Chapter 15: The Court’s Folly

The throne room gleamed with opulence—polished marble floors reflected torchlight, tapestries of Eldrathia's victories hung in vibrant reds and golds, and Theron's throne loomed, carved from dark oak and studded with emeralds. The king paced, his crown glinting, his gray beard bristling as nobles bickered over the raids. "We'll crush these vermin with steel!" Gavric roared, slamming a gauntleted fist on the long table, denting its polished surface. Lorne smirked, twirling a spark of blue magic between his fingers, his dark eyes glinting. "Or outsmart them—brute force is so last season." Alaric, creeping as ivy along a pillar, listened—Theron's bluster, Gavric's bravado, Lorne's schemes weaving through the noise. They're clueless, he thought, his leaves rustling faintly against the stone. Denial's a bold move when the world's literally burning.That night, the great hall glittered with chandeliers of crystal and gold, nobles in silks clinking goblets of spiced wine. Alaric slouched at the high table, picking at a slab of roasted venison, its juices pooling on his plate, when a thrall burst from the kitchens—pale as death, eyes glinting red, a dagger flashing in its bony hand. It lunged, aiming for his chest. He panicked, turning into a spiky bush—thorns erupted, shredding its legs as it stumbled, blood splattering the marble floor. "Stab me? I'll stab back!" he snapped, vines surging—sixty now—binding it in a thorny net that tightened with a crack. It slumped, crimson pooling, and the hall erupted in chaos—nobles screaming, guards rushing in with spears drawn. Theron glared from his seat, his face a storm cloud; Alaric reverted, sap staining his tunic, and shrugged. "Self-defense, Pops. Chill. It's not like I asked for a vampire appetizer."Elara approached as the crowd dispersed, her auburn curls catching the torchlight, her green eyes sharp with concern. "You're stronger," she said, handing him a vial of green liquid—herbs and magic swirling within, its scent sharp and earthy. "For your wounds." He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose. "Thanks, plant lady. Still not signing up for hero duty—too much paperwork." She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing his as she pressed the vial into his hand. "You already have, Alaric. You just don't see it yet." He groaned, pocketing it. "Fantastic. Someone wake me when this dream's over."