The room was spacious, dominated by a large, polished table at its center. Ornate tapestries adorned the walls, and intricate paintings told stories of past conquests. Massive windows allowed light to pour in, though their thick glass kept out the chill of the winter air. Seated around the table, every chair was occupied, each guest with refreshments in front of them, though few dared touch them.
At one end of the table sat an old, portly man with neatly trimmed hair and beard, a crown perched on his head—King Teodorico IV of the Kingdom of Austrasia. His brow was deeply furrowed, and his eyes blazed with fury.
"What the hell is happening out there?!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the chamber as he threw his arms in the air. The advisors around him sat silently, each man afraid to meet his gaze, knowing well the wrath that could come from this king.
"How can those miserable fools halt our advance and even push us back?!" Teodorico's voice was sharp, almost frantic. "Thousands of soldiers—months of strategy—and yet we've failed to achieve a single one of our goals!"
He slammed his fist on the table, rattling plates, cutlery, and goblets. "And now you tell me those bastards have retaken their city?" His words were laced with scorn as he scanned the room for an answer, but no one dared look up. They knew Teodorico's infamous temper and the repercussions it could bring.
"What are those idiots in Swabia doing?!" he roared, his face flushed with rage. "The Bavarians only have the nerve to push us back because there's no real movement from the south. Aren't the Swabians upholding their end of the deal?" He waited, his expectant silence heavy, until finally one advisor dared to speak.
"My lord," the man began carefully, "it appears Swabia hasn't maintained their share of the advance. Our spies report that they're only engaging in small skirmishes near the enemy cities." He hesitated before continuing. "We've also discovered that a significant portion of their troops are stationed in Tredember, the closest city to their border."
"But why?" a general near the king asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "What's drawing them away from the invasion?"
"All we know," the advisor answered, glancing nervously around, "is that they're transporting something—something large. Whatever it is, it seems to be of such importance that it's taken priority over the conquest itself." His words left the room in thoughtful silence, each man wondering what could justify such a shift in plans.
All the resources we invested in those alliances, thought Teodorico, and they dare put their schemes above our conquest? His mouth twisted with disgust.
"I want to know what's so damned valuable to put this invasion in second place," he commanded coldly, his eyes narrowing. The other men around the table nodded, eager to satisfy the king's demand.
"Your Majesty, there's also been another letter condemning our invasion of Bavaria," an advisor added.
Teodorico snorted. "Ignore it like the rest. We have no time for pious meddling."
***
"Move it! Faster!"
"Remember what'll happen if you stop, you filthy peasants!" Overseers barked orders and threats at the exhausted workers pulling on thick, fraying ropes. The peasants didn't know what they were hauling, only that it was heavy and concealed beneath a massive cloth sewn together from smaller ones, a patchwork veil over whatever lay hidden.
The object was heavily guarded—thousands of soldiers surrounded it as it was painstakingly brought into the city of Tredember, only a few miles from the border. Rumors had already reached the king, and his response was swift and direct: capture this mysterious object, even if it meant abandoning newly conquered territories.
Among the soldiers, rumors spread as well, a name circulating among the ranks: "the relic." No one knew who coined it, but the title stuck, the mystery only adding to the mystique of the hidden object.
Even the soldiers who had been pulled away from the front lines were bewildered by the orders to protect this unknown thing. They had anticipated the glory and riches of conquest, yet here they were, diverting precious resources to secure whatever lay beneath the cloth.
A soldier approached his commander, saluting. "Sir, we've encountered no resistance during transport," he reported. "The relic is secure for now, and the men have been ordered to rest before continuing."
The commander nodded, seated at a table cluttered with maps and reports. "Good. Let them rest, but we move at dawn. I estimate we'll have the relic at the capital within a month." The soldier saluted and turned to leave, casting a last glance at the mysterious cargo.
He was one of the select few who had glimpsed what lay beneath the cloth—a glimpse that had left him haunted. It was unlike anything he'd seen: strange, beautiful, otherworldly, as though plucked from the stars themselves. And yet, for all its beauty, one thing had struck him most: an empty seat at its core.
Where is he now? the soldier wondered. The villagers had spoken of a young stranger who had arrived shortly before the relic's discovery in the forest. They'd last seen him in Calistoga, speaking with a noble before disappearing eastward, perhaps toward the capital.
The soldier clenched his fists. I must find this man called Rafael.