The chamber was carved not by tools, but by decisions — generations of them — each laid like stone atop stone, until the weight of unspoken words shaped the very space.
The Council of the Five had not met in full since the Old Wars, when the elven skies wept blood, and the dwarves sealed their deepest gates. But now, beneath the Skyvault dome of Draganholt, with frost on the wind and dread in every breath, they gathered again.
The five nations — Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Men, and the empty seat of Gravemire — sat under the flickering banners of ancient treaties and fragile peace.
And Kael Valari stood before them all, bearing the Sword of Emberfall, its runes glowing softly with the light of four awakened relics.
He did not speak yet.
He waited.
Because he knew what he said next might decide the fate of the world.
The Gathering Storm
The chamber pulsed with ancient magic — a circle of thrones set equidistant around a hollow brazier of silver fire. The seats were fashioned from the sacred materials of each realm: rootwood for Elarion, obsidian from Khaz'Thundar, dragonbone for Varrak'Zul, sunstone for Draganholt, and a cold iron seat left deliberately vacant — the forgotten claim of Gravemire.
High King Varric Dragan stood tall in his crimson robes, flanked by armored guards and whispering ministers. His eyes rarely left Kael — not with anger, but calculation.
To his left sat Princess Elyria, now Queen in all but name of the Elves, her silver circlet catching the light.
Beside her, General Thrain Stonefist, grim-faced and silent, his arms crossed like a fortress.
And towering opposite them, Warlord Gruum Kaath, eyes narrowed, tusks bared in a near-constant sneer of challenge.
Kael could feel the tension like a drawn bow.
He stepped forward.
"I did not ask for this meeting," he began. "But I called it."
Varric raised an eyebrow. "A subtle difference."
"Not to the dead."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Kael turned slowly, addressing each seat. "You all know what I've done. The relics I've gathered. The sword I carry."
He held up Emberfall, and the air shimmered.
"But relics will not save us."
Gruum snorted. "Then why bleed for them?"
"Because they are keys," Kael said. "Not weapons."
A Divided Council
Queen Elyria rose. Her voice was calm, but firm. "Kael speaks truth. Varethul is no longer sending raiders or cursed beasts. He moves armies now. Frostwraiths. Bone colossi. Necrotide storms. Our rivers are freezing. Our trees are dying."
Thrain grumbled, "We've sealed two gates already beneath the mountain. Lost forty smiths in the last tremor."
Gruum cracked his knuckles. "My scouts report black ships crossing the bone sea. There is no doubt. The war has begun."
"And yet," said Varric, "you would have us do what? Bend knee to prophecy? Let a bastard decide our course?"
His words hung heavy in the air.
Kael's jaw clenched. "I'm not asking for a throne."
Varric smiled thinly. "Good. Because prophecy or not, you'll not find one here."
Gruum leaned forward. "What does the flame want from us?"
Kael met his gaze. "Unity."
The orc laughed. "Then the flame is a fool."
A Voice from the Grave
Before anyone could speak again, the chamber lights dimmed.
The silver flame in the center brazier hissed.
Then, it turned blue.
Kael stepped back, blade half-drawn.
A figure rose from the fire — not solid, not shadow. A man in tattered robes, crown broken, mouth torn wide.
Varethul.
Gasps echoed. Weapons were drawn.
But the Hollow King merely raised a hand.
"You gather at last," his voice rang, more felt than heard. "Five thrones. Five failures."
Gruum stepped forward. "This chamber is sacred. You are not welcome."
"It was sacred," Varethul hissed. "Until your silence cursed it."
He looked directly at Kael.
"You have the relics. Soon you'll have the last. But it will not matter. I do not need the sword."
Kael's grip tightened. "Then what do you want?"
"You."
And then the specter was gone.
Silence followed, broken only by the sound of Elyria's breath catching.
"The final relic is calling."
The Breaking Point
Panic erupted.
Ministers shouted.
Lords debated.
Gruum smashed his fist into the council table. "Enough!"
He turned to Kael. "You want unity? Then show us why. Show us why we should follow you. Not just your sword."
Kael stared at the circle.
He thought of his mother's letter.
Of the Forgeheart's judgment.
Of the prophecy — not written, but lived.
And he stepped into the brazier's fire.
Gasps rang out. Flames curled around him — yet he did not burn.
Only the relics on his sword blazed brighter.
"I do not want to lead," Kael said. "But I will stand — between you and the dark. With fire. With blood. Until the last breath leaves my body."
He looked to each seat.
"Who will stand with me?"
Oaths and Tempers
Thrain rose first. "Stone remembers."
Elyria followed. "Light endures."
Gruum stood, slower, thoughtful. "Flame feeds war."
He drew a dagger, cut his palm, and let the blood drip onto the floor.
"I march."
Only Varric remained seated.
"You would crown this boy?"
"No," Elyria said softly. "We would follow him."
Kael turned to the king. "You've lied to me. Kept my lineage hidden. You used me."
"I protected you," Varric snapped. "You were a child."
"I was destiny," Kael said, voice rising. "And you tried to chain it."
Varric stood.
"You want the final relic? It lies in the Crypts of Solhym, buried beneath ice so deep the world forgot its name. Go find it, if you can."
He stepped toward Kael.
"And when you fail — I'll be here to clean up the ruin."
The Pact of Five
Kael turned to the circle.
"Then we go north. All of us."
Gruum nodded. "The orcs will break ice."
Thrain cracked his neck. "And the dwarves will bring fire."
Elyria took Kael's hand. "And the elves will keep your soul."
The Council of the Five, fractured for centuries, stood united once more — not under one crown, but one cause.
To face death.
To face prophecy.
To face Varethul the Hollow.
In the Frozen Wastes
At the top of the world, where even time dared not tread, a storm brewed over the ice-bound prison of Solhym.
The final relic slept there.
And so did something else.
Older than gods.
Hungry.
Watching.
Waiting.