A Communion of Vultures

Night descended upon Valdrathar, draping the city in a cloak of velvety darkness punctuated by the glittering lights of a thousand lanterns. The Grand Conclave was about to begin. 

The grand building, a colossal structure of marble and obsidian, stood over the city, its doors thrown open to receive the highborn and powerful of Aurathos. 

A river of silk and jewels flowed into its yawning maw, the sound of hushed conversations and clinking goblets rising like a discordant symphony.

Kaelen and Garron watched the spectacle from the edge of the plaza, their figures small against the backdrop of the city's grandeur. 

The sight before them was a tableau of wealth and power: Dukes and Duchesses, their carriages drawn by magnificent beasts, strode into the building, their escorts a mix of finely clad guards and servants carrying their trains. 

High council members, their faces masked with practiced indifference, made their way inside with an air of self-importance. But the most anticipated guests were, undoubtedly, the royals of the seven kingdoms, each arrival marked by a fanfare of trumpets and a hushed anticipation.

Kaelen had spent the hours after their discussion carefully crafting a plan, his mind churning like a storm-tossed sea. 

He was ready, prepared to embrace his role in the coming charade, knowing that it would be, without a doubt, a performance. He'd spent that entire time going over his lines and preparing to use the very knowledge he has to his advantage.

Garron adjusted his fire-forged dagger, his eyes darting from one noble to the next, his hand twitching with a nervous energy. 

"They all look like vultures," he muttered, a frown creasing his brow. "Waiting for something to die."

"They are," Kaelen replied, his gaze fixed on the entrance. "But tonight, most may need to feed on their own flesh."

As they stepped forward to make their entrance, the scene became surreal, the noise of the city, for just a moment, became distant and muted. 

The System's interface flickered, a stark reminder of the chaos that lay within the halls:

[Corruption: 0.9%]

[Primary Objective Updated: Survive the Grand Conclave.]

[Secondary Objective: Maintain Memory Stability above 15%.]

[New Objective: Incite Chaos Within the Conclave]

They reached the entrance, and an attendant, dressed in elaborate finery, announced their arrival. 

"Prince Kaelen of Caldris," he called, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

A hush fell over the assembled crowd, a mixture of curiosity and disdain washing over the faces of those who had arrived before. 

Whispers and chuckles erupted, like sparks scattering across dry grass. Kaelen felt their eyes, their gazes, dissecting him from head to toe, their perceptions clearly etched on their faces. 

The "Ash Prince" had finally arrived.

Kaelen allowed his lips to curl into a sardonic smile. 

"If they're going to talk shit," he muttered loud enough for his voice to carry, "Then they should at least have the bravery to say it to my face."

A ripple of unease moved through the crowd, as many had been used to being discreet in their insults and jeers. It was rare for a royal to address their comments head-on. All eyes, once again, turned towards him.

A young man, his face flushed with indignation and his noble bearing somewhat lacking, stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wore an overly ornate tunic, with gems and diamonds sewn across the front. 

It was clear he was not used to others talking back. "Are you insinuating that anyone here fears a drunkard?" he sneered, his voice laced with condescension. 

"Do you think a few broken goblets and a pathetic attempt at kingdom management makes you worthy of our presence?" He spoke louder than he perhaps should have, his attempt at a public slight perhaps giving too much power to the Ash Prince.

Kaelen stopped, turning to face the prince directly. 

He took his measure, reading into the small telltales of an ego built on lies and a self-importance that has nothing to do with capability. He saw the fear hidden behind the bluster, the uncertainty that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed facade. 

"Fear, prince?" Kaelen replied, his voice smooth as polished stone, but as sharp as a shard of glass. "Perhaps that is something you're more used to, growing up in the shadow of your more... accomplished siblings."

A gasp went through the hall at his cutting remark. The prince had never been known to be the best amongst his family, and such a slight was enough for even other nobles to feel embarrassed for the man.

"As for my kingdom," Kaelen continued, his eyes glinting with a calculating light, "It may be struggling now, but at least it is honest in its dealings. Unlike certain other kingdoms who hide alchemical secrets and rely on the exploitation of their people for all they are worth." His words were directed not at the prince, but at Queen Lysandra, whose eyes narrowed slightly. 

The room, while filled with the sounds of conversations, felt utterly still. Kaelen could see the surprised look on Selene's face as his words came to a stop, his slight almost too targeted to be an accident.

"Oh, and drunkard, was it?" He continued, a mocking smile playing on his lips, his gaze once again landing on the prince who spoke. "Well, I might be guilty of the former but, unlike you, I am not ashamed of my habits…but along with your false confidence I smell liquor on your breath, how long will you parade yourself as anything other than a failure?" 

His tone dropped, his voice laced with a deadly calm that made the hall feel colder than it had been before. 

The prince's face contorted into a mask of rage, his hands clenching into fists. He made to step forward, his guards tensing, ready to intervene. "You will pay for that, Ash Prince" he sputtered, his voice trembling with fury, and perhaps, just a hint of fear.

Kaelen merely tilted his head, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "Perhaps I will, princeling," he replied, his tone soft.

A profound silence descended upon the hall, broken only by the soft crackling of the torches and the rapid beating of a few hearts in attendance. 

Kaelen's words had pierced the carefully constructed veneer of the court, revealing the fragility of their power, their petty grievances, and their collective fea