The gates of Virelia stood open like welcoming arms. Beyond them, the streets of Valeria came alive—drums beating with the rhythm of triumph, banners rippling in the wind, and voices singing the song of victory. Children ran barefoot, tossing petals into the air. Elders knelt as King Daemar passed, blood still streaking his armor, though victory clung to him like a second skin.
Soldiers marched in behind him, tired yet proud, their faces painted with soot and glory. Trumpets blared from the high towers of the citadel. The people of Valeria—diverse in culture, belief, and color—had gathered from across the continent to witness their king's return. It was not just a celebration of war won, but a moment where the six great houses would again come together beneath the flaming banners of the Emberblood throne.
Through the winding streets and up the royal path paved with obsidian tiles, King Daemar made his way to the Grand Chamber of Flames.
There, beneath a domed ceiling of stained glass that caught the sun's light like a prism of fire, the six houses waited.
Each was draped in their traditional cloaks, sigils displayed with pride.
House Vaelor stood poised and elegant. Lady Lysia Vaelor, draped in flowing sapphire-blue, offered a subtle smile as the king approached, her eyes calculating behind a veil of silk. Her entourage stood still as statues.
House Drayke's crimson banners burned bright behind Lord Caelum Drayke, a proud man with a scar over one eye and a dragon-shaped pendant at his throat. He bowed deeply, then crossed arms over his chest in salute.
Princess Nysha Nymera of House Nymera, clad in desert-white with gold threading, moved like a dancer—graceful, fluid. Her eyes lingered on the king, but only briefly. She scanned the room, already measuring every person like a prize to be won.
Lord-General Varek Blackhall from House Blackhall stood in unwavering silence, his black-and-white cloak draped over thick iron shoulders. His fists remained clenched. He offered no greeting.
Matriarch Thalira Eldryn of House Eldryn adjusted her deep purple robes, eyes half-hidden beneath a hood. She watched Daemar like a scholar might a rare book—one filled with dangerous knowledge.
And Lord Alric Grivorne, broad and brooding in his gray mantle, leaned against the stone table, uninterested in courtesies. His presence was a mountain—unmoving, cold, dangerous.
The king stepped forward. "Six great houses. One kingdom. Let us speak as one."
They took their seats around the round table in the Chamber of Unity, a massive slab of darkstone engraved with the flames of the old kings. The room fell quiet.
Lady Lysia spoke first, her voice like velvet with a blade beneath. "Your return is a triumph, Your Majesty. Let Valeria remember that peace begins not on the battlefield, but in the halls of reason."
Lord Drayke gave a respectful nod. "And yet reason is forged in flame. Your strength rekindles the honor that was lost in the last reign."
Princess Nysha laughed lightly. "Honor, flame, peace—words spoken too freely. The desert remembers silence, and silence remembers blood. We seek unity, yes, but not through chains."
Lord Varek leaned forward. "Unity must be earned. If we weaken, we invite rebellion. If we stall, we breed betrayal. We need order."
Matriarch Thalira raised a finger. "Order without wisdom is tyranny. The Flamebound power must not be wielded blindly again. The last tyrant king… he let magic burn unchecked. We cannot let his son inherit the same fate,provided he united the houses."
A heavy pause followed.
Then Lord Alric's voice rumbled like thunder. "Why do we speak of a king's heir when there is none? Let this council rule. Or let a new king be chosen—one who does not hide behind prophecy or blood."
All eyes turned to Daemar.
The king rested his hands on the table, his gaze calm but fierce. "There is no heir ,one carries my blood and is full of glory. But peace is not ruled by fear. We have enemies from within and without. If we divide, they will feast on our ruin."
Lysia tilted her head. "Then let us be bound not by crowns… but by marriage. There are daughters, sons, alliances waiting. Let us breed peace, Your Majesty."
Nysha's brow twitched. "Or let us forge it. Through alliance, yes—but not blind obedience."
Thalira whispered, "Unity through knowledge. I offer scrolls older than kings. Let us guide the future with history, not blood."
Varek slammed a fist on the table. "Enough! Let the throne be tested, not debated. If a ruler is to rise, let him earn it with blade and fire."
The voices rose again—politics bleeding into passion, alliances flickering like torches in a storm.
Daemar stood slowly.
"You speak of rule, of legacy, of right," he said. "But Valeria has bled too long. We will not trade swords for serpents. If we are to rise, we rise together. No house shall rule alone. And no house shall fall alone."
A hush fell.
Then Lysia smiled, faint and mysterious. "As always, Your Majesty. The flame still burns."
The gathering ended as servants cleared the table. Tension still lingered, thick as smoke after war. But the first steps toward unity—fragile, uncertain—had begun.
And far in the dungeons beneath the keep, behind doors etched in runes and watched by silent guards… Vel'nari stared at the walls. Waiting.
For what?
Even she did not know.
But the flame of fate had only just begun to flicker...right inside her.