The moon hung low over Aetherion's capital, casting long silver shadows across the palace courtyard. From the highest tower, King Valtherion Theron stood alone, gazing over the city whose fate rested in his hands. His robes fluttered gently in the cold wind as he leaned on the ancient stone balustrade, his eyes narrowed in troubled thought.
The kingdom was cracking.
Noble houses whispered rumors. Soldiers loyal to competing factions sharpened blades at midnight. Messengers carried threats disguised as diplomatic letters. And in the heart of it all were two names—two pillars whose rivalry threatened to pull the entire realm into a political war.
Count Morgan Valerius.
Ambitious. Brilliant. Ruthless. Backed by five powerful noble houses who sought profit above all else.
City Lord Ember Caeliora.
Just. Unbending. Loved by the common people, feared by corrupt nobles. Backed by five houses who favored order over greed.
Valtherion exhaled slowly. Choosing either side meant detonating the kingdom. A misstep here would haunt the throne for generations.
"For the good of Aetherion… I must avoid the path both of them expect," he whispered.
At last, the idea formed—a solution both subtle and dangerous.
---
By morning, the Moonfire Throne Hall was filled. The ten great noble houses stood on opposite sides of the room like armies poised for battle. The ceiling shimmered with enchanted starlight, but not even the beauty of the hall could ease the tension.
Count Morgan was draped in a dark emerald cloak, smirking with practiced confidence. Ember stood opposite him, her armor polished, her expression controlled but defiant. Their followers glared across the floor like wolves ready to pounce.
King Valtherion entered, each step echoing like a hammer on steel. His presence alone forced both factions into silence.
He stopped before the throne, and when he spoke, his voice carried power.
"Aetherion will not bleed for political ambition."
Murmurs rippled—some angry, some surprised. Morgan raised an eyebrow. Ember's posture stiffened.
Valtherion continued,
"Your dispute over Dungeon Abyssal has become a threat to the entire kingdom. Therefore, effective immediately, I declare the formation of a Royal Tribunal Inquiry—a neutral council of military generals, arcane scholars, and senior judges. They shall investigate your claims and present their verdict directly to me."
Gasps erupted. Some nobles looked offended, but none dared shout against the King.
Morgan's voice slid across the hall like oiled steel.
"Your Majesty… surely the crown does not doubt my loyalty?"
Valtherion smiled coldly.
"Your loyalty is… entertaining, Count. But ambition tends to blind even the most gifted men."
Morgan clenched his jaw.
Ember stepped forward and bowed.
"I accept your judgment, Your Majesty."
"Good," Valtherion said. "Because both of you will be reassigned."
Both factions stiffened.
"Count Morgan Valerius," the King declared,
"you are appointed Royal Overseer of Trade and Border Fortifications. You will expand Aetherion's wealth and secure our lands. Your ambition will serve the kingdom—under strict royal supervision."
Morgan's smirk shattered. He couldn't refuse, not in front of everyone, but his eyes burned.
Valtherion turned.
"City Lord Ember Caeliora," he said,
"you are appointed High Magistrate of Capital Justice. You shall uphold the law within Aetherion's heart and ensure fairness to all."
Ember's eyes widened slightly. The position was honorable, but far from supreme control.
The King wasn't finished.
"To ensure no noble family grows too powerful during the Inquiry, I assign control of Dungeon Abyssal's profits and resources to House Solan, House Verden, and House Fontaine—three neutral families."
A wave of outrage rippled across both factions. They had expected control, not a shared lock between outsiders.
Valtherion raised a hand, and silence crushed the room.
"The throne will not tolerate manipulation, bribery, or hidden alliances. Any noble who interferes will face the Silver Guard… and the consequences of treason."
---
After the hall dispersed—still seething, whispering, plotting—Valtherion returned to his chambers. His personal guard closed the doors behind him.
Only when he was alone did he let his posture relax.
The plan was set… but the dangers remained.
Morgan's foreign backers—whispers from the Fallen Empire to the east—could use this setback to tighten their grip on him. And if Morgan felt cornered, he might resort to drastic measures.
Ember's secret bloodline also worried him. The "Forgotten Queens"—a dynasty erased from history—flowed through her veins. If the nobles discovered her royal heritage, many would seek to place her above him. She, too, was a risk.
And then there was the looming betrayal. Valtherion suspected one of Morgan's allied noble houses was already negotiating in secret with Ember's bloc. If that house flipped sides at the wrong time, civil war might erupt anyway.
Worst of all…
Dungeon Abyssal's true secret—something ancient, sealed, and tied to Aetherion's origin—was beginning to stir.
The Tribunal's involvement might uncover truths better left buried.
Valtherion pressed his fingers to his temples.
"What I've done… may save the kingdom," he murmured, "or it may ignite the greatest storm of our age."
He looked out his window once more.
The moonlight flickered unnaturally—like something beneath the surface of the world was breathing.
"Whatever comes," he whispered, "I will not let Aetherion fall."
Little did he know:
This was only the beginning—
and both Morgan and Ember would emerge from his decision… more dangerous than ever.