The Immortal General

The crystalline spires of Sylabell pierced the horizon, shimmering in the golden twilight like a vision from a dream. As their party cleared the final rise, the sheer spectacle of the elven capital silenced them all. Towering, ancient trees, broader than any castle keep in Midland, formed the city's natural embrace, their branches interwoven with ethereal architecture that glowed with an internal, magical light. Bridges of woven silver and living wood arced between spires that seemed to be carved from pure sapphire and emerald.

"Is any of that real?" JD breathed.

Lucius added, "It's real, Lord Commander. The craftsmanship… It's pre-Cataclysm thaumaturgy woven directly into nature. They haven't just built a city; they've persuaded the forest to become one. This is a living marvel."

Marie pointed towards a distant, impossibly tall tree from which waterfalls of glowing nectar cascaded into crystalline pools below. "Even the water glows here. I think I'm in love."

Amid their wonder, Yanie remained unnervingly silent, her emerald eyes locked on the city ahead. Though her posture was steady, her knuckles were white where she gripped the leather of her bow.

Memories of her exile played vividly in her mind—the betrayal, the bloodshed, and the quiet, desperate nights when her survival depended entirely on Thalion's cunning. This wasn't just a beautiful city to her; it was a gilded cage she had barely escaped with her life.

Arlan walked beside her, his sharp eyes not on the wondrous architecture, but on the walls, the patrol routes, and the disciplined movement of the guards. He could sense Yanie's unease but chose not to press her. Instead, he spoke quietly to JD.

"Too orderly. Patrols are heavy for a city supposedly at peace."

As the group approached Sylabell's grand gates, intricately carved with the history of the Odian line, their path was abruptly blocked by a battalion of Silvan Royal Army soldiers.

Their polished leaf-green and silver armor gleamed, and their disciplined ranks exuded a cold, implacable authority. At their head stood a figure whose presence demanded attention. His silver eyes were as sharp and chilling as the mithril longsword at his side, and his voice cut through the air like a shard of ice.

"Halt!" the figure commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. "I am Inquisitor Falaen Torrel, charged with enforcing the queen's will."

Arlan met his gaze without flinching. "And what is the queen's will, Inquisitor?"

"Yanie Odian," Falaen declared, his eyes locking onto Yanie with undisguised contempt, "you are hereby barred from entering Sylabell under direct orders from Queen Alveri."

Lieutenant Halien, the official Midland escort, stepped forward, his face a mask of disbelief. "Inquisitor, there must be a mistake! Lady Yanie is part of a diplomatic mission from an allied kingdom!"

Falaen's smirk deepened. "There is no mistake, Lieutenant. Yanie Odian is charged with high treason against Firane. Her return is not a matter of debate but one of justice. By the queen's command, she is to be arrested immediately."

Yanie tensed, her hand instinctively reaching for the string of her bow, but Arlan stepped smoothly in front of her, placing himself between her and the advancing soldiers. His expression remained calm, though his dark hazel eyes burned with a resolve that promised violence.

In a fluid motion, he drew Eternus. The adamantite blade seemed to drink the twilight, its faintly glowing edge casting long, menacing shadows across the cobblestone road. The Silvan soldiers hesitated, their confidence wavering as they felt the oppressive weight of his presence.

"If you lay so much as a finger on her," Arlan stated, his voice dangerously low, "it will be seen as a provocation of war against Midland. Yanie Odian is a retainer of the Banner of the Claw, under my protection. Any attempt to harm her is an attack on me and my kingdom."

The tension in the air grew palpable, thick and suffocating. Arlan released a fraction of his killing intent, a silent, crushing force that washed over the soldiers. They could not help but flinch, their perfect formations wavering slightly under the invisible pressure. Even Falaen's arrogant expression faltered for a moment before hardening once more.

Marie moved to stand beside Arlan, her Lucifer's Regalia flaring to life. A swirling orb of sapphire flame ignited in her palm, its heat rippling the air. Her eyes glinted with a fiery intensity as she added, "And I'll be happy to deliver Midland's first message personally. I am the Embercaller, after all."

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. They had heard the whispers and terrified reports from the war—tales of the Immortal General who could not be killed and the Embercaller who commanded demonic flames. Their hands drifted toward their weapons, but none dared to be the first to draw.

Falaen's smirk twisted into a sneer. "You may be a Crown Prince in your own land, but this is Firane. Your titles are meaningless here." He raised his hand, his voice sharp with command. "Arrest the traitor. Kill any who interfere!"

The soldiers reluctantly raised their spears, their discipline warring with the primal fear Arlan's party projected. The air crackled, the moment stretched thin, a breath away from erupting into bloodshed.

"Enough, Falaen."

The voice was calm but carried an authority that cut through the tension like a keen blade. All eyes turned as a tall elf stepped forward from the city gate, his silver-blonde hair catching the light. Draped in elegant diplomatic robes adorned with the subtle runes of a high-ranking marquis, he exuded an aura of effortless power. His piercing emerald eyes swept over the scene, lingering on Yanie for a heartbeat before settling on the Inquisitor.

"Lord Thalion," Falaen began, his tone deferential but strained. "This matter concerns the queen's decree—"

"And the queen's decree does not override Firane's most ancient traditions," Thalion interrupted smoothly, his voice never rising but carrying an undeniable weight. "Yanie Odian is my niece, of the royal bloodline. Furthermore, she holds diplomatic immunity as an envoy of Midland, an allied kingdom. If you wish to defy both the Council's customs and my authority as a Marquis of this realm, you will answer for it before the entire court. I wonder how the council will feel about an Inquisitor instigating a war at our very gates?"

The soldiers shifted uncomfortably, their resolve clearly shaken. Falaen's jaw tightened, and though his expression remained defiant, he knew he had been perfectly outmaneuvered. He could not openly challenge Thalion—a powerful and respected member of the royal family—without shattering Alveri's fragile political alliances. After a tense, charged pause, he inclined his head, his words dripping with veiled malice.

"Very well, Lord Odian. But know this: the queen will hear of this interference."

With a sharp gesture, Falaen ordered his soldiers to withdraw, their armored boots clattering against the stones as they marched back into the city, melting into the shadows of the grand gate.

As the oppressive tension finally eased, Yanie let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The stoic mask she had worn crumbled in an instant. Forgetting rank, forgetting the eyes upon her, she rushed past Arlan.

"Uncle!"

Thalion's composed facade broke, and he opened his arms just in time to catch her. Yanie crashed into him, burying her face in his shoulder in a fierce, loving embrace that spoke of years of fear and longing.

Thalion held her tightly, one hand stroking her hair. "It's been a long time, Yanie," he said softly, his voice thick with a rare display of emotion. "I am so glad you are safe."

Yanie's voice was muffled against his robe. "I thought… I thought I would never see you again."

"I never stopped looking out for you, Yanie," he whispered back. "My choice to stay behind ensured that you would live to fight another day. It was the only way to preserve what little remained of our family."

He held her for a moment longer before gently easing her back. Yanie's lips pressed into a thin line, her emotions still warring within her. Arlan stepped in, his voice steady and pragmatic, bringing them back to the present. "Will you take us to your estate now?"

Thalion composed himself, the mask of the cunning marquis slipping back into place. He nodded. "Follow me. We'll speak further in private.

Thalion's estate was a testament to elven mastery, a seamless fusion of nature and architecture. He guided them through a grand entrance carved into the tree itself, the wood glowing with a soft, internal light. Inside, the air was filled with the scent of ancient wood, polished heartwood, and blooming nightshade flowers.

"This tree is enormous," JD said, tilting his head back to take in the full height of it. "It's like a whole city could fit inside."

Thalion chuckled softly. "Indeed, it is a marvel. But compared to the Yggdrasil Tree, this is merely a sapling."

Arlan's curiosity was piqued. "What is the Yggdrasil Tree?"

Thalion's expression turned contemplative. "That is a tale for another time, Crown Prince. For now, let us prepare. There is much to discuss."

Thalion guided them into a private study, a circular chamber carved from the very heartwood of the great tree. The walls were lined with ancient scrolls, and glowing artifacts hummed with latent magic.

Elven servants, moving with a grace that seemed to defy gravity, served a luminescent tea that shimmered with motes of light in delicate, crystalline cups before departing, sealing the heavy wooden door behind them.

"Princess Emmeline, Crown Prince Arlan," Thalion began, his formal tone shifting to one of gravity. "Welcome. I wish it were under more stable circumstances."

Marie took a delicate sip of her tea, letting the magical warmth spread through her. "Excellent," she remarked with a wry smile. "At least if we're about to discuss the end of the world, we can do it with a decent brew."

Savage grunted as he awkwardly held the fragile cup between his massive gauntlets. "I could crush this thing with a thought. Does everything in this city have to be so... delicate?"

"Patience," Thalion said with a hint of amusement. "It is a weapon the brutish often neglect. Now, to understand the danger, you must first understand the board on which the game is played. The Silvan Court is not united. It is a knot of five competing factions."

He paused, letting them absorb the statement.

"Two of those factions are loyal to Alveri," he continued. "The Royalists, old noble houses who benefit from her iron fist, and her Inquisitors, who are a political entity unto themselves, bound by a terrifying, fanatical devotion."

"We met their leader at the gate," Arlan said, his voice flat. "He was not impressed with my titles."

"Then there are the two great Neutral Factions," Thalion went on, ignoring Arlan's dry comment. "The Silvan Army, led by the pragmatic General Lyraeth. Their loyalty is to the kingdom, not the queen. And the Southern Great Houses, who value stability and trade above all. They will not act unless they are certain of victory."

JD, ever the soldier, summed it up bluntly. "So, we've got the Queen's lapdogs, her secret police, two groups of fence-sitters, and..." He glanced at Thalion.

"...And the fifth," Thalion finished for him. "The Northern Houses, who remain loyal to the memory of your mother, Queen Luell." His gaze softened as it fell upon Yanie. "We are the ones whose soldiers are being sent to die on the northeastern frontier, fighting the Rhota Orc Tribes."

Frej, who had been restlessly tapping her foot, finally spoke up. "Sending your own troops to die? Unforgivable. A commander who does that deserves to be thrown from the highest mountain."

"A sentiment many share in secret," Thalion said. "But Alveri is using this war as a political purge. She is letting the orcs bleed her rivals dry."

"How efficient," Marie quipped sarcastically. "Getting your enemies to do your dirty work for you. So what's her grand prize for gutting her own army? A kingdom of corpses?"

"Her prize is a weakened military that cannot object to her true ambition," Thalion explained. "Her true target isn't the orcs... it's the dwarves. She plans to invade the Free Cities of Yura and seize their wealth."

"My head hurts," JD muttered, rubbing his temples. "She's losing a war on purpose to start another war she can't win, all to get gold she can't protect?"

"But that's madness," Emmeline countered, picking up JD's thread. "Even if she seized Yura's wealth, her kingdom would be too weak to hold it."

Arlan, who had been studying a map on the table, finally looked up. "It's not short-sighted if she believed Midland was about to cripple itself in a civil war." He let that sink in. "Which brings me to the weapons she supplied to House Kaiser. The Thurian Orbs. Was it her?"

Thalion's eyes met Arlan's. "The transaction was brokered by the Inquisitors. They used a shadowy group of isolationist mages, the Veridian Covenant, as intermediaries."

Yuna, who had been listening intently, frowned. "The Veridian Covenant? I've read their treatises. Their understanding of thaumaturgy is rudimentary at best. To think they could create a Thurian Orb is like asking a child playing with mud to sculpt a masterpiece."

"They had outside help," Thalion confirmed. "A benefactor who delights in chaos. My agents also described the energy signatures around the transaction as ancient, but… tainted. It felt fundamentally wrong."

"Tainted how?" Chrysta asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Akasha, who had been a silent shadow until now, spoke, her voice a low, chilling murmur. "Like the scent of the abyss. A power that does not belong to this world."

Savage slammed his gauntlet on the armrest of his chair. "Demons, orbs, tainted magic... Just point me at the one responsible. My axe doesn't care about their name."

Arlan ignored him, his eyes locked with Thalion's. "Like the demon cores. Like the creatures we fought at Eisanyr." His voice was cold and certain. "It's the same hand behind it all. The Malum Incarnate."

The name fell into the room like a stone. Yanie, her face pale, finally understood the true scope of the darkness that had claimed her mother.

Thalion's focus shifted to his niece. "I have been carefully maintaining this balance, waiting for this moment. Yanie, your return is the catalyst we need to rally the neutral factions."

Yanie stood, her voice clear and strong. "Uncle, I didn't return just to reclaim a title. I'm here for the soldiers being sent to die on the border. I am doing this for them, for Anthony, for Mahari. I will be the queen Firane deserves."

A proud, sad smile touched Thalion's lips. "Spoken like a true queen. Your mother would be—"

Before he could finish, a soft but urgent knock came from the study door. A pale-faced elven servant entered, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly touched the floor. He carried a single royal scroll on a silver platter, his hands trembling slightly as he held it out to Thalion.

Thalion's expression was one of calm expectation; if anything, a flicker of strategic satisfaction crossed his features. "And right on schedule," he murmured, taking the scroll. He calmly broke the gleaming wax seal of the queen and unfurled the parchment. As he read its contents, his lips curled into a wry smile.

"So," JD said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "The viper finally decided to strike?"

"She has extended an invitation," Thalion corrected, his tone laced with irony. "Queen Alveri has learned of your arrival and 'graciously' summoned the Midland envoys to an immediate audience with the Silvan Court. She wishes to welcome her allies personally." He let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. "We have less than an hour to prepare."

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"Good," Marie said, a flicker of her demonic fire dancing in her sapphire eyes. "I was getting tired of waiting."

Savage slammed a gauntleted fist into his other palm. "Finally. Less talk, more breaking things."

Emmeline, ever the diplomat, gave a serene nod. "Then we shall not keep her waiting. It is our duty, after all, to present ourselves as envoys of Midland. We will show her the strength and unity of the crown."

As the others rose, a sense of grim determination filling the room, Thalion motioned for Arlan to stay for a moment. Once they were alone, he approached, the mask of the politician falling away to reveal a hint of the man Arlan had saved two years ago.

"Arlan," he began, his voice softer now. "Two years ago, you saved my life. I have not forgotten. The token I gave you then was a mere down payment on that debt."

He reached into his robe and produced two small, smooth stones that seemed to drink the light from the room, veined with shimmering silver threads.

"The Silvan Court is a place where a whisper can be as deadly as a blade. Words are carefully chosen, but true intentions are hidden. Take these." He placed the Odian Sending Stones in Arlan's palm. "They are a matched pair. When you and another each hold one, you can share thoughts without speaking. A silent conversation. Give one to the Princess. In a room full of enemies, your most valuable ally is the one you can trust completely."

Arlan closed his hand around the stones, feeling their faint warmth. He understood the immense strategic value of Thalion's gift. It was not a weapon, but a tool of intrigue, perfectly suited for the viper's nest they were knowingly walking into. He gave his new ally a nod of profound gratitude.

"Thank you, Thalion. This will be invaluable."

"See that it is," Thalion replied, his professional demeanor returning. "Now, go. Do not keep the Queen waiting."

Arlan turned and left the study, rejoining his companions in the hall. He walked directly to Emmeline and, without a word, pressed one of the smooth, cool stones into her hand.

She looked from the stone to his face, her eyes questioning. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. She understood immediately, her fingers closing around the stone as a look of steely resolve settled on her features. They were ready to face the Queen.

The walk to the Royal Spire was a study in silent tension. Thalion led them, his expression a mask of courtly neutrality, but the grim set of his jaw betrayed the gravity of their mission. He walked them through the upper terraces of Sylabell, where the air was thin and cool, and the city spread out below them like a blanket of emeralds and starlight.

The higher they climbed, the more the mundane sounds of the city faded, replaced by the whisper of wind through colossal leaves and the faint, melodic hum of ambient magic.

Finally, they reached the uppermost plateau, a vast, open courtyard paved with smooth, grey river stones that seemed to absorb the twilight. Before them, the royal palace rose not as a structure of stone and mortar, but as a living monument of breathtaking scale.

It was a single, impossibly ancient tree, its colossal trunk wider than the grandest castle in Midland, its bark like polished, green-streaked marble. Its highest branches, thick as fortress walls, reached so high they seemed to scrape the clouds themselves, each one supporting smaller spires and elegant, arching bridges of woven, living roots.

Crystalline windows, like multifaceted emeralds, were not set in frames but seemed to have grown organically from the living wood, glowing with a soft, internal light. From the highest limbs, waterfalls of luminescent nectar cascaded down into crystalline pools that dotted the courtyard, their gentle splashing the only sound in the still air. The entire structure pulsed with a quiet, immense power that was both awe-inspiring and deeply intimidating.

"By the gods…" JD breathed, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by sheer awe as he pointed toward the colossal form. "That's not a castle… What is that? Yanie, you lived here?"

A sad, nostalgic smile touched Yanie's lips, her gaze fixed on the impossible structure. "I did," she said, her voice soft but clear, carrying over the quiet hum of the city. "It's not a building in the way men think of them. It's a living mountain of ancient heartwood—the oldest and largest tree in all of Sylabell. We call it The Arborea."

Her friends stared, trying to comprehend the scale.

Yanie's voice became distant, lost in memory. "When I was a girl, my mother used to say that its highest branches didn't just scrape the clouds; they held them up. She said if you stood in the Heartwood Chamber at midnight, you could feel the entire forest breathing with you."

Lucius slowly approached one of the massive roots that formed the base of the palace wall, tentatively reaching out to touch its smooth, cool surface. "Incredible," he whispered, his eyes wide with academic reverence. "The thaumaturgical resonance is off the charts. This isn't just shaped wood; the magic is woven into its very life essence. This is pre-Cataclysm engineering at its absolute zenith."

Savage grunted, unimpressed as he tapped his greataxe against the living wall. It made a dull, solid thud. "A pretty tree. But stone walls stop a siege engine better."

Frej, her eyes scanning the upper branches, shook her head. "You're thinking like a ground soldier, Savage. Look at those platforms. Perfect roosts for Gryphons. An army could command the skies for miles from up there. It's a fortress, just not one you understand."

"I don't care what it is, I want one," Marie declared, her eyes sparkling as she watched the glowing waterfalls.

Yuna pointed toward the grand, arching entrance at the base of the Arbor. "It's beautiful, but it's also where the Queen is… And I bet her guards are already watching us."

Arlan nodded, his gaze having never left the silent, black-clad Inquisitors flanking the entrance. He hadn't been admiring the view; he had been counting them. "They've been watching us since we left the lower terraces," he said quietly. "Let's not keep the Queen waiting."

As they followed Thalion through the grand, arching entrance at the base of the Arbor, the ambient warmth of the city fell away, replaced by a profound and unnerving silence. The air inside was cool, carrying the scent of deep caves and night-blooming flowers. The only light came from an eerie, bioluminescent moss that grew in intricate, web-like patterns across the sweeping walls and ceiling, casting a cold, green-tinged glow on everything.

They followed Thalion down a long hall that spiraled gently upwards. On either side, standing in alcoves carved from shadow, were Queen Alveri's Inquisitors.

It was in this chilling atmosphere that Arlan's mind was already at work.

'Sophia,' he thought. 'Report on the Queen and her guards.'

'My liege,' the ethereal voice of his Regalia answered. 'Their cores are masked. A dark, swirling energy obscures them, similar to the corruption we saw in Luther Kaiser. I theorize they have all absorbed demon cores. Caution is advised.'

They reached the end of the hall, where two massive doors of petrified ironwood stood. The Inquisitors guarding them pulled the doors inward, revealing the throne room.

At the far end, upon a throne of intertwined, blackened roots, sat Queen Alveri. She was unnervingly beautiful and serene. The court was assembled, with elven lords and ladies arranged according to their station, their faces a mixture of fear, cunning, and stoic neutrality.

As they began their long walk toward the throne, Alveri offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Princess Emmeline, Grand Marshal Arlan. An honor you did not see fit to announce. We were so surprised to hear you had arrived at our gates."

Before Emmeline could even feel the sting of the insult, a cold pressure filled the room. Arlan had released a fraction of his aura—a silent challenge that made the glowing moss dim around him. Alveri's smile tightened, her eyes narrowing as she felt the unspoken threat.

Emmeline, taking her cue, stepped forward with regal grace. "Forgive our haste, Queen Alveri. It is a matter of great urgency that brings us."

Alveri's perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched. "Oh? And what urgency could be so great as to bypass all diplomatic channels? Tell me, Princess, what is the true nature of your visit to my kingdom?"

The question was a direct accusation. The Sending Stone in Emmeline's palm grew warm.

'She's probing for weakness,' Arlan's thought entered her mind. 'Stick to the cover story. Do not give her anything."

Bolstered by his confidence, Emmeline's poise became flawless." Our purpose is twofold, Your Majesty. First, to reaffirm the bonds between our nations now that the war in Midland is concluded. And second, to open discussions on new trade agreements. The War of the Great Houses has taken its toll on Midland's treasury. We believe a stronger trade pact would greatly benefit both our kingdoms' recovery."

Alveri's laugh was like the tinkling of thin ice. "A noble sentiment, Princess, but your kingdom's finances are the least of my concerns," she said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "My kingdom is bleeding. My brave Silvan soldiers are dying against the orcs, while you and your famed Grand Marshal speak of tariffs and grain shipments. It is a pity Midland's renowned military might cannot be of more... practical assistance."

The veiled accusation hung in the air, aimed squarely at the Northern Lords whose banners were being sacrificed. Alveri was shaming them, daring them to act.

Before Arlan could make his move, a new voice, deep and resonant, cut through the tense silence. A tall, powerfully built elf in practical, unadorned steel armor stepped forward from beside the neutral faction lords. It was General Lyraeth, commander of the Silvan Army.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice devoid of political flourish, "the Grand Marshal of Midland is our guest. It is not his place to fight our battles."

Alveri's eyes flashed with annoyance at the interruption, but she merely smiled. "Of course, General. I am simply lamenting the tragedy befalling our brave soldiers. A sentiment I am sure you share."

This was Arlan's opening. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping past the Queen to lock with General Lyraeth and the grim-faced nobles of the Northern Houses.

"General Lyraeth is correct," Arlan began, his voice calm but resonant, capturing the attention of the entire court. "It is not my place to interfere in the military matters of a sovereign ally." He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle. "However, the bonds between Midland and Firane are forged in more than just ink and trade. They are forged in shared struggle. The Banner of the Claw does not stand idle while an ally bleeds."

He turned his full attention to the General and the Northern Lords. "To honor our alliance, and to honor the sacrifices your soldiers are making at this very moment, I, Grand Marshal Arlan Reeve, will lead my banner to the northeastern front. We will stand with your men and drive the orc filth from your lands."

A wave of shock rippled through the court. The Northern Lords looked at Arlan with stunned respect. General Lyraeth's impassive face showed the first flicker of genuine surprise. Arlan had not only avoided Alveri's trap—he had seized the initiative and laid a trap of his own.

Before the Queen could formulate a response, a portly elf in lavish, emerald-green robes stepped forward from the Royalist faction. It was Lord Selin of House Vexia, a man known for his sycophantic loyalty to the new queen.

"A truly magnificent gesture!" Selin boomed, his voice filling the hall. "The Grand Marshal of Midland himself, offering his legendary Banner of the Claw to defend our borders! Your Majesty, your wise leadership has inspired our allies to acts of unparalleled honor!"

Another Royalist, a stern-faced general with a network of scars on his cheek named General Kaelen, nodded sharply. "Indeed. The Swora fell before this 'Immortal General.' Let us see if the orcs fare any better. It is a perfect test of our allies' commitment."

The political maneuvering was blatant. They were framing a suicide mission as a glorious opportunity, attempting to cement Arlan's path to the front before anyone could object.

It was then that a new voice emerged from the assembled nobles, this one calm and measured. Lord Finian of House Solara, a key figure from the neutral Southern Houses, stepped forward. His robes were simple but made of the finest silk, marking him as a man of immense wealth and practical concerns.

"A noble gesture, indeed," Lord Finian stated, his eyes carefully watching the Queen. "But a gesture that requires support to become a victory. Your Majesty, will the Grand Marshal's banner be afforded the full support of the Royal treasury and our primary supply lines for this... vital undertaking? The north is a difficult front, and without proper logistics, even the greatest army can fail."

The question was a masterful political stroke. It was a reasonable request that was, in reality, a direct challenge to Alveri's intentions. Would she truly support the man she wanted to fail?

Alveri's serene mask vanished, replaced by a flash of pure, cold fury before being suppressed once more. She was cornered. But before she could answer, General Lyraeth took another step forward, addressing Arlan directly, commander to commander.

"Grand Marshal Reeve," Lyraeth said, his voice a low rumble of respect. "Your offer is honorable. But the orc horde is not a disorganized rabble. They are led by an Orc Hero who has united the tribes. It is a meat grinder."

"I am aware of the danger, General," Arlan replied, meeting the veteran's gaze as an equal. "The Banner of the Claw has faced long odds before. We do not shy away from a necessary fight."

Forced to act, Alveri regained her composure, her voice tight and clipped as she cut through the murmurings of the court. "A... most noble and unexpected offer, Grand Marshal. Your courage is... noted." She forced a smile that was more of a sneer. "Very well. We accept Midland's generous aid. I will grant you temporary command of the northeastern theater. You shall have the 'support' you require. See that you do not fail."

The unspoken threat was clear: Go to the front I prepared for my enemies, and die there.

"For the enduring peace of our two great kingdoms, Your Majesty, I would not dare," Arlan replied, bowing his head slightly.

As the audience concluded and the party turned to leave, Alveri's voice, now soft and menacing, called out one last time.

"Lady Yanie."

Yanie stopped, turning to face her aunt as the other court members filed out, their whispers filling the hall. The rest of Arlan's party hesitated at the doorway, their concern palpable.

"I would have a private word with my niece," Alveri announced, her gaze dismissing everyone else. "A family matter."

It was a command, not a request. Thalion gave a subtle, reassuring nod to Arlan before escorting the rest of the party out, leaving Yanie alone in the vast, cold chamber with her aunt and the silent Inquisitors.

Alveri glided down from her throne, circling Yanie slowly like a predator. The pretense of courtly grace was gone, replaced by a chilling, direct confidence.

"Let us dispense with the charade, niece," she began, her voice a low purr that did not match the coldness in her eyes. "I know why you are here. You have returned with your band of Midland heroes, thinking you can rally the sentimental fools who still cling to your mother's memory. It's a bold plan. A foolish one."

Yanie stood her ground, her expression unreadable. "I returned to see my home."

Alveri let out a short, sharp laugh. "Your home? This is my court. This is my kingdom. A kingdom I took while you were hiding in the world of men." She stopped directly in front of Yanie, her smile turning into a condescending smirk. "But I am, despite what you may think, in a generous mood.

Your little display at the gates was amusing, but this game you wish to play will only end in your death. So, I will offer you a choice. A kindness I never offered your mother."

The casual cruelty of her words was like a physical blow, but Yanie did not flinch.

"Take your human friends and leave Sylabell by sunrise," Alveri offered, her voice deceptively sweet. "Return to Midland. Live a quiet, peaceful, and long life as an exiled lady. Marry a merchant. Have children who will never know the weight of a crown. Forget this foolish notion of destiny. This is your only chance to walk away with your life."

Yanie listened, her gaze never leaving her aunt's. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken threats. When she finally spoke, her voice was not that of a frightened girl, but of a queen.

"And what of the Silvan soldiers you are sending to die on the frontier?" Yanie asked, her voice quiet but sharp as glass. "Should I live a quiet life while they perish for your ambition?"

Alveri shrugged, a gesture of profound indifference. "They serve the throne. As do we all, in our own way."

"No," Yanie said, her voice ringing with newfound conviction. "My mother taught me that the throne serves the people. That is a lesson you have forgotten." She took a step closer, her fear replaced entirely by resolve. "So I thank you for your 'generous' offer, Aunt. But I am not leaving. I will not abandon my people, and I will not abandon my duty."

For the first time, a flicker of genuine surprise—and then, pure rage—crossed Alveri's perfect features. She had expected fear, or perhaps a tearful acceptance. She had not expected defiance.

"So be it," Alveri hissed, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You have made your choice. You have inherited her foolishness after all." She turned away, a gesture of ultimate dismissal. "Do not think your powerful friends can protect you from the shadows within your own home."

"Get out of my sight."

Yanie emerged from the throne room, her head held high. The heavy ironwood doors swung shut behind her with a deep, final thud. The rest of the party, waiting with Thalion in the cold, green-tinged hall, visibly relaxed upon seeing her unharmed. Her expression was not one of fear, but of grim determination.

"She is as you said, Uncle," Yanie said, her voice steady. "A viper hiding behind a placid smile."

Thalion nodded, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he gave a slight, approving smile. "And you are your mother's daughter. You did not break." He then gestured for them to depart. "Let us return to my estate. We have much to discuss, and the walls of the Arbor have too many ears."

As they walked back through the silent, grand terraces of Sylabell, the tension from the audience still hung heavy in the air. The ethereal beauty of the city now seemed menacing, a gilded cage they had all just walked into.

Once they were safely back within the privacy of Thalion's study, Yanie finally turned to Arlan, her emerald eyes filled with a mixture of concern and confusion.

"Arlan, why?" she asked, her voice earnest. "Why would you volunteer to go to the front? She wants you dead. You've walked willingly into her trap."

"It's not a trap if you know you're walking into it," Arlan replied calmly, moving to stand before the large map of Firane. "It's a calculated risk. My purpose here is to see you on that throne.

That is a political battle, one that will be fought here in Sylabell with whispers, alliances, and subterfuge. It is a battle for hearts and minds, and that is a fight for you, Emmeline, and Thalion."

Emmeline stepped forward, her understanding of the strategy clear. "He's right, Yanie. It was a brilliant first move. By volunteering, Arlan has won the immediate respect of the Silvan Army and your Northern Houses. Queen Alveri cannot deny him support without looking like a traitor herself. She is now forced to play his game."

Arlan nodded, tapping a finger on the map's northeastern border. "My strength is not needed for the political maneuvering here, not yet. But it is needed there." He turned to the rest of the party. "Which is why I will not be taking all of you with me."

A murmur of protest began, but Arlan raised a hand to silence it.

"Frej, Savage, Yuna, Niren" he said, his gaze meeting each of theirs. "You four will ride with me to the front. Your skills are best suited for direct combat against the orc horde." He then turned to the others. "JD, Marie, Chrysta, Akasha, Nightingale, Fiala, and Lucius—you will remain here. Your mission is just as critical. You will be the shield and sword for Yanie and Emmeline in this city. Protect them, gather intelligence, and be ready for whatever Alveri and her Inquisitors throw at you."

"And you won't be entirely without high-level support," he added. "I've already received word. Archmage Jin Albera will be arriving from Midland within the week to assist you here in Sylabell."

A sense of purpose settled over the room as the plan took shape. It was a classic division of force—a military front and a political one.

Finally, Yanie looked at Arlan, one last question in her eyes. "Arlan… what did you make of her? My aunt. When you were in her presence, did you notice anything?"

Arlan turned from the map, his expression becoming deadly serious. He thought back to the throne room, to the swirling, dark energy Sophia had warned him about, and the unnatural coldness that clung to the Queen.

"Her core was unreadable, just as Sophia predicted," he began, his voice low and deliberate. "The demon core she has absorbed masks her true strength, just as it did with Luther." He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle in the silent room.

"But it couldn't hide everything. There was something else there, beneath the corruption. A unique, powerful resonance I've only felt from a handful of others."

He met Yanie's gaze, his own eyes like hardened steel.

"Your aunt is a Holder, Yanie. Despite the corruption, despite everything… Queen Alveri has a Regalia."