Rebirth: Forgotten Prince's Ascension

The council chamber carried silence a while, its walls lined with ancient banners of Valeria's past wars—some faded, some crimson with preserved dyes that looked too much like blood.

At the long table sat Emperor Xavier, and to his right, Prince Aric, calm as stone, but with eyes sharp enough to cut through the dim candlelight.

On the opposite side stood the Northrenders, their furs and steel armor seeming almost barbaric against the polished marble of the chamber.

Commander Yrsa, tall and severe, her violet cloak draped across one shoulder, silver embroidery catching the light whenever she shifted.

Behind her stood her retinue—silent as statues, their eyes ever watchful.

Xavier's council—Generals Valmir and Karsen, Minister Helbrecht, and the High Chancellor—all sat in an ordered row, like wolves pretending civility before a hunt.

Aric spoke first, his tone as casual as it usually was.

"Let us review what has been placed before us. Trade routes through the south. Dominion over the northern settlements. Mutual defense, should Draken move upon either of us."

Yrsa inclined her head, her braid swaying as she did. "Yes. Northrend is prepared to bind itself by oath, should Valeria prove equal to its word. We do not barter lightly. We are not Draken."

Xavier's lips curled at the name. "No. But you are not without sin either. We do not forget that your people marched across our lands once, uninvited, and painted the snow red with Valerian blood."

Yrsa met the emperor's stare without flinching. "We did. As you painted ours those many years ago. War is the way of nations. But alliances are what keep nations from dying. However, we do apologize for allowing the coward king rope us into his ambitions."

The room stilled.

Aric leaned back in his chair, one hand idly tracing the grain of the table. He let the silence stretch, knowing silence was its own weapon.

Finally, he said, "Dominion over the northern settlements is acceptable. You hold them now, and forcing you out would bleed us more than the soil is worth. Better they serve as the mortar between us than the tinder for another fire."

Xavier gave a slow nod, his eyes sliding toward his son. "Spoken with a soldier's pragmatism. Very well. The lands may remain under your control, Commander. For now."

A faint smile ghosted over Yrsa's lips—small, restrained, but there. "Then we are already further than I feared."

The ministers scribbled notes, quills scratching like the ticking of impatient clocks.

Aric lifted another parchment, its wax seal broken. "Access to our southern ports. Trade routes through Byzeth. This, too, can be granted." He glanced at Yrsa, his gaze steady. "Draken starved you with inflated prices, made you bow for scraps. We offer trade without chains."

Yrsa's eyes flickered. "And without bandits on the road?"

Aric's lips curved. "I am not Aszer, do not worry."

Her silence was acknowledgment enough.

Xavier cut in, his deep voice steady as iron. "Trade access will be granted. On Valeria's terms. Fairer than Draken's, but still… ours to control. Or rather, the Byzeth's king." Xavier glanced to Aric.

They shared a nod.

Yrsa inclined her head. "So long as 'fairer' means just that, not another chain of gold."

For a time, they argued details—tariffs, patrols along the trade roads, control of river crossings.

The council grew restless, voices rising and falling like waves against stone, but Aric kept his composure, interjecting at the precise moments to cut through noise with clarity.

He framed each concession as strength, each compromise as a reminder that Valeria held the higher ground.

When the matter of mutual defense arose, the chamber grew colder.

Yrsa's tone hardened. "Draken presses north. Already they build their fires close to our borders. They test us daily, their tantrums no longer small, no longer hidden. This is no time for hesitation. If Valeria stands with us, Draken will think twice before moving further. Together, we have a string defense."

One of the ministers bristled. "Or together, we paint a target on ourselves! Why should we provoke war with Dragons when peace still holds?"

Aric's gaze slid to him, flat and cold. "Peace does not hold. It shatters even as we sit here. Draken will not tolerate our strength growing. They will not tolerate trade passing them by. Neutrality is an illusion. The only choice left is where to stand when the fire spreads."

The chamber fell silent. Even Xavier regarded his son for a moment with a trace of approval.

Aric pressed on, voice steady, almost gentle. "And when war comes, better we face it with Northrend beside us than against us."

Yrsa's eyes lingered on him, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in them—acknowledgment, perhaps even admiration.

Finally, Xavier rose. "Enough. Valeria will consider this alliance carefully. We will not rush where empires should tread with caution. You will have our answer soon."

The words were final. No one argued.

Yrsa nodded, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her disappointment. "Very well. But delay breeds danger. Draken will not wait politely at our gates while you deliberate."

She turned, her cloak whispering against the floor. But before she reached the doors, she paused and looked back at Aric.

"Perhaps, Prince," she said, voice carrying across the chamber, "you will come north to see for yourself. Walk our frozen roads. Speak with our chiefs. Then you will know whether Northrend is worth your empire's blood."

The ministers stirred at the audacity of the suggestion. A prince of Valeria, traveling to Northrend? Dangerous. Reckless. But Yrsa's eyes never left his.

Aric's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "Perhaps I will."

---

When the Northrenders had departed, the chamber did not relax. If anything, the air grew heavier.

The High Chancellor was the first to speak.

"Your Majesty, surely you cannot entertain—"

"Quiet," Xavier snapped, his voice slicing the words apart. His gaze turned to Aric. "What do you think?"

Aric steepled his fingers, considering. "They are desperate. Desperation makes allies dangerous. But it also makes them malleable. Draken is coming, whether we wish it or not. Better Northrend as a shield than as another enemy to bleed against."

General Valmir scowled. "They are savages. Can they even be trusted to hold the line if war comes?"

Aric's eyes flickered with faint amusement. "They respect strength. They know ours. They will not betray so long as they fear what it would cost."

The council murmured, uneasy but unable to deny his logic.

Finally, Xavier spoke, his tone low, deliberate. "You have drawn blood and respect from them, Aric. That much is clear. But Yrsa's invitation—what do you make of it?"

Aric leaned back, his gaze distant for a moment. He could still feel Yrsa's eyes on him, hear the weight of her words. "It is not courtesy. More a test. If I go, it proves strength. If I refuse, it proves fear."

Xavier's expression darkened with thought. "And if you go, it may prove recklessness also."

Aric exhaled. "Perhaps."

The emperor studied him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "We will speak again before you decide. For now, let the Northrenders wait. We do not move at their command."

The council dispersed, muttering among themselves, but Aric lingered as Xavier remained seated. Father and son, the chamber theirs alone.

"You walk a knife's edge," Xavier said quietly. "You play games with wolves as though they were dogs."

Aric met his gaze. "Wolves understand me. Better than these men in robes."

Xavier's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Be certain, Aric. If you go north, you do not go as a boy chasing blood or glory. You go as Valeria's hand. One mistake, and you lose more than your life. You lose the empire."

Aric inclined his head, accepting the warning as both rebuke and blessing.

"I understand."

---

That night, Aric returned to his private chambers, the weight of the meeting still pressing against his mind. His council waited within, eyes sharp for news.

"...So they did not win an answer," Aric told them. "We asked they be patient."

"And the invitation?" Serina asked, her voice sharp with suspicion. "She wants you in her world. On her terms. Be wary."

Aric smirked faintly. "Oh, I intend to. But sometimes stepping into another's den is the best way to learn where their walls are weakest."

Serina studied him, then gave a reluctant nod. The others remained silent, trusting him as they always did.

Aric poured himself a cup of dark wine, the firelight flickering against his pale features.

"Northrend wants strength. Draken wants dominance. The empire wants safety. All of them want something. I will give each just enough to think they are winning."

He raised the cup, the shadows curling across his face as he whispered to himself, unheard by the others.

"And when the time comes… I'll take."