“It has been confirmed, my King. House Highblade has summoned the banners. The Legions have not mobilised yet, but it looks as if your suspicions were unfortunately correct.”

Arcturus Honoris Valoura didn’t turn to look at the man giving him the report, his armoured forearms resting on the balustrade of his private balcony. From where he stood he could see much of Luxanium, spreading out in a humming canvas of life that seemed to grow more brilliant with each passing day.

He suppressed a sigh of irritation as he processed the man’s words despite his lack of response, his mind calculating the best way to limit the inevitable fallout from what was to come. First however, he needed a little more information before deciding which way to lean.

“Is their intent laid bare, or is it still in doubt?”

“House Highblade is living up to its reputation for directness, my King. They desire Leon Fortunis’ head on a spike, but have reaffirmed that it is between House Highblade and House Honorum. Their loyalty to House Valoura remains unchanged.”

It was small comfort given the level of destruction that lay ahead, in Honoris’ eyes.

“I want it known that my grandson is to be considered invalid as a war target. He will be under the banner of Valoura until the situation is resolved, one way or another.”

“Of course, my King.”

“And make it clear to the Church that if they interfere in this matter, I will take it as an attack on the sanctity of the Empire’s customs and Valarian tradition.”

“As you will, Sire. Is there anything else you would ask of me?”

“Let no one disturb me, other than my requested company. I wish to have the morning.”

“Of course. I shall do as you have commanded. Pardon me, my King.”

Honoris waved a hand idly to dismiss the man, and then allowed it to rejoin his other on the balustrade. He remained contemplative and quiet right up until the door to his quarters clicked shut, at which point he finally uncapped the frustration lurking within him and snarled.

“Arrogant fucking children!” He seethed as he controlled his aura, fists clenched against the railing. This never would have happened if Titus were still in Luxanium. He’d have had no reason to keep bothering with the ludicrous political games or infuriatingly short-sighted antics of lesser men. Both Fortunis and the new Solarius were having the equivalent of a mud-fighting tantrum and dragging half the bloody Kingdom into it!

It was almost the worst possible scenario he could imagine.

Highblade and Honorem were too powerful for him to simply ignore a blood feud, and he needed to make sure he was seen as strictly impartial; but of all things, a House War at their current juncture? Idiocy of the highest levels.

Leon Fortunis erroneously thought him a halfwit, of course. The arrogant scion believed Honoris to be at the edge of the frailty; ready to succumb to the sudden and destructive decline that afflicted most Archons. At over four centuries of life, Honoris had developed a sense of understanding for his own level of power and strength. He knew better than anyone how capable or infirm he was at any given time.

If Fortunis truly believed him to be on the cusp of his descent, the younger man was in for a truly rude awakening.

“Where are you, Titus?” He asked to the air as he unclenched his fists. “I need you.”

With the Iron Prince of Valaria as his enforcer, the Kingdom would have been safe. His son had been a beacon of strength and power, and with the Gilded Aegis at his back, even the Church would have hesitated at causing any kind of trouble within the Valouran Dominion. When Titus had vanished…

Well, Honoris knew his son wasn’t dead. The loss, however, was still equivalent.

The only way he knew that Titus lived was a mix of a parent’s intuition and an innocuous coincidence: The ring Titus had enchanted for him as a young boy still held vestiges of the other man’s power. Vestiges that should have vanished the moment he died. It wasn’t enough evidence to forestall the necessary preparations for succession, of course; he had a duty to the Kingdom to ensure the Throne had an heir. It did, however, mean that the news he’d received from certain sources painted a picture he was beginning to finally see despite extreme levels of obfuscation.

Tiberius Rubastra had sheltered his trueborn grandson. Titus’ own blood heir!

He cursed the Twelve that the stubborn Elder had been too cautious.

If the boy, Arcturus Regis, had been within Honoris’ reach prior to the fall of the Rubastra estate, he could have secured the boy’s safety. At least long enough to judge the truth of his origins, which he suspected were more genuine than Leon Fortunis had wanted him to know. It was also the only conceivable reason that Beowulf could have walked a path of rebellion. The man had loyalty burned into his soul.

His erstwhile son-in-law thought Honoris ignorant of much of what transpired in the land, and for the sake of protecting Titus he had allowed the state of affairs to continue. He had allowed everyone else to mourn, and had played the part of the cold and distant grieving father. He had watched his daughters break from the pain, and been unable to utter the words of comfort he could have given. In some ways he knew he’d done them a disservice, but he could not bring himself to regret it.

Titus lived. There was still a chance, no matter how remote, that he would return.

“How these snakes and rats would tremble before you.” He murmured with a paternal smile, looking out at the distant ruin that had once been the palatial Rubastra estate. Tiberius had been another victim of his outward deception; disgraced and cast low by his loyalty to Titus’ memory. It had pained Honoris seeing his old friend belittled, battled, and disgraced for the sin of being too loyal.

Yet protecting Tiberius would have resulted in exposing Titus to harm.

Honoris knew he was a coward, in that sense. He’d bear that burden stoically.

The Church had been too aggressive, too transparent in its steady encroachment of power within Valaria for Honoris to rule them out, either. Leon Fortunis thought he held the Church at his call, but Honoris had lived long enough and experience life for enough time to know the fallacy of the younger Archon’s beliefs. The Church of Eternal Light was beholden only to itself and the Emperor. Anyone who believed otherwise was deluded, or worse, wilfully ignorant.

As for Leon Valoris… Honoris sighed. The boy was not to blame for what had befallen them all. In many ways, Valoris would have made a fine Patriarch for House Honorem following Fortunis’ eventual death. Had Titus never been forced away, the boy would even have proven a faithful and beneficial companion to Regis.

“Arcturus Regis.” Honoris said quietly, tasting his grandson’s name. “Did you have so much faith, Titus?”

Honoris knew it must have been the case, though. His son had never been a poor judge of merit or worth. To call the boy by such a storied and legendary moniker…

The King turned back toward his quarters — ostensibly a large sitting room attached to his runed, warded, and steel-door-separated bed chamber — where an inconspicuous blue memory crystal sat upon the table next to his spacious sitting chair. He’d managed to acquire a Recalling of the fight between Regis and Elethea, though he’d had to employ every element of royal discretion in its attainment.

The footage alone told him what he’d needed to know. The boy fought like Titus and Honoris both. Vicious, powerful, and honourable to a fault. He executed his movements with liquid grace and steel behind every attack. His passion, his ferocity, his brutality tempered by discipline. Only a fool would have watched the contest and not immediately known they were watching a Valouran scion in action.

“If only I had received the bloody thing before it was too late…”

He’d commissioned the retrieval of the Memory too late. He’d wanted to see for himself after hearing the rumour from two reputable sources, but witnessing it first hand… It had nearly broken him. Broken his resolve. Only the confirmation that the boy’s corpse had never been recovered and Leon Fortunis’ foul mood had offered him relief. His grandson yet lived. Somewhere on Terra, Titus’ son lived.

A small smile broke across Honoris grim visage as he remembered the boy’s movements. He had been raw. The finesse had been there, but more through instinct than proper tuition. He had been new to combat, but taken to it as naturally as a fish to water. Something in Honoris had stirred with savage pride at the formidableness of his grandson. Regis had commanded a presence that Leon Valoris, for all the boy’s legitimate effort, would never manage.

In that arena had stood a Warrior Prince in a way Leon Valoris could never be.

It filled Honoris with bitter regret. The boys should have been friends. Brothers, even, for all that they were cousins. Valoris would have made an ideal recruit for the Gilded Aegis of Regis’ generation. It was a truly terrible thing that such a fraternity would never come to pass. Even now Honoris was unable to truly affect change. If he declared support for the boy, the Church would use that and Valaria’s instability to do something drastic.

Like trying to speed up the succession, so Leon Fortunis could rule through Valoris.

“Come home, Titus.” Honoris beseeched the air. “I fear for Valaria if you do not.”

A knock on his chamber doors a moment later very nearly made the ancient Archon jump like a startled teenager, and he abruptly burst out laughing. He’d been expecting company, but the timing on the arrival was incredible. With his wry smile already fading, Honoris called out a simple “Enter” with only his head turned around.

The door to his quarters opened to usher in one of the guards and a black-haired behemoth of a man he identified immediately: Luthaire Gildedhammer. Honoris nodded to the guard in dismissal, and waved the massive aethersmith over.

Luthaire approached within ten feet and then thudded to one knee in respect, clasping his right fist to his chest in a perfect salute.

“Rise, Gildedhammer.” Honoris said after a customary three seconds’ inspection. “Your King has need of your words, not your namesake.”

“My life is yours, Sire.” The younger man said dutifully as he stood. Coming from Luthaire it was almost clipped, almost resentful. Honoris knew better. The man had been known to call Titus an idiot to his face, though never in public. He was not friends with the Aethersmith as his son had been, but the understanding of the bond they had shared roused fondness within Honoris. Luthaire had been loyal to Titus beyond question. That was a service the King was not ready to let be forgotten. He would suffer the man’s nuances without complaint for that reason alone, let alone the fact his work and hammer had saved Titus’ life at least twice.

“Your loyalty is not in question, Luthaire. That’s why I must hear it from your lips.”

“This is about Titus’ son, Your Grace?”

“It is.” Honoris confirmed. “You and Maurice both informed me of his existence through clandestine channels. That was wise. I suspect Tiberius was waiting for the masquerade, out of fear of me reacting negatively to the revelation. He was always over-cautious that way.”

“My King, House Rubastra…”

“I know, Gildedhammer.” The King growled. “The Church acted within its purview, and Fortunis’ own. I cannot act against them openly without risk to the stability of the Kingdom and my family’s place within it. As loathe as my forefathers would be with me for admitting it, I have been placed into a delicate predicament. House Valoura has never been weaker than it is in this moment.”

“Would bringing Titus’ son to your side not alleviate such uncertainty, my King?” Luthaire rumbled.

Honoris barked a mirthless laugh. “And how am I to do such, Gildedhammer? For all I know, the boy is dead.”

“He is not.” Luthaire said immediately. Almost defensively. “I would have felt it.”

“The oathbond?” The King enquired.

“Yes, my King. The tether to Titus was severed, though I now believe that is because he transitioned to a Shard deprived of Aether. The one with Regis has yet to dissipate, but it has weakened. He is many leagues away from here now.”

“Precisely my problem, Luthaire. Without knowledge of where my grandson is, I cannot bring him to me. For all your reservations, Leon Valoris is an acceptable proxy in Regis’ absence… And I actually know the boy. Despite my desire for his presence, I do not know Titus’ heir.” The King folded his arms and leaned back against the balustrade. “That is why you are here.”

“The first word I would use for Regis is naive.” Luthaire said immediately. “Or at least, it would have been. Then Fortunis and his zealots murdered Tiberius. Now? I cannot imagine what the boy must be feeling.”

“He was soft, then?” Honoris probed.

“No, sire, not soft.” Luthaire responded in his characteristic rumble-growl. “Unblooded. He had not known war’s true and terrible reality when I met him, but now… The brutality of what he has gone through will no doubt have tempered that rawness into something greater.”

“Or broken him.”

Luthaire folded his arms and shook his head. “With respect, my King, I do not believe that is likely. That boy had gravitas to him.”

“A born warrior, then?” Honoris asked as he adjusted against the balustrade. He might not have lost power, but age had not been kind to his body regardless. The centuries made him more and more prone to aches and discomforts, no matter how solid his mind and magic were.

“A born King, sire. I mean this with no disrespect, but the change from the day he acquired Perdition to when I watched him in the Arena…”

“Perdition?”

“His aetherblade.”

“I see.” The King said quietly. Perdition. What an ominous name.

He resisted the wry smile that tried to form. The boy really was Titus’ son.

“As I was saying, Your Grace… The boy I met in my workshop was gone when the man I saw stepped into the Arena with the Highblade girl. His ferocity, his aggression, his brutality… He was a natural warrior in a way I have rarely witnessed. Even Titus was not so quick on the uptake at that age.”

“But you have a theory on why that is.” Honoris said with a raised eyebrow.

“I do. He is Nephilim, my King. I do not know what the odds are in all the Shardverse for such a thing to occur, but he is both your trueborn heir and Nephilim — and as such very likely has the potential to be the most powerful scion of your august bloodline since its inception.”

“That is a bold claim to make to me, Luthaire.”

“It is, but I would never dare to obfuscate my words to my King.”

The King snorted at that. “No, you’d look me in the eye and tell me I was a fool if it came to it. I value that kind of spine in my subjects.”

“I would never dream of being so familiar to Your Majesty.”

“But you would to Titus.”

“Titus is not King, my lord.”

Honoris tilted his head to acknowledge the point, and then glanced out at the city again in a moment of silent thought.

“How would you compare him to Valoris, putting aside your obvious bias?”

Luthaire hesitated at last at that question, and Honoris turned back to look at the hulking aethersmith as he furrowed his brow in thought. Time passed, but the King waited patiently, and allowed the man to parse his thoughts without interruption. He wanted the artisan’s honest appraisal.

“I would phrase it as comparing a controlled blaze against a raging storm. Leon Valoris has managed to inherit very few of his father’s proclivities or mannerisms. By all accounts, he’s the most respectable and admirable scion of Honorem in generations. Had Titus been here still, I would wager he would have seen to it that Valoris and Regis were companions from birth. The boy would make a fine contemporary for Regis...”

“Go on.” Honoris prompted as his curiosity rose.

“...but Regis is a force of nature. It very well might be unfair to expect the same for Valoris, given Regis is nephilim, but whatever the case may be: Titus’ son is a power unto himself. Of the two, Valoris is currently the more skilled and powerful Archon, but I would wager that is an advantage of a literal decade of training and education. Had Regis been given another five years, I would bet on him eclipsing Valoris in almost every capacity.”

“Almost every capacity?” The King asked.

“Regis has a temper.” Luthaire said simply. “Even without seeing it, I could tell. I saw some of it in the arena. The boy has wrath enough for an entire cadre of Archons by himself.”

“You think he’s unstable?”

“No sire, only uneducated and unpracticed in how to handle his own power and its side effects. The stronger the Archon, as Your Majesty knows, the stronger the passions. Regis has none of the benefits of Terran upbringing in the way other Archons do, and as such is not nearly as capable of the instinctive grasp that his peers have on their emotions. Regis is his emotions.” Luthaire grunted and shook his head, as if realising the irony of explaining an Archon’s complication to an Archon. “As I said; he is a raging storm. Of the two of them, Valoris will make the better leader, but Regis will be the superior King.”

“That is a bold assertion, Gildedhammer.” Honoris challenged.

“It is, my King, but I knew Titus. I know what Your Grace cultivated in him. I see the same in Regis, only writ larger. Valoris inspires friendship, but Regis inspires loyalty. If the young man can be properly guided and educated, he will be a King unlike any other before him — and forgive my impertinence in saying so.”

Honoris grunted. “I am not so easily offended, Gildedhammer. However your statement begs a question… What if he is not properly guided?”

“Candidly, my King?”

“Of course.”

“Then you must kill him as soon as possible.”

The King’s lips thinned into a hard line. “That is a very dangerous thing to speak of, Gildedhammer.”

“It is, my King, and I mean no sedition in its statement. The simple reality is that your grandson is both a Valouran scion, with all the inherent power and gifts of such breeding, and a Nephilim; a being capable of surpassing all known limits placed upon we mortals by the gods. Without proper guidance and training, he will still grow in power and capability… But he will do so absent the checks on his darker impulses or more destructive urges. Left unopposed, Arcturus Regis possesses the faculties, potential power, and charisma to become a threat to the Empire beyond anything anyone has previously conceived of.”

Honoris was silent as he parsed that particular bit of exposition.

“You truly believe this, Gildedhammer?”

“Your Majesty, I would ask you to think of your august son and then ponder what might have happened had he been an enemy of this Empire, and gifted with a Nephilim’s power.”

Honoris’ first instinct was to reprimand the man immediately at the mere thought of Titus not being loyal, but he smothered that instinct. The man was one of Titus’ longest-standing companions, and beyond that, he was making a point. The King forced himself to do as Luthaire suggested, and imagined a situation where Titus in his prime stood opposed to the Empire, and then layered a Nephilim’s potential for growth atop his son’s already incredible capabilities.

He realised in quick order that Luthaire was right.

“Gods above.” Honoris grunted. “And the Church very likely just obliterated any sense of positive emotion the boy had toward this nation quite astutely.”

“That was a concern of mine as well, my King, yes.”

“We must reach out to him.”

“I have had the same thought, Sire.”

Honoris nodded. “Good, then you will see it carried out.”

Luthaire, to his credit, simply nodded.

“Gather those you know to be loyal to Titus’ memory and this House above all else, Luthaire, and then fly. I shall grant you a writ of commission as an officer of the Kingsguard of Valaria, and you shall seek out my grandson aboard one of my fastest cruisers. Wherever he might be, Gildedhammer, you must find him. I shall pen letters for you to carry to him, offering him a place at my side.”

“I am not an Archon, my King. I cannot truly guarantee—”

“I am not expecting you to perform in that capacity, Gildedhammer. There will be others for that. Find him, Luthaire. Before he has enough time to truly become our enemy. The boy deserves a chance to know his birthright.”

“I understand, sire.” Luthaire rumbled. “Though a question, if I may be so bold?”

“Ask it.” Honoris said, thoughts already racing as he thought of what he needed to do.

“You are putting a lot of stock in the validity of the boy’s origins, despite a lack of any tangible proof beyond instinct and the word of two men. I do not question your wisdom, but what if—?”

“Words lie, Gildedhammer. Documents lie. Everything can lie, but not a sword. A sword is more honest than anything on Terra.” Honoris had been ready for the question. After all, it was one he had asked of himself repeatedly. He knew the answer well by that point. “All the proper tests will be run when the boy is here before me, but a sword cannot lie. It is a thing of Archons. The moment I saw that boy fight, saw the way he moved and the way he smiled… He was Titus and Ekaterina in new flesh. I saw my son. I saw my wife. I saw myself. If that boy is not my blood, Luthaire Gildedhammer, then the gods have played a truly terrible joke upon us all… but I would rather hope I am right, than let myself believe the patrilineal line of my House which has endured for millennia ends with me.”

“I understand, Sire.”

“Bring him to me, Gildedhammer, and we shall see the truth of who he is beyond doubt.”

“And if all doubt is swept aside, my King?”

Honoris grinned at the question, both vicious and gleeful. “Then the Church and I shall have a reckoning, Gildedhammer. They would have tried to kill the trueborn heir to the Valarian throne.” Power crackled around the old King as he spoke, with the aether in the air reacting passively to his emotions. “They will learn what it means for a Valoura to go to war, and the Heavens themselves will weep for what it is they will have wrought.”