The King and the Prisoner

The silence that settled over the council room was heavier than the oak on the walls. A shaft of sunlight cut through the chamber from one of the high windows, illuminating dancing dust motes before coming to rest on Veilon's desk. 

Fifteen years of history Aiden had missed, of resentment and divergent paths. Aiden remained standing, rigid, his defiance a clear mask on his face. To one side, Ciro had leaned nonchalantly against the wall by the door, observing everything with his arms crossed, while Angellon kept hers clasped behind her back. Before him, King Veilon watched him from behind his desk, while Queen Rea stood just in front of her own seat. Everyone in the room understood that this was a meeting that specifically involved Veilon and Aiden.

Veilon knew that any word of courtesy, any attempt to reminisce about the past, would be seen as an aggression. The resentment in Aiden's eyes was one he wouldn't be able to extinguish for some time, not after the injustices that had befallen him; nonetheless, he had to try. As king, and as Aiden's old rival, it fell to him to make the first move.

It was Veilon who, with a faint sigh that seemed to carry away some of the room's tension, decided to break the silence first.

"Please, take a seat. The journey must have been exhausting."

He gestured with his hands toward the leather chairs in front of his desk. Angellon shot Aiden a look, but he didn't move.

"I'm perfectly fine standing," he answered defiantly.

Veilon's serious face cracked for a moment. Angellon moved closer to Aiden and whispered in his ear.

"The meeting hasn't even begun and you're already making a scene. Sit down," she ordered imperiously.

After a tense pause, Aiden finally relented, but he didn't lean back. He sat on the edge of the chair, leaning forward, ready to spring up at any moment; for her part, Angellon took a seat beside him, her gaze never leaving him.

Veilon felt a bit uncomfortable with the situation but decided to push the feeling aside by taking his own seat. Queen Rea followed his lead.

"Aiden…" Veilon said, placing his hands on the desk. "How have you been?"

Veilon's question was a sensitive one. It wasn't loaded with mockery, but with genuine concern. However, Aiden heard it in his own way.

"How do you think I've been?" Aiden asked, his voice nearly a shout.

And to think, moments before, Aiden had judged Angellon's risky reply to Ciro. But his own transgression was something else entirely: a retort, with words still stained with blood and resentment, to the king of the most powerful kingdom on the continent. Angellon's might have been reckless; his was simply suicidal.

"Calm yourself, Svalthren," Ciro said in an authoritarian tone, his expression regal.

"No, it's alright, Ciro," Veilon ordered his Commander to stop, trying to remain calm at all times. "He has every right to be angry."

But the queen did not think the same, her voice slithering aggressively into the conversation.

"Watch your tongue, Svalthren. The fate of your life is still in our hands," she threatened, shaking her head, the curls of her brown hair whipping violently. "Don't forget where you are and who you're addressing. Your words have consequences."

Veilon raised a hand, a silent request for patience, before focusing on Aiden again.

"That was a misplaced question. My apologies," he said, bowing his head in a gesture of humility that Aiden dismissed as manipulative. "Allow me to rephrase. How did Officer Norvel treat you on the day of your release?"

Clever, Aiden thought. Diverting the attention from his own guilt to her.

"What? Are you trying to cause a dispute between us?"

The understanding king's composure vanished for a moment, Veilon's lips tightening.

"No," he replied, the warmth gone from his voice. "I'm trying to ensure you were treated with due respect."

Treated with respect? If you call being beaten and threatened 'respect', then yes, it was wonderful!, Aiden thought. 

The sarcastic response fought to escape, but Aiden held it back. Instead, an ironic, humorless smile touched his lips. From his position, he saw Angellon watching him from the corner of her eye with an expression that said, "Don't drag me down with you."

"Officer Norvel has done her job," he replied, choosing his words carefully, and leaned back in the chair for a moment to adopt a nonchalant posture. "Is this why you brought me here?" he continued, ignoring the prior warnings from Ciro and Rea. "To exchange false courtesies?"

Aiden's defensive attitude made the situation tense once more.

"We are not here to fight," Veilon responded with frustration.

Aiden hadn't forgotten, in the past, behind the bars of the Hollow Bastion, news from the outside world arrived like whispers on the wind; incomplete stories the guards would let slip and the prisoners would exchange in the gloom of their cells—there's been a change of leadership in the kingdom of Edril, the construction of The Glare is complete, the tariffs on Mount Paradise have been reduced, a group from the Svalthren clan has been beaten, the Svalthren have resorted to vandalism, the Svalthren are seen as a danger in every corner of the kingdom—. The news that his people were a danger was the most disheartening of all, and he was locked away, with no chance to help them, trapped in his prison. I'll never get out of here... he would tell himself. Years of imprisonment where hope grew dimmer and dimmer, forging a deep sadness that transformed into pure hatred upon hearing a single, bitter rumor: the ascension of Veilon Thalmyr to the throne.

The story, embellished by the envy and speculation of the inmates, told of how the old king, Thareon Zephandor, in the last years of his life and worried about the line of succession, had set his eyes on the most promising students of the Eilhart Academy—Aiden's generation. While he was being dragged into darkness for a crime that felt like a trap, his old rival, the one who had been his equal in everything, Veilon Thalmyr, was being invited to court, his path to the throne paved. How was he supposed to feel? At the time, Aiden could only lament, as those who entered the Hollow Bastion never saw the light of day again.

What damned bad luck, Aiden would torment himself. How much bad luck did he have to have to be the only one of his generation to lose such an opportunity? How many centuries of Zhailonite history had passed where monarchy was the only form of succession? And just when Aiden was locked up, that's when they decided to start changing things. Even with a legitimate heir to the throne, they preferred to choose someone else as the ruler of the realm: a true misfortune for Aiden...

Seeing how fragile the situation was, Veilon decided to change tactics, moving away from his desk and walking with measured steps toward a jet-black wooden cabinet that flanked the fireplace. The upper shelves were filled with leather-bound books, their golden spines glowing faintly in the light from the window. They were perfectly aligned, untouched; a row of knowledge that, Aiden suspected, served more for appearances than as a source of wisdom.

The king opened one of the lower drawers and pulled out a single scroll of parchment, sealed with a simple blue silk ribbon. He unrolled the parchment on the polished oak surface before everyone's eyes, and the sound of the old paper spreading was the only thing that broke the room's stillness.

"Aiden, do you recognize the locations on this parchment?" he asked in a low tone, pointing to the old and battered document.

Aiden glanced quickly at the document without giving it much thought. It was an old parchment, its edges worn and the paper stained a yellowish color by the passage of time. At first, he only saw a set of faded lines and names, a map like any other he might have studied at the academy.

"If you think I'm going to keep wasting my time looking at your stupi—"

"Just look at it," Veilon's voice said, cutting Aiden's words short.

Aiden, agitated, saw Veilon's exasperated face. A victory, at least, he gloated to himself. He leaned over the table and, for an instant, the entire world seemed to stop before the strokes on that parchment. His gaze, however, fixed on a chain of jagged peaks in the upper corner. He recognized that image instantly. The Peaks of Searock. His eyes slid east, following the line of a frozen coast until they reached a familiar place. The Sea of the Ice Serpent. And then, as he read the names of the settlements etched in ancient calligraphy, understanding struck him like a physical blow.

It wasn't a simple map. It was a map from a time before he had lost everything.

Aiden's throat went dry, his breathing hitched, and his eyes didn't wait, darting from one point to another, each name carrying a wave of memories. There was Maerkhal, and in his mind, he remembered the fog that enveloped its Highlands. He saw Fellhaund—a constant threat to the domains of Ikaria and Vaelcrest—and he swore he could hear the howl of beasts outside the palace walls. In the center of the map, like a symbol of opulence, stood Haemdrak, the kingdom of the Primordial Ice, the self-proclaimed peacekeepers of the north whose crystal towers rose as a reminder of who held the true control of the region. And finally, his eyes went to the northernmost point, a spot nearly erased by time, at the edge of the map and the continent: the Frozen Fort. His home. The fortress that protected the Svalthren and Thalmyr clans. At the bottom of the map was the signature of the person who created it—Alvan Svalthren. Aiden's father.

Any trace of aggression Aiden had shown before vanished, replaced not by depression, but by a profound shock. His hands trembled on the parchment. The calligraphy, the firm lines of the drawings. It was all his father's work.

"Where did you get this?" Aiden asked, his voice barely a whisper, stripped of all aggression.

"Your father was the one who handed it over before he was exiled," Veilon replied. "At the time, Fellhaund was invading the northern domains. The kingdom needed valuable information to discover the routes they were using, how they moved, and the abilities they possessed. He said he wanted to make a contribution to the kingdom."

A contribution... Aiden thought, and his throat burned. And in return, they cast him out. Just so this group of usurpers could keep it...

Aiden lifted his gaze from the map, his eyes incredulous.

"Why would he do anything for you after what you did?"

"He did it to ensure that his family, that his people, wouldn't pay an even greater price for his actions. What your father did back then helped keep the beasts of that kingdom at bay."

The revelation was a more devastating blow than any fist. His father had negotiated to save him and his clan. Aiden lowered his gaze to the map, looking one last time at the parchment.

Veilon seemed to understand the pain on his face.

"You can keep it. It's yours."

Aiden, for that single instant, didn't complain about the king. Veilon's words, whether sincere or not, had given him back a fragment of his past. His father's last gift. As if it were a way of thanking him, he simply took the map without arguing, feeling the fragile touch of the parchment, and tucked it carefully into the inner pocket of his tunic.

"If my father did all that... if he helped them... then why?" Aiden asked, his voice trembling in a pleading tone. "Why was my father exiled, Veilon?"

"You know why, Aiden. In the eyes of the kingdom, it was the minimum sentence for his treason."

The word "treason" was the spark that lit the fuse.

"You drove us to it!" Aiden roared, and the shout echoed in the hall, charged with years of frustration and contained rage. He leaped from the chair, the impulse so abrupt that the chair he'd occupied wobbled and crashed backward with a dry thud that resounded in the room. "What did you expect? That we would just wait for the creatures of the Ram to finish us off? You didn't give us support when we asked for it, and that's why we're in this situation now!"

The shout put Ciro on high alert, his hand instinctively moving to the pommel of the sword at his belt, ready to apprehend Aiden if necessary. The sound of the sword put Aiden on alert, and he scowled as he turned toward Ciro. Veilon, for his part, only looked at his former companion with genuine sorrow.

Before the situation could spiral out of control, Angellon intervened, positioning herself between Aiden and the king.

"Control your anger, Svalthren," she said in a low tone, but one audible to everyone. "Do you want to be imprisoned again?"

Aiden let the air escape his lungs, the shout now reduced to an exhausted whisper.

"Let's just get this over with... Why did you summon me?"

Veilon sighed, a weary sound that seemed to release some of the tension in the room. The shaft of light from the window had moved; it no longer illuminated his desk, but now fell on the stone floor between the two rivals, like an invisible barrier that separated them.

"For many years I wanted to do something, but I couldn't before, and you know it. I was just a student, same as you. My coronation is nothing more than a recent event." His gaze met Aiden's, searching for a non-existent empathy. "Now I am the king, Aiden. Now I have the power to correct these injustices."

Every noble word from Veilon seemed wrapped in a sack of lies, a speech designed to present him as a kind man, a just king who only cared for others. But Aiden didn't buy it. In his heart—hardened by his years of confinement—he could only hear the prelude to a request.

No... he didn't free me because he wanted to help me, he thought with certainty. If he did, he would have let me go without asking for anything in return. The fact that I'm here means he wants something from me. Veilon saw an opportunity to take advantage of him, to use him; though he still didn't understand for what.

"Initially, my intention was to simply let you go," Veilon finally said, his voice now stripped of all sentimentality. "To give you gold so you could go wherever you wanted... but it didn't feel right. I was sure that what you were looking for wasn't gold, and I still believe it. That's why I brought you here, because..."

And here we go... Aiden thought, a knot of anticipation and distrust forming inside him.

"Because I believe that what you want is to find a way to help your people, just like me," Veilon continued, facing him firmly. "I won't deny it, I need your help, Aiden. Even though I wear this crown, my situation is quite complicated. I haven't completely won the throne yet; I'm just entering this game and many see me not as a king, but as a usurper. Lords of the domains who murmur the name Zephandor in the shadows, Archons in the north and south who see a northerner consolidating power, and spies in my own court who deny my authority. I need people I can trust, Aiden."

"You want my trust?" Aiden spat, the question bordering on sarcasm. "How could I trust you after what they did to me? I have nothing; I lost my family, my friends, my home, my freedom, and you ask for my trust?"

Before Veilon could answer, Aiden saw a quick movement from the queen. Rea Zephandor let out a huff of disdain, her expression making it clear how absurd she found it that anyone would demand something from her king, especially a Svalthren. Veilon seemed not to notice, or chose to ignore it. Aiden closed his hands into fists.

"I know it's difficult, Aiden, but you must understand, I had nothing to do with what happened to you. I did not order your arrest, I did not order your imprisonment, and above all, I did not condemn your people. So get that erroneous idea out of your head."

His calm broke. He took a step forward, his voice rising, his frustration finally erupting.

"The only thing I did was pull you out of that hole to give you another chance!"

The outburst was so sudden that Ciro moved to the front, preparing for an aggression from Aiden. Veilon, realizing this, stopped, exhaled sharply, and regained his composure, though his frown remained.

"If I ask for your help," he continued, "it's to change everything that is wrong with this kingdom, including the perception we have of your clan. If you truly want to do something for them, then accept my offer."

How dare he lecture me? Aiden thought, rage rising in his head. His fingernails dug into his palms, and the world seemed to shrink to a single point. Only one thing crossed his mind: to destroy the man who stood before him. For a moment, he seriously considered punching him in the face to release some of his anger.

Just as his agitated mind began to weigh that madness, he felt a tug on his arm. He turned and met Angellon's red eyes. There was no panic in them, only a warning. She shook her head once, a minimal movement that said, "Don't even think about it."

Aiden closed his eyes for a moment, Angellon's intervention dissolving the momentary rage inside him.

What the hell am I thinking, he told himself. Do I want to go back to that same place? Or worse, get myself killed right here and now?

When he opened them again, all trace of hatred had vanished from his expression, buried once more in the depths of his being, forcing his body to relax. Angellon, seeing this, let him go.

"What is it you need me to do?" Aiden said at last, without emotion.

Veilon seemed to take that as the only victory he needed. His features softened, and for a moment, the king's demeanor was replaced by that of a man speaking with an old rival.

"I know how hard you fought to get ahead at the academy, Aiden. What you sacrificed for it all to be in vain in the end. I have created a small squadron that operates outside the traditional power structures. The person by your side, Angellon Norvel, is its Officer." He paused, his eyes fixed on Aiden's, and delivered the true reason for his summons. "I want you to be the leader of your people, just like your father. Help me build a better kingdom, and I will make sure you get back all those lost years."

Veilon's words fell like a thunderbolt in the quiet room. The reaction was instantaneous, not from Aiden, but from the others. Ciro, raising his eyebrows in a show of surprise. Angellon, unflinching. But it was Queen Rea who spoke.

"Veilon, are you sure?" it was a whisper, loaded with disapproval. "Giving such a position to him?"

Aiden barely heard. The word "leader" echoed in his mind, drowning out everything else. The roar of rage inside him, the vengeance against all those who had imprisoned him, that fire that had kept him alive in the darkness... all of it vanished. Fifteen years lost behind a curtain of thoughts wrapped in pure smoke—the abuse from the guards, the disputes between prisoners, his disconnection from the Terum—suddenly, it parted. The light from the window fell upon him and a possibility formed in his mind. A dizzying, overwhelming possibility. Of rebuilding instead of destroying. The idea was so unexpected that it left him speechless and breathless.

Is it even possible? was the first thing Aiden asked himself, Veilon's offer ringing in his ears. To be the new leader of the Svalthren? But... what about everything I've lost

The mere thought made him clench his fists, rage and hope waging a war within him.

He, Aiden Svalthren, who had been treated like scum; who had been a forgotten number in the records of the Hollow Bastion; who had been spat upon by all the clans of Zhailon. He, not as a pardoned pariah, but as a leader. The idea was so absurd, so monumental, that his mind struggled to encompass it. Could it really work? Or was it just a more elaborate trap to secure his loyalty?

He felt Angellon's gaze fixed on him, her eyes having returned to their usual purple color. Her presence was a reminder that, no matter how noble Veilon's intentions sounded, true intentions always ended up being something else entirely.

Veilon watched the conflict on Aiden's face, the silent war being fought in his eyes. He didn't press him. He simply waited, giving him the space he hadn't had in so long.

Aiden lowered his gaze to his hands, still marked by the scars and redness from the friction of the ropes.

The promise of a better future doesn't erase what happened.

And just as quickly as the light from the window arrived, it also abandoned him, and a single thought, clear and sharp as a dagger, filled his head: vengeance. It was the only real thing he had left.

What Veilon offered sounded very good on paper, but the possibility of the Svalthren name once again meaning honor sounded impossible. He didn't trust the Zhailonites nor the Thalmyr's. He was not willing to let them sabotage him again.

With his new resolution burning inside him, he raised his eyes to Veilon. He forged an expression of acceptance, of a warrior who had made a difficult decision.

"I'll do it," he said, his voice laced with lies.

Veilon, for his part, gave him a smile of genuine relief. He saw in that warrior a flash of the young Aiden he remembered.

"I knew I could count on you," he mentioned, and a smile of genuine relief transformed his face for an instant, revealing the young man Aiden remembered. Resuming his kingly composure, he continued. "Look, before we begin, there are a few things to point out. As you know, Ciro is the commander of the royal army."

Veilon approached the table, his fingers tracing the borders of the domains on one of the maps.

"Ciro is a symbol of Xhandor's power, of central authority. The best strategist Zhailon has had in generations, but his presence in other territories doesn't inspire trust; it inspires fear. They see him as my eyes and ears, not as an ally. He cannot leave the kingdom unless the situation is critical, and he cannot watch over all the scattered troops." He looked up from the map to address Aiden. "I need people who can positively influence other domains. Who can be my eyes and ears where Ciro cannot reach. Someone who doesn't carry the king's banner so obviously."

After making the mission's needs clear, Veilon moved on to the most important point, on which everything else depended.

"I know you've been locked up a long time, Aiden. Your training, your skills... they must be rusty. I expect Officer Norvel can support you with that. But there is something more urgent. How are your Terum levels?"

"I haven't had time to check anything since I got out," Aiden replied, his tone sharp.

I've barely had time to breathe, he thought with disgust.

"I understand. That's why I've taken the liberty of preparing." He turned toward the door where Ciro remained vigilant. "Ciro, there's someone outside. Can you have them come in?"

The oak door opened. Ciro left the room and returned a moment later accompanied by a man of senile appearance with whitish hair combed back. He wore a simple, unadorned emerald green tunic that fell in folds to the floor. He carried no weapons, and his hands were hidden in the wide sleeves. His face had calm features, and his eyes, a light hazel color, regarded everything with a serene indifference, as if he didn't see people, but the currents of energy that surrounded them.

Aiden felt a chill upon seeing him. A Custodian of the Terum, he thought.

They were not warriors, nor politicians; they were the scholars of the Terum, the only ones with the authority and knowledge to measure an Awakened's potential and diagnose problems in their animic core. Belonging to the Arcane Directorate, a force independent of the kingdom, respected and feared in equal measure. Seeing one of them there made Aiden's blood boil.

Veilon noticed the change in his demeanor.

"I see you remember them, Aiden."

"How could I forget..." he said with revulsion, restraining the urge to lash out at him.

Veilon approached the Custodian and placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie.

"I present to you Custodian Fenrir Hazel. He will help you resolve all your doubts about your current state. And, more importantly, he will help you recover your connection with the Terum."

"Fine," Aiden snapped, forcing his face to relax.

"Excellent," Veilon said, his tone becoming that of a king again. He approached Aiden, his expression serious but with a glimmer of hope. Aiden couldn't help but take a step back at his movement. "Accompany Custodian Fenrir. Allow him to help you check your energy." He placed a hand on Aiden's shoulder, a gesture that surprised everyone in the room and made Aiden tense instinctively at the contact.

"I'm counting on you, Aiden."

Aiden felt the weight of that trust like a burden. He nodded, unable to form a response.

He was ready to leave, followed by Angellon, when the king's voice stopped them.

"Officer Norvel. You stay. We need to talk about the mission I'm entrusting to you."

Aiden stopped and looked over his shoulder. Angellon, who had remained by his side, nodded once.

"Understood, my king," Angellon replied in a formal tone. Then, her violet eyes settled on Aiden. "Don't move from your spot. When I'm finished here, I'll come for you."

Aiden didn't answer with words. He simply held her gaze for an instant before giving a single nod.

Custodian Fenrir, who had been waiting by his side, gestured for Aiden to follow him. Aiden turned and walked toward the door. As he passed Ciro, the commander watched him accusingly, a fact that Aiden cared little about. Just before crossing the threshold, he cast one last look over his shoulder. He saw Veilon, Rea, and Angellon turning toward each other to form a new circle of power from which he was now an external piece, until Ciro closed the door in his face with a heavy thud.

As he followed the silent Custodian down the hall, moving away from the light of the window and into the gloom of the castle, his mind replayed what had happened in the king's council room. One thing became clear: the prisoner had died in that hall to give way to a traitor with the face of an ally.