The echoes of booted footsteps clattered against the stone corridors of the Ember Keep. Lit by tall flame braziers and stained glass windows that bled crimson and gold into the hall, King Daemar strode with firm purpose toward his private chambers. Beside him, Lord-General Varek Blackhall walked in his usual silence, his armored hands clasped behind his back, cloak of white and black trailing like smoke.
Behind them marched two elite knights of House Blackhall—perfectly robed in the dual tones of judgment and justice—and a pair of royal guards in the Ember King's colors, bronze and ember red. No words were spoken at first, save for the occasional cough of a torch or the shuffle of a servant making haste to vanish from sight.
The king's face was worn, though not tired. War never left a man's soul untouched, even if he returned draped in glory. Daemar's mind wandered—beyond the chambers of flame, beyond the celebration, beyond the empty throne waiting for a true heir.
"She still suffers," he muttered at last, voice low.
Varek gave a nod. "The queen with your blood?"
"Aye." Daemar's fingers tapped his belt restlessly. "The birth has not come easy. The birthers say the babe has not turned, and the blood… it keeps coming."
Varek didn't respond immediately. Instead, he adjusted the grip on his blade's hilt, then glanced sideways at the king. "You've faced steel and sorcery, Daemar. Yet look at you—nervous over a child's breath."
Daemar's chuckle was dry. "War I can win. But life? Life... it plays by its own rules."
Varek grunted.
They walked a few more paces before the king broke the silence again.
"There is also the matter of the Jaka'ar prisoners. Some lords are calling for public execution. A show of dominance."
Varek gave a slight shrug. "It would stir the people. Blood feeds loyalty."
"But justice should not be a spectacle," Daemar replied, voice suddenly hard. "We'll let the Jury decide. If they are to die, it must be by law, not thirst."
"You speak of law," Varek muttered, "but law wavers when fire dims. You spare a few captives, and the south might think us weak."
"The south are strong warriors but they already think of us as something worse—unpredictable."
Varek's lips twitched. "A beast with no leash."
Daemar halted as they approached the outer chamber. A servant bowed and quickly pulled open the heavy door plated in bronze. Inside, flames danced in the hearth, and the long table was set with meats, fruits, and goblets of dark wine. The scent of roast pig, dripping with herbs and garlic, filled the room.
Daemar motioned toward the table. "Come, drink with me. For old times."
Varek stayed rooted at the door.
"I've no thirst tonight."
The king's brow rose. "You always have thirst."
The general stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. "What I thirst for cannot be poured into a goblet."
Daemar slumped into the high-backed chair at the head of the table. He tore a hunk of meat from the roast and poured himself wine. "You brood too much. You're not even the one with a child on the way."
Varek folded his arms. "And yet I carry the burden of your decisions."
"And why is that?"
"Everyone has their own concerns,my king, some are rather kept unheard."
Daemar looked up, chewing slowly. "My brother in arms is no stranger as is myself.Speak plainly."
"You talk of unity," Varek said, stepping forward. "Of merging the realms—Northlanders, Jaka'ar, Thalor... and us. The last time such ambition gripped a king, the realm bled for twenty years."
Daemar drank deep from his goblet. "Then I must do what they could not expect."
Varek's tone sharpened. "Why now? Why press so hard for this union when even the six houses among us can barely hold a conversation without drawing blades?"
The firelight flickered across Daemar's face. He set the goblet down and leaned forward.
"Because I am dying."
The words dropped like stone in water.
Varek narrowed his eyes. "You lie."
"I do not." The king spoke calmly. "There's rot in my lungs. The healers say months... a year if the flame favors me."
The general's jaw clenched. "You rode to war with that sickness?"
"I rode because I had to. A dying man must give the realm a future, Varek. And a divided realm has none."
Varek looked away, pacing now, slowly, the way a wolf circles when it smells something foul. "Then name an heir."
"I have none yet," Daemar said. "But if I die and leave only the six houses to fight over my bones, then Valeria falls. The realm burns. And the West... the West will seize everything."
Varek turned sharply. "So you'd unite enemies into our fold? You'd make brothers of the Northlanders who would sooner freeze our crops than trade? You'd let the Thalorians into our courts with their gold and poison tongues?"
Daemar met his gaze. "Yes."
"Madness."
"Necessity," the king replied. "If we are ever to rise beyond these petty wars, we must become something greater. One flame. Not scattered sparks."
"And the Jaka'ar?" Varek growled. "They've burned our villages with their fires. They broke treaties. They killed—"
"They will kneel," Daemar said sharply. "And if they do not, then they will fall. But I will give them the chance."
Varek shook his head. "You are asking for betrayal. Already I see it in Grivorne's eyes. Lysia plays with bloodlines like toys."
"I know," Daemar said softly. "But even snakes can serve, so long as their heads are watched."
The room fell silent, firelight flickering.
"You cannot trust them," Varek finally said.
"I don't. But I will use them before they use me."
He stood, wine goblet in hand, and walked to the tall window overlooking the city. Below, the lights of Valeria danced like stars on earth. The celebration still echoed faintly through the stones.
Daemar sighed. "I see a kingdom that will outlive me. One that does not fear its neighbors. One that holds the four realms in peace, not in conquest."
He turned to Varek.
"And I need you to keep it from turning into ash."
Varek met his gaze. "I will serve, as I always have. But if your dream becomes a nightmare… I will end it."
Daemar offered a tired smile. "Then I have chosen wisely."
They stood for a while in silence.
Outside, the stars were beginning to bloom into light.
Inside, the flame still burned.
But in the shadows of the keep, beyond their reach, whispers moved like smoke.
And not all were content to wait for the king's child to be born.