A table had been set in the great hall that extended from the throne room in the heart of the Royal Palace. There sat all the great families of Adringum—Ayell, Tynell, Tykis, Tydyll, Kywell, Hywin... The group lay encircled by members of the Royal Guard, all dressed in their finest armor.

The King's voice boomed out. "I am sure you are all aware of the purpose of this emergency conference." He looked out at their faces. "Rory Vyncis is marching towards our fair capital in an act of cowardly treachery."

Hywin Senior, a feisty man, slammed his fist against the table. "Thank you for the obvious, dear King. Now, what in the name of hell are we supposed to do?"

"He, like all traitors, shall be hung out—"

Hywin rose. "Hung! Hung!" he spouted incredulously. "With what, dear King? Oh, I suppose we shall all go towards his army and ask them very nicely if we can just, oh, hang their commander. That shall go well."

King Hellbram settled his gaze on him. "He is but a boy—"

"A boy! A boy with a fucking army!"

"It numbers only 11,000—"

"Only 11,000! Dear God, I appear to be in the wrong room. This must be the jester's performance."

"Calm yourself. He barely musters a legion."

Hywin bent over the table to stare at Hellbram. "Barely a legion? Tell that to the Aklans, why don't you? Where is our legion, huh? Where is our army? Oh, yes, it doesn't bloody exist you fool! He will be here within two days! How in the name of hell are we supposed to raise an army in two days?"

"We have some forces. The Royal Guard—"

"The Royal Guard! A bunch of ornamental scarecrows! They spend more time in the brothels fucking than they do fighting! 100,000 fucking men! The boy killed 100,000 fucking Aklans! The finest professional force on the bloody continent, and he butchered them! The Royal Guard!? The Royal Guard!?"

He stood up and walked over to one of the men near the door. "You, other there!"

"Y-yes, my lord?" he sputtered.

"How many?"

"Excuse me, my lord?"

"How many today? You know what I am talking about. Speak."

The guard shifted his gaze awkwardly. "T-three, my lord."

Hywin turned theatrically towards the other nobles. "Three! Take a good look at him! Well, boy, your skill at fucking will be necessary when Rory Vyncis comes over and fucks you in the ass with a sword." He slumped back down in his chair. "The Royal Guard..."

King Hellbram held up his hand. "You have a point, lord Hywin. Now, war is not our only option. Lord Vyncis, what say you? The boy is mad, but perhaps his father can still have sway. You will be justly rewarded, of course."

Pier chuckled. "Vyncis stick to Vyncis, I'm afraid. I shall sooner cut my throat than sell my own son for you, my dear King."

"There are other ways of coercion, my friend, than money."

"Oh, and those are? I already threaten to suicide, what more shall you do? Kill me again? Kill my wife? She appears to be dead. Feel free to stab her corpse. Kill my daughter? Oh, well, she appears to be with our little traitor. Accost my estate? I think my son shall inherit it none the less, Hellbram."

"I am sorry that you will not mediate peace."

Pier smirked. "I am sorry as well."

"Now that that foolishness has been thrown out, what are to do with the army at our footsteps, King?" Hywdin interjected.

"We shall retreat—"

Hywdin threw his arms up. "Retreat! Give up our own bloody capital! May as well surrender now."

"We shall retreat to the west. We can rebuild our army and crush him. We leave on the morrow."

There was silence.

"Come, do you really think Rory Vyncis would take kindly to you all? He is born of lower status! Only granted his noble title by my will, and I can rescind it. Rory Vyncis has been stripped of his titles. Who will follow him now?"

There was still silence.

"A stupid boy, born from the filth. Will you let him step on you? Follow me, and we shall return triumphant. Without you, how shall he have power with the people? How shall he administrate the provinces? By appointing his peasants? His rule will crumble like sand! He has nothing without you!"

Aria smiled and stood up. On her cue, nearly half of the noblemen stood up with her.

"What is it, Ayell?"

She shook her head. "I am afraid that we cannot follow."

"After you defied me once, girl, you dare to repeat the act?"

She nodded to her left. "Kywell?"

Lorem sighed. "King Hellbram, with all due respect, the Kywell family takes pride in nothing if not our information. And..." He stared at him. "My little birds have told me an interesting tale. Why, it seems that someone orchestrated the recent invasion of Adringum by Aklan."

Aria nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Kywell. Well, Hellbram, what say you to that?"

"Your little birds have a... far reach. Who would do such a thing, I wonder?"

"Of course, of course. But, with such treachery in our midsts, however shall we be safe in the west? I think we shall stay right here. You may run, if you wish. Isn't that right, Tykis?"

Illan smiled and rose, but suddenly stopped. If one was to listen closely, they might hear whispers enter his ear from the shadows.

"He knows."

Illan looked towards Aria. "Ah, but I afraid that we shall be going with dear Hellbram, here."

Aria's eyes widened for a second, but she quickly recovered. "That is fine, Tykis. We are not holding anyone hostage. you are free to go."

The King's eyes swept the standing nobles. "Enough with this foolishness! Are you going to follow this, this girl?"

Lorem spoke up. "At least this girl does not invite foreign invaders into our land."

Hellbram slammed his fist on the table. "Fine! We shall see how your defiance goes when your heads sit atop pikes after I have returned. Any who wish to keep their honor as the Tykis does, come with me. You shall be rewarded beyond imagination." The King rose and turned to leave. "Adjourned!"

A robed man knocked on the doors of the Tydyll estate.

"Who's here?" the gatesman asked.

"A messenger."

"From whom?"

"Not yours to know."

"I am not to—"

A voice sounded from behind. "Let him in."

"If... if you say so, my lord," the gatesman answered, confusion in his voice.

The doors creaked open, and the robed man slipped in. He walked with expertise into Myell's study, a comfortable room, with its own hearth and water basin.

Myell looked at him. "What do you want?"

"Today, we face a terrible threat, one that—"

"Shut up and get to the point," Myell ordered.

"O-of course, my lord. Rory Vyncis is near..."

"And?"

"Who was it that gave you those scars on your face, my Lord? Who was it that humiliated you, my Lord?"

Myell looked at him with more interest. "Go on."

"Rory Vyncis will need unity... he needs to show the other nobles that he is no bloodthirsty tyrant. What better way to do that than to befriend his past enemy, Myell Tydyll? Offer your friendship, my lord, then, slip this," he said, pulling a vial from underneath his robes, "into his drink."

Myell began to laugh, a manic laugh. He pulled out a sword and thrust it into the man's face. "This... this is the sword that Rory impaled near my face. This is the sword of justice."

"Of course, my lord."

"I think a new union shall be born on this day," he said, smirking.

The robed man laughed. "We think alike, my lord. It is only natural."

Myell shook his head. "I believe you are mistaken."

"Mistaken?"

"It is not you and I, but you and this sword."

"Ah, I think I understand—" He began to cough violently, blood slipping out his mouth. When he looked down, he saw Myell's sword, impaled into his chest. "W-why—"

"You and the sword have become one! Congratulations!"

The robed man crumbled onto the floor. "Y-you should be bitter enemies—"

"Rory Vyncis defeated me honorably in battle. You and that bastard King do shit like this." He grabbed the man and lifted him by his hair. "As if I would stoop to poisoning the man. I shall have my revenge! Honorably. Just as he did me, or else it would be as using the ocean's water to quench thirst."

“The King is your ally—“

Myell let the man fall and called for a servant. "Change of plans. We stay. No, in fact, begin to muster our troops. “ He crouched down and brought his face next to the robed one’s. “The King is my father’s ally. I am not my father.”