Meeting The High Council

Clyde walked toward the castle, boots striking the stone with steady weight. 

The towering spires loomed ahead, casting long shadows across the marble steps that led to it. 

His eyes drifted to the side gate, remembering the exact spot where two guards had died by his hand. Their mistake had been trivial. At the time he had been ruled by anger that burning from within. 

The high council had tried to humble him and Vernik —that self-righteous and smug — had poured oil on that fire.

Clyde snorted, amused by the memory now. Trouble always followed him or perhaps he was the trouble. Either way, he grinned.

"This will be a mess," he muttered under his breath. "But this place needs to be ready. Even if I have to break a few bones to make it happen."

He pushed open the castle's outer gate and stepped into the grand yard and the building of blackstone and glowing crystal that hummed with enchantments. It was quiet for now.

Then he saw them.