The Calm Before

Morning fog clung to Vernal Keep like a shroud, its gray tendrils softening the jagged edges of crumbling towers. Kaelen stood in the courtyard, breath visible in the crisp air, as soldiers loaded the last of the supply wagons. 

The clatter of swords and the lowing of oxen filled the silence, but the prince's attention lingered on the System's faint text:

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[Primary Objective: Depart for Grand Conclave - 0/1]

[Secondary Objective: Maintain Memory Stability above 8%.]

Garron approached, his new fire-forged dagger strapped to his hip and the volcanic focus ring glinting on his finger. "Eryndel's scholar just arrived. Brought a cartload of those… what did he call them? Arcane compost manuals?"

"Agricultural treatises," Kaelen corrected. "They're the price of their silence on the relic sales."

Garron snorted. "You traded ancient weapons for farming books?"

"We traded rusted metal for a kingdom that won't starve. Read the ledgers sometime."

"Pass. I'll stick to burning things."

The Eryndel scholar, Loran, was a gaunt man with ink-stained fingers and a perpetually furrowed brow. He waited in the council chamber, flanked by chests of parchment, his nose buried in a tome titled Crop Rotation and the Cosmic Balance.

"Your Highness," Loran said, bowing stiffly. "Our agreement stands. Eryndel's grain reserves will sustain Caldris through winter, provided you honor the Silent Guard's artifacts."

Kaelen gestured to the freshly unearthed relics stacked in the corner—a dozen Zalathi blades, their edges still sharp enough to split shadows. 

"They're yours. But if the emperor hears of this…"

Loran's lips twitched.

 "Eryndel's loyalty is to knowledge, not empires. We'll keep your secrets… if your strategies bear fruit at the Conclave."

The unspoken threat hung heavy. Kaelen nodded. "They will."

As Loran departed, Garron muttered, "He'd sell his mother for a dusty book."

"And we'd let him," Kaelen said. "Survival isn't purity."

[Soulcraft Progress: 31/100]

[Memory Stability: 10% (Trade Alliances Secured).]

In the training yard, Garron's flames had begun to dance.

Soldiers gathered in a loose circle as he faced off against Captain Veyra, the stoic descendant of the Silent Guard. Her sword gleamed with ancestral runes; his fists crackled with embers.

"Come on, Captain," Garron taunted. "I'll go easy on you."

Veyra lunged, her blade a silver blur. Garron sidestepped, fire erupting from his palms in a controlled arc. The flames licked Veyra's armor, leaving smoldering streaks but no burns. The soldiers gasped—some in awe, others in fear.

"Show-off," Kaelen said, leaning against the barracks.

Garron winked. "Gotta give 'em a show before the Conclave, eh?"

Veyra sheathed her sword, her expression unreadable. 

"Fire without control is a pyre. But… it's a start."

It was the closest she'd come to praise.

[Garron's Fire Affinity: 22% (Ember-tier).]

———

King Alden found Kaelen in the armory, tracing the spirit runes on his mother's dawnstone breastplate. The king's presence was a brittle thing now, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of borrowed time.

"The Shadows will be watching," Alden said. "At the Conclave. They'll… they'll want blood."

"They'll want a spectacle," Kaelen corrected. "And we'll give them one."

Alden's hand trembled as he touched the Verath crest on the armor. 

"You've changed. These past weeks… I don't recognize you."

Good, Kaelen thought. The boy you knew would've died there.

Aloud, he said, "Caldris needs a king, not a corpse. Even if that king is me."

The words hung between them, sharp and unyielding. Alden nodded, a flicker of something like pride in his hollow eyes.

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[Memory Stability: 12% (Father's Approval).]

Kaelen's chambers were a mosaic of maps and missives. The System's interface glowed steadily as he reviewed their route to the Conclave—a three-day ride through the Silvershade Valley, rife with bandits and worse.

A knock.

Lady Selene stood at the threshold, her Velarion armor polished to a mirror shine. 

"Emperor Kaelith's heralds have arrived. They'll escort us at dawn."

"To ensure we don't flee," Kaelen said.

"To ensure you don't scheme." Selene's gaze swept the room, lingering on the Zalathi relics. 

"You're either brilliant or suicidal."

"Why not both?"

She stepped closer, her voice dropping. 

"The Umbra Heralds traveling with us—they're not human. I've seen their kind before. They smell… wrong."

Kaelen's jaw tightened. He'd fought the Heralds in another life. Half-dead, half-void, their souls already forfeit. 

"Stay close to me. Their orders won't include protecting you."

Selene arched a brow. "Concerned for my safety, Ash Prince?"

"Concerned for my investment. Velarion's crops still need our grain."

She left without another word, but not before Kaelen caught the faintest smirk.

———

Dawn approached. The courtyard buzzed with final preparations—horses stamping, soldiers checking straps, the Umbra Heralds looming like statues at the gates. Their hollow eyes tracked every move.

Garron adjusted his focus ring, flames dancing nervously across his knuckles. 

"Ready?"

Kaelen clasped his mother's dawnstone armor over his chest. "Always."

King Alden stood atop the keep's steps, the Ash Crown's thorns digging into his brow. His voice carried across the courtyard, thin but unwavering: "Caldris endures."

The soldiers echoed, "Caldris endures!"

But as Kaelen mounted his steed, the Voidwell's whisper slithered through his mind:

"They will kneel… or burn."

He glanced at Garron, at the flicker of fire in his friend's eyes, and nudged his horse forward.

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[Primary Objective Updated: Survive the Grand Conclave.]

The road ahead was paved with thorns. But thorns, Kaelen mused, could strangle empires.