The Royal Palace of Caer Myrr – Secondary Hall
The secondary hall of the Royal Palace of Caer Myrr lacked little in splendor compared to the ceremonial chambers, but it bore the weight of history. Ancient tapestries lined the walls, depicting battles against Gorgon — victories won under the command of King Mandos... and others even older, nearly mythical.
At the far end of the hall, two seats remained unoccupied. One larger, its backrest carved from darkwood — the throne of King Ghrian Kelanor. Beside it, smaller yet equally commanding, the seat of Queen Thalindra.
Fenrel stood with arms crossed, eyes fixed on his father's empty chair.
Not even here... Always absent when most needed.
Master Jelad Einarros, a battle-hardened veteran from House Einarro and a commander of renown, rose to speak. His graying hair fell heavily over his shoulders, and though his voice remained calm, his presence filled the hall.
“Lords,” he began, “the situation with Ortrus has escalated faster than many anticipated. The offensive in the eastern hills was not an isolated strike. Reports indicate a buildup of southern troops and the use of giant mercenaries.”
Murmurs spread through the room, though none were surprised. Fenrel remained silent, listening.
“By order of His Majesty,” Jelad continued, “the war will not be led solely by the Council of Generals.”
He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle.
“The king has entrusted command of the main forces... to his children.”
A heavy silence fell.
Stolen novel; please report.
“First Prince Bragol Kelanor now leads the northern armies. Princess Celina will reinforce the eastern front at Thornbridge. Prince Uren will command the southern expeditionary force.”
Then came the part Fenrel had waited for.
“Prince Fenrel, your responsibility shall be to command the containment force south of Draykor. Your mission: to guard the inner flank and monitor the approaches to the Sundral Mountains.”
Fenrel kept his expression composed, but inside, he felt the sting — it was not the front line he had hoped for.
To his right, Uren offered a faint smile.
“And what of Lord Vermont Leonhardt?” he asked smoothly. “Word is that our cousin is in fine form. Will he take command of any forces?”
Jelad hesitated.
“Lord Vermont remains in charge of the forces of House Leonhardt, by royal decree. However, it is likely that, as the war progresses, he will be entrusted with further commands.”
Fenrel’s brow furrowed slightly. Another name in the race.
At his side, Ser Halrik Drayven — his trusted advisor and a seasoned adept of aura — leaned in discreetly.
“It seems the king intends to use this war to test not only his heirs... but his potential successors.”
A chill ran down Fenrel’s spine.
“This is not merely a war against Ortrus,” Jelad pressed on. “It is a chance to prove leadership, foresight, and strength. The king believes the true rulers are forged on the battlefield.”
Fenrel glanced at Uren.
Five players. Perhaps six. None declared — all real.
“Prince Bragol and Princess Celina have already departed. The remaining heirs are expected to be en route within five days.”
“So soon...” murmured Lady Kelbrant from the rear of the hall.
“War waits for no one, my lady,” Jelad replied. “And the enemy is already in motion.”
Fenrel looked back at the empty throne. For the first time, he truly felt the weight it bore — and the invisible snares set around it.
Jelad bowed deeply.
“May the flame of Kelanor guide your steps.”
The council dispersed in silence. Few exchanged farewells. Most left with eyes heavy with calculation.
Fenrel and Uren walked side by side down the cold stone corridors.
“You knew already, didn’t you?” Fenrel asked.
“I suspected,” Uren replied. “Father never had the strength to choose on his own... so he’ll let the battlefield decide for him.”
They parted soon after.
Halrik rejoined Fenrel, his tone low.
“My lord... if I may offer counsel: on the battlefield, Ortrus will not be your only enemy.”
Fenrel nodded slowly.
“I know.”
