The next morning, the council reconvened around the long timber table. Sunlight poured through the high windows, turning drifting dust motes into tiny, floating embers. The table was a chaotic landscape of maps, sharpened quills, and heavy ink pots—the blueprints of a kingdom yet to be born.
Eiden stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed and his traveling cloak draped over one shoulder. The men leaned in, their breathing rhythmic and expectant.
Tenadey tapped a gloved finger against a parchment map. "So you're suggesting Pokilo establishes a... Council of Mages? A centralized body to enforce the law and neutralize high-level threats? It's a bold stroke, Eiden. I like it."
Eiden nodded. "It is necessary. From there, the rest of you must carve out your own domains. For Prinston, the path is already paved. His noble lineage and name carry weight; his numbers will swell faster than the others."
Prinston Golden Throne—stout, grey-bearded, and bright-eyed—let out a booming, hearty laugh. "In my youth, I was a terror with a blade and no stranger to the arcane. I can hardly wait to see the face that greets me in the mirror once that potion is brewed."
"There is more," Eiden continued, his voice dropping an octave. "In the future, Pokilo—you must begin a family journal. It must record my name, my intent, and instructions for those who follow you. This is non-negotiable."
Pokilo Caustra, the tall mage with violet eyes, gave a slow, solemn nod.
Eiden pressed his palms onto the wood, leaning forward. "As I told you, I will soon betray the Six Devils. I will seek a new path, a new self, and build a group dedicated to healing the very lands I once helped burn."
The room fell into a heavy silence.
"A day or two after my battle with Uzak'me," Eiden said, "it will be staged to look as though we died in a mutual draw. We will both use reincarnation spells. When the future Council finds Uzak'me's body, they must secure it before the Ten Celestials can intervene. If anyone else demands the remains, tell them it was stolen. Make it believable."
Hamphane stroked his red beard thoughtfully. "A deep game, Eiden. You must trust us implicitly to share such a vulnerability."
"I do," Eiden replied. "Because I believe that one day, the three of us—myself, Uzak'me, and Ou'weii—will need your help to finally bring Civilar down."
Zanme Zanders frowned, his brow furrowing. "I still don't grasp it. No one man can be that formidable, can they?"
Eiden's gaze went cold as he locked eyes with the warrior. "Titans choose their core essence before they are even born. Civilar chose Divine Power. He was born with the strength of the Council of Gods, and he has spent centuries mastering every dark, forbidden art sealed away by the ancients. I will grow stronger, yes—but I will never be his equal alone."
Bevollo Tcil, his ring-laden fingers tapping a nervous rhythm, nodded slowly. "I see. You aren't asking for help out of humility; you're asking out of necessity."
"Exactly," Eiden said.
Prinston laughed again, slapping his knee. "By the Gods, Eiden, you are a sharp one. I thought the Six were just a pack of rabid dogs, but it seems there's a mind behind the teeth. When the time comes to face that beast, you'll have my sword and my kingdom at your back."
A rare, ghost of a smile touched Eiden's lips. "Thank you."
The heavy doors burst open, and a young scout with freckles and wind-burned skin rushed in. "Sirs! We have them! We hit every location on the map and brought back enough to fill a treasury!"
Outside, the air was filled with the sounds of a frantic logistical triumph. Scouts were unloading heavy wooden crates from wagons, their grunts and the clatter of wood echoing through the square.
"That's the lot of 'em!" a scout shouted, wiping grime from his forehead before the teams headed for the local tavern to celebrate.
Eiden and Prinston approached one of the crates. Eiden pried the lid back with a groan of protesting nails. Inside lay bundles of glowing, iridescent blue herbs and clusters of deep purple crystals that shimmered with an internal, rhythmic light.
"Hmph," Prinston muttered. "I'll leave the alchemy to the expert. I'll have a cauldron brought to the healer's quarters."
A few hours later, Eiden entered a dim infirmary carrying a crate. The air was thick with the scent of dried sage, smoke, and a cloying sweetness. A woman sat in a high-backed chair, exhaling a plume of shimmering red-and-gold smoke from a long, slender pipe.
She stood as he approached. She was striking—flaming red hair, glowing crimson eyes, and a black-and-red dress that looked more like evening wear than a doctor's smock.
"I'm Ruby," she said, her voice like velvet and grit. "The town's healer, doctor, and whatever else they need. I know who you are. The floor is yours."
Eiden set to work in silence. He stacked firewood beneath the iron cauldron and ignited it with a sharp flick of his fingers, a spark of white mana blooming into a steady flame. He began pulling bottles from the shelves—Moonwater, Spiritvine extract, Essence of Mana Root—and adding them to the pot until the mixture swirled into a pale, electric blue.
He crushed the Validu herbs between his palms, the glowing powder hissing as it hit the liquid. Then he ground the Tentor crystals into a fine purple dust, adding it slowly as the cauldron began to pulse with light.
Ruby watched from the shadows, her pipe forgotten. The mixture thickened into a swirling vortex of emerald and violet. Eiden added stabilizing agents—gold, clear, and black—watching as the concoction settled into a smooth, luminous glow.
He filled a handful of vials. Before Ruby could speak, Eiden downed one himself. His body tensed, a ripple of pure kinetic energy visible beneath his skin, before he exhaled a long, steady breath.
"It works."
Night had claimed the town. Inside the council hall, the leaders sat in the warm amber glow of lanterns, their faces etched with the stress of the coming years.
The door swung open, and Eiden entered with the glowing vials. Prinston stood, his face alight with hope. Eiden handed him a vial.
The room held its breath as the old man uncorked the glass and drank.
The transformation was violent and beautiful. A shockwave of golden light erupted from Prinston's form. His skin tightened, centuries of wrinkles smoothing away in seconds. His hunched back straightened, his belly receded, and his arms swelled with hard, corded muscle. His white beard darkened to a rich, molten gold, and his eyes ignited with a radiant, solar brilliance.
He stood taller, his presence filling the room with an aura of ancient, regal power. He was no longer a frail old man; he was a king in his prime.
The other leaders drank their portions, their eyes widening as the surge of vitality and raw strength flooded their veins.
Prinston looked at his hands, then up at Eiden, his voice resonant and clear. "Eiden... you have my soul. The Golden Throne Kingdom will rise, and it will be because of you."