distant throb of arcane energies being cleansed.
No longer was it merely a bastion reaching for the sky—it was a living thing, in constant motion, its roots spreading under the weight of Regis's ambitions.
And at its core, the Ashen Sovereign noted.
Hardening the Broken into Soldiers
Beneath the lower tiers of the fortress, three hundred former raiders stood in rigid ranks. Their past lives were taken from them—no insignia, no armor, nothing to remind them of their former weaknesses.
Kaelen led them forward, the scarred armor glinting under the wan light of the dominion's torches. His mask-like face was scarred, but his presence smothered the air around them.
"You present yourself before me today as nothing."
His voice cut through the stillness like a sword.
"`You were scavengers, parasites, cowards who preyed on the weak. But now, you have been given something more than your worth—a second life.'
Kaelen's cold stare swept over them, daring them to meet his eye.
"You will make yourselves stronger. Or you will be cut out. There is no choice between."
The soldiers held their silence. Most did not even summon breath too heavily.
Regis observed from above.
It was brutal training. There was no mercy.
Kaelen's warriors drove the recruits through hard drills—forcing them to march until their legs collapsed, swing heavy-bladed swords until their arms screamed, hold defensive lines against crushing pressure. Weakness was stamped out. Hesitation was punished.
But despite the agony, none fled.
At first, it was fear that kept them in line—the enduring fear of defying the Sovereign. But as weeks passed, Regis began to see something else take root.
Discipline.
They were no longer mindless raiders. They were learning.
Kaelen finished overseeing a round of sword training and approached Regis, bowing slightly before speaking.
"They are improving faster than expected, my Lord. In another month, they will be capable foot soldiers. In three, they will be warriors."
Regis's gaze flickered toward the men below. The weak would either die or become strong.
"Ensure that only the worthy remain," he said simply.
Kaelen pushed a fist against his chest. "It will be done."
The Inner Circle's Ascendancy
Beyond the troopers, Regis's personal staff were also training.
Within the Grand Training Hall, Varian was focused in the middle of a shape-shifting maelstrom of darkness-forged blades, all cutting through space with deadly, killing purpose.
The blades twisted between them, being and not being—striking, vanishing, reappearing from behind cover.
From the side, Elyndra watched, arms crossed, a smile on her lips.
"You're improving, Varian. But still—"
She vanished before she'd even spoken the words.
A moment later, she reappeared behind him, the blade of a dagger pressed against his throat.
Varian's hands twitched. The darkness around him pulsed, writhing unevenly before stabilizing.
Elyndra drew back a fraction, a smile on her lips. "You're a hesitater. You overthink everything—but sometimes hesitation will kill you."
Varian shrugged. "And you rely too much on intuition. One of these days, you'll come across an adversary who does not operate by your rules."
"Then I will redefine the rules." Elyndra's grin was edged.
Regis watched the interaction in silence.
His servants were growing stronger. But it wasn't sufficient.
A Council of War
Later that evening, in the midst of the fortress, Regis gathered his most reliable lieutenants.
A massive black-stone table dominated the war room. In the middle, a holographic image of the lands surrounding them glowed—a called map constructed of shadow and ember.
Kaelen, Varian, Elyndra, and a handful of newly appointed commanders stood at attention.
Regis sat in the head position, his eyes unreadable.
"We are no longer an unknown force," he began, his voice even, measured. "Our presence has begun to spread."
He turned to Varian. "The scouts."
Varian nodded, sweeping his hand across the map. A few red lights flared into existence.
"Several warbands have begun taking notice of us. Some wish to test us. Others have gone silent, lying in wait."
Kaelen's lip curled. "Let them come."
Elyndra, leaning back in her seat, laughed. "You say that now, but we must be careful. An enemy that waits is usually worse than one that rushes in blindly.".
Regis linked his fingers.
"We shall not wait for them to move."
He nodded to the largest red-covered section of the map.
"This group—"the Crimson Reavers. They have a base to the west, and they have an army of thousands."
Varian frowned. "They've been neutral thus far, but they are watching. If we become too strong, they will either try to crush us or attempt to form an alliance with us.".
Regis's face remained unreadable. "Then we will exert pressure before they are able to move."
Kaelen shifted forward, his face intent. "A pre-emptive strike?"
"No. A demonstration of force."
Regis's lips curled into something that could be termed almost a smile.
"If they do not fear us now, they will learn to."
The Will of the Dominion
That night, Regis stood on the upper balcony of his keep, gazing out over the sweeping lands below.
His sky above was dark, but his reign blazed with power—the torches that danced in his fortress, the distant coals of magical forges blazing in the darkness.
The wind carried the sounds of his growing army—the creaking march of soldiers, the flash and ring of training swords, the murmured whispers of war counselors plotting their next stroke.
He could feel it.
Outside, the world had begun to change.
The secret forces that moved unseen in the background, the powerful empires that had endured for centuries, the wily rulers who thought themselves invincible—they would not forget him in perpetuity.
War arrived.
And when it arrived—
The Ashen Sovereign would be ready.