Chapter 9 – Embers on the Wind

Chapter 9: Embers on the Wind

Adrael Keep

The return of Don's party to the gates of Adrael Keep was quiet, almost unnervingly so. They were covered in the grime of the Mire and weary from their journey, yet they moved with an energy that the guards on the battlements could feel, even from a distance.

When Don strode into the great hall, the difference was immediate and palpable. His father, Earl Dunnel, and his mothers, Lyanna and Daela, were waiting on the dais. His brothers, Asdrin and Medrin, stood beside them. They saw not the prodigal son who had left on a patrol, but a man who had been tempered in a fire they could not comprehend. His posture was the same, but his presence filled the room. The quiet confidence he had always possessed was now an undeniable, authoritative calm.

"Father," Don said, his voice resonating with a new timbre. He did not kneel. He stood before the throne as an equal. "The Mire has given us clarity. Our path is no longer one of reaction."

He recounted the events—the Wyrm, the sunken ruin, the trial. He spoke not of a magical quest, but of a philosophical crucible. He explained his choice to refuse the conqueror's power and instead embrace the role of a protector. He then laid out the strategy he had forged with Caria, Leinara, and Dvrik.

Asdrin, ever the pragmatist, was the first to speak. "A hunter-killer unit? A proactive alliance based on a 'vision'? Don, this is bold. It could be seen as a direct challenge to the Crown."

"Let it be," Don replied evenly. "The Crown moves against us in the shadows anyway. We will no longer grant them the comfort of secrecy. We will act in the light."

Earl Dunnel stared at his youngest son for a long, silent moment. He saw the boy he had raised, but he also saw the echo of the ancient flame, now controlled, focused, and honed into a weapon far more dangerous than simple rage. He glanced at Lyanna, who gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. She had always known this potential was in him.

"The board is changing," Dunnel said at last, a slow smile spreading across his face. "It is about time we had a new player. Very well. We will put your plans into motion."

Emberstone Fortress - Tidor Holdings

Far to the south, in a fortress carved from volcanic rock, Earl Ekarvel Tidor stood before a scrying pool of polished obsidian. The surface swirled with murky images—a flash of light from the Gorgon's Mire, the sigil of House Griffor, a brief, distorted glimpse of Don's determined face.

The air in the chamber grew cold, a familiar, bone-deep chill that heralded the presence of the Pale Wraith. The spectral figure condensed from the shadows, its form a vortex of ancient grief and malice.

Its voice was a razor blade in Tidor's mind. *The flame has been reforged. The boy refused the conqueror's path.*

Tidor slammed his fist on the stone table. "He refused it? The fool! He holds the power to burn the world to his will and he chooses to be a shield?"

*His choice makes him more dangerous,* the Wraith whispered. *A tyrant is predictable. A martyr inspires loyalty. He is beginning to unite them. Thornf, Griffor... they see a symbol, not a threat.*

"Then we will make them see a threat," Tidor snarled. He turned to his son, Vaers. "Double the pressure on the Griffor trade routes. I want their allies bleeding coin. And send another message to the capital. Not one of politeness. One of warning. Frame Don's actions as sedition. Claim he is raising a rebel army under the guise of 'hunting shadows'."

The Wraith drifted closer, its chilling presence a promise of pain. *And I will visit the dreams of their king. I will show him a vision of his throne consumed by black flame. Fear will be our greatest ally.*

Erydon - The Royal Capital

In the sterile, opulent halls of the royal palace, King Medveick Warsenbrenn read the latest report from his spies in the south. His knuckles were white where he gripped the arms of his throne. Queen Yssara stood beside him, her expression a mask of cold indifference, though her eyes were sharp.

"He has allied with the Griffors," the King said, his voice a low growl. "He's forming elite units. He moves as if the kingdom is his to command."

"He is a child playing with embers," Crown Prince Strelm commented, stepping out from an alcove. "But embers can start a fire if not properly stamped out."

"Tidor's new message claims he is plotting rebellion," Yssara mused. "A convenient accusation from a rival house."

"Perhaps," Strelm conceded. "But it is a narrative we can use. The realm is restless. The smaller houses fear the ambition of the great ones. We can paint Don Adraels not as a protector, but as a warlord in the making—just like his ancestors. We will offer the realm protection from the very chaos he is creating."

King Medveick looked out the grand window, towards the distant southern lands. "An open summons to court is too much of an honor. Send a royal decree instead. A demand. He is to cease all 'unsanctioned military formations' and present himself to the Crown to renew his family's oath of fealty. If he complies, he is neutered. If he refuses..."

"...He declares himself a traitor," Strelm finished, a predatory smile touching his lips. "And the Crown will have every justification to crush him."

The pieces were in motion across the board. An ember of change had been carried out of the Mire, and now, the great powers of the world were blowing on it, each hoping to turn the flame to their own purpose.