Chapter 1: The Throne Room Shadow

The air in the Great Hall of Kael-Drak was thick with the scent of roasted meat and cheap wine. King Valerius sat upon the Iron Crown throne, his scarred face illuminated by the flickering torches. At his feet lay the banners of the defeated Southern Clans, torn and stained with blood.

Prince Arthur stood in the shadow of the pillars, watching his father laugh with the warlords. Arthur was twenty, his face smooth and unmarked by battle, his hands accustomed to scrolls rather than the sword. He had spent the war in the libraries of the East, studying treaties and trade routes, hoping to find a diplomatic end to the conflict. His father, however, had chosen fire.

"Arthur!" the King's voice boomed across the hall, silencing the revelers. "Come forth, boy! Look upon what we have built. Tomorrow, we march on the Eastern Valley. You will lead the vanguard. It is time you bloodied your sword and earned your place on this throne." Arthur stepped into the light, his heart sinking as he met his father's cold, demanding gaze.