The accord of dominion

Althea's gaze swept across the gathered rulers, her violet eyes burning with an intensity that silenced even the most skeptical among them, her presence ethereal, unearthly—a being bound by something greater than mortal concerns.

"You do not understand," she said, her voice layered with something ancient, something that reverberated beyond the mortal plane. "We cannot leave. Not because we do not wish to fight, but because we are bound—body, soul, and power—to this land."

She extended her hands, and the very air shimmered as if reality itself bent under the weight of her words. A vision unfolded, woven from pure magic—an image of Earth itself, but beneath its surface, luminous golden threads stretched from the rulers, anchoring them to the very core of the planet.

"The Accord of Dominion," Eryndor whispered, his usually calm demeanor now laced with understanding.

Althea nodded. "Since the dawn of our reigns, we have been tethered to our lands, our people, and the balance that holds this world together. Our power is not just our own—it is bound to Earth itself. If we leave, our magic, our strength, our very life force would unravel. And worse, the lands we rule would wither in our absence."

The Vampire King's voice was grim. "Our existence sustains our kingdoms. The moment we set foot beyond this world, the equilibrium shatters. The barriers that keep the supernatural forces of this realm in check will fall, and the chaos that follows will be the end of everything."

Althea inclined her head. "This is why it must be our heirs."

Her eyes moved to each ruler in turn. "They are of our blood, our lineage, but they are not yet bound as we are. Their souls are untethered, their destinies unwritten. They have the strength to fight without the chains of dominion holding them down."

She raised a single finger, and the golden threads pulsing beneath the rulers darkened into chains, thick and unbreakable. Then, new threads appeared—thin, fragile, and flickering—leading to their children, but not yet fully attached.

"Once we pass our crowns to them, once they take our thrones, they too will be bound as we are. But not yet."

She let her hands drop, and the vision faded.

"This is our only chance." Her voice was almost a whisper now. "If we fight here, we lose. But if they fight out there—if they can stop the war before it reaches us—then we have hope."

A heavy silence settled over the room, the weight of fate pressing upon them all.

The rulers looked at one another, some stunned, some furious, some afraid.

"Impossible," King Thalorien of the elves murmured. "They are too young."

"They are unprepared," the fairy king added.

But Althea remained unmoved. "Not yet. But they will be. Fate is not a chain, nor a cage. It is a river. And the current is shifting in their favor."

King Alaric inhaled deeply, his piercing gaze locked onto Morgana. "If they fail?"

Althea 's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Then this world will burn. And we will all die screaming."

The silence that followed was deafening.

A heavy silence stretched across the chamber, thick with hesitation, fear, and defiance. Althea's words had shaken them all, but rather than forging unity, they had sown division.

King Alaric of the Lycans was the first to speak. His sharp, golden eyes burned into Althea, his voice low and edged with barely restrained fury.

"You speak of prophecy as though it is fact, Althea. But I have fought wars, real wars, not shadows conjured by visions. How do we know this enemy is even real? How do we know they will come at all?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the rulers.

King Thalorien of the elves, his elegant fingers steepled together, regarded Althea with cool skepticism. "You ask us to send our children into an unknown realm to fight creatures we have never seen. Based on what? A vision? A premonition? If your prophecy is wrong, we would have sacrificed our heirs for nothing."

The King of the Minotaurs, massive and formidable, let out a scoff. "Even if the enemy exists, what makes you think our children stand a chance? If these creatures are as strong and unkillable as you claim, then sending them is nothing short of slaughter."

King Vaerus of the water creatures leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "And why must it be them? Why the young? Why not us? We are the ones with power, experience, and armies. We should be the ones to fight, not children who have yet to see real battle."

The tension in the chamber grew.

Althea's fingers curled into fists.

They weren't listening.

They were afraid.

And fear had made them blind.

Before she could speak, the Vampire King rose from his throne. His presence alone commanded silence, his piercing crimson eyes sweeping over the room. His voice, smooth yet laced with quiet menace, filled the air.

"You question the words of the Queen of Witches?" His tone was not loud, but it cut through the tension like a blade. "Have you all forgotten who she is? Althea does not deal in riddles or deceptions. She has foreseen countless fates, predicted countless wars. Her visions have never been wrong before."

Some of the rulers shifted uneasily.

It was true. Althea's prophecies were legendary. They had guided entire civilizations through crisis after crisis. And yet—

"Even if her visions are true," the Siren Queen interjected, "how can you expect us to willingly hand over our children? Would you?"

The Vampire King's gaze did not waver. "If it meant their survival, yes."

A silence fell.

The Siren Queen narrowed her gaze. "So you mean to send your own flesh and blood to this war?"

The Vampire King spoke this time. "Yes."

The Vampire King's lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. "The Prince of Lycans is no coward. He will go."

But Alaric's fury only grew. He slammed a fist on the table, his claws extending. "You cannot speak for my son!"

Althea exhaled, slow and measured. "I do not speak for your son, Alaric. But I speak for fate. The path is already set. If you refuse now, it will not change what is coming. The war will come to them whether they go willingly or not."

Queen Lysara shook her head. "You cannot ask us to gamble their lives on fate alone."

The Fairy King nodded. "If they go, they will not return. And we will have lost our future rulers. Our people will fall into chaos."

Althea's grip tightened on the edge of the table.

The rulers did not see it.

They refused to see it.

And so, despite the urgency, despite the truth laid bare before them, they rejected it.

One by one, they stood, voicing their refusal.

"I will not send my daughter to die," King Vaerus declared.

"Nor will I send my son into a war that is not yet upon us," Queen Mirawen added.

"We do not act on shadows," King Alaric growled.

It was unanimous.

None of them agreed.

None of them would let their heirs go.

The meeting was over.

Althea's shoulders were tight as she watched them rise, ready to leave. She could feel the weight of their doubt pressing in from all sides. But she did not plead. She did not beg.

Instead, she slowly turned her gaze upon them all and spoke one final time.

Her voice was calm, yet it echoed in the chamber with the force of an unshakable truth.

"Very well," she said softly. "Then I suppose we will wait. Wait for the scouts to come. Wait for them to bring back their findings. Wait until the invasion is no longer just a prophecy, but reality."

Her eyes darkened, her lips curving into something that was not quite a smile.

"I only hope," she murmured, "that when that day comes… you do not regret this choice."

And with that, the meeting was over.