The Gathering of Wolves

The air in the high chamber hung thick and heavy, charged with the unspoken tension that always preceded these clandestine meetings. Flickering torchlight danced across the rough-hewn stone walls, painting grotesque shadows that writhed and shifted, mirroring the unease in the hearts of the five figures gathered around the heavy, rune-carved table. The scent of damp stone and old iron clung to the air, mingling with the fainter, more unsettling aroma of power and hidden agendas. Each of them, in their own right, controlled a piece of Eaglestone's fate, and this night the game of fates was being played.

Lord Marshal Orik, a man whose body was as unyielding as the granite mountains surrounding Eaglestone, spoke first.

His voice, roughened by years of shouting commands over the din of battle and duty, echoed through the chamber.

"The Enjus activity has escalated. Not mere skirmishes, but organized prides, moving with a purpose we haven't witnessed in decades.

And," he paused, his gaze hardening,

"some… some bear the mark."

A collective gasp filled the room.

The mark. The sign of the Genju. Enju touched by a dark magic, imbued with a sliver of sentience, of cunning.

Their blood, as was whispered in hushed tones, held the key to unimaginable power, a power that could shatter the Enju horde… or unleash a darkness that would consume Eaglestone whole. Only eight Genju had fallen in the fifty years since the meteor's fiery descent, and it took legions of brave men to kill them off.

Their bodies dissected for their rare cores used to form the legendary Zarachian Blades used by soldiers and summoners alike, their tainted blood carefully harvested to breed the summoners. Those were dark days.

Orik's gaze, sharp and calculating, shifted to High Commander Rhaskhar, a man whose presence radiated the raw, untamed power of a caged beast.

"This complicates matters," the Lord Marshal continued, his voice laced with thinly veiled ambition.

"We need every advantage we can muster."

Rhaskhar, his face a carefully crafted mask of indifference, steepled his fingers, the movement precise and controlled.

"Indeed. Which brings me to the matter of the boy." He gestured vaguely, a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Garrick, that old scavenger and blacksmith, found a boy by the river. Enju blood, they claim, flows in his veins. The taint clings to him like a shroud."

Lord Marshal Orik leaned forward, his eyes glinting with an opportunistic fire.

"The boy should be placed under my watch. The Iron Guard could make far better use of such a… specimen. His… talents… could be honed. His blood…," Orik trailed off, his gaze lingering on Rhaskhar, a silent challenge passing between them.

A muscle twitched in Rhaskhar's jaw.

"A cat that dreams of being the lion must first lose its appetite for rats, Lord Marshal," he retorted, his voice low and dangerous.

"The boy's name is Agor, he is just above 10 years and no you cannot have him, this a matter for the Summoners. We understand the delicate nature of stained blood, the whispers of the elements. We are best suited to assess his… potential."

Before Orik could rise to the bait, a soft, melodious voice cut through the simmering tension.

All eyes turned to the Mistress of Coin, Lady Seraphina, whose beauty was as renowned as her ruthless ambition. Her crimson gown, embroidered with threads of shimmering gold, seemed to absorb the torchlight, casting her in an aura of seductive power. Her rise to prominence had been meteoric, fueled by her undeniable charm and her… intimate relationship with the King. Many whispered that her influence extended far beyond the royal bedchamber, that her sharp mind held more sway over the kingdom's coffers than any treasurer.

"Gentlemen," she purred, her voice laced with honeyed steel, "let us not squabble over a little boy like hounds over a carcass. We have far more pressing concerns.

The royal treasury… it bleeds like a wounded stag. Supplies are dwindling, trade routes out of the city are faltering under the increased Enju activity, and the Festival of Shadows approaches with its insatiable hunger for coin. We need gold, and we need it now."

A frown creased Orik's brow.

"The lockdown, necessary as it is, has crippled our merchants. The growing Enju threat makes overland travel too perilous, can you not understand this".

"Then we must find a solution," Seraphina countered, her gaze unwavering. "The King expects results, not excuses."

A chill permeated the chamber as the Hollow Priest, Father Theron, Leader of the Forgotten Faith, rose to his feet. His gaunt frame was draped in roughspun robes, his face pale and drawn, his eyes hollow, haunted by visions that only he could see. He spoke in a low, resonant voice, his words heavy with the weight of prophecy.

"My disciples have seen visions, dark portents that chill the very soul. The Enju… they do not merely kill. They… change. Twist. I fear they are breeding something new, something… human."

A wave of unease rippled through the room. The implications were terrifying. If the Enju could create… hybrids, creatures that blended human cunning with Enju savagery, the very foundations of Eaglestone would be shaken to their core.

King Vaelor, his face etched with the weariness of a man who had borne too many burdens, finally spoke. His voice, though frail, still carried the unmistakable weight of command. He had listened patiently, his blue eyes, once vibrant and keen, now clouded with the mist of age and sorrow, observing the intricate dance of power and fear unfolding before him. He wondered what would be of Eaglestone when he was no more. He knew he was the only thing keeping the city and it's pillars from total madness.

"Enough," he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a shard of ice.

"The boy… he is a riddle wrapped in blood and shadow. A potential weapon, perhaps, or a key to understanding the Enju's twisted designs. He will be watched. Garrick the man you mentioned earlier will keep him under close scrutiny with the aid of the summoners, and the town healer will examine him thoroughly again just to be sure. If he proves to be a threat, if he is more Enju than human…," the King's voice trailed off, a hint of regret, of weariness, creeping into his tone, "then he will be dealt with.

I will not condemn a child to death based on whispers and shadows, not without irrefutable proof of his danger to Eaglestone and especially not now that am near my grave"

His gaze, heavy with the weight of responsibility, swept across the faces of his advisors, each one reflecting a different shade of ambition and fear.

"As for our other concerns," he continued, his voice regaining its strength,

"Lord Marshal, reinforce the patrols along the outer walls. Ensure that the gates are secured and that the watch is vigilant. High Commander, support him as you have always done with two summoners and also delve into the boy's connection to the Enju. Uncover the truth of his blood. Mistress Seraphina, find us coin. Explore alternative trade routes, negotiate with the outlying small settlements discretely, We wouldn't want to incur casualties on both sides.

The Festival of Shadows must proceed. It is a symbol of our resilience, a beacon of hope in these dark times. And Father Theron, continue your vigils, your prayers and your rituals , what ever it is you do .

We must understand the Enju's plans, whatever dark purpose they may be pursuing"

He paused, his gaze lingering on each of them in turn, a silent command passing between them. "This council is adjourned. Let us meet again in three weeks, with answers, and not merely questions."

The meeting was over. The wolves had gathered, each with their own hunger, their own hidden agendas. And the young lads fate, caught in the treacherous crosscurrents of power and ancient hatred, hanging precariously in the balance.

The king thought as gradually the dispersed.