I straightened the lapels of my coat as I stepped onto the black marble path leading to the heart of the Summit of the Twelve Great Guilds—a gathering that wasn't merely a meeting but an exhibition of power, influence, and unyielding pride.
The architecture of the hall was a masterpiece of imperial design, with vast domes that seemed to touch the heavens and crystalline skylights that refracted sunlight into cascading rainbows. At its core, the circular seating arrangement of the guildmasters exuded a sense of engineered equality.
My eyes swept the room, taking in the titans of industry. Maxwell von Pontes of Ferraclysm, his expression schooled into a mask of defiance but his posture betraying the lingering scars of our recent war. Lady Helen Varnhart of Luminalis, seated with the poise of a queen, her sharp gaze flickering to me only briefly before returning to the empty Throne above her—a silent testament to what this gathering truly represented.
The Empty Throne.
Carved from pure obsidian, it loomed above the circular table like a specter of ambition. No one had ever claimed it, for to do so would mean declaring one guild supreme over all others. Even Ferraclysm, the so-called strongest of the Twelve, had never dared. The Throne was a reminder of restraint, a symbol of balance in an empire where power was distributed, if not equally, then delicately.
But symbols, like balance, were fragile things.
The lesser guild representatives were seated below the Twelve on descending tiers, their arrangements a clear reminder of their place in the hierarchy. No one needed to say it aloud: the Twelve sat above all. But they, too, were bound by the unspoken rule that no guild could rise above the others.
Until now.
I approached the circular table, my steps deliberate, the soft echo of my boots against the marble reverberating in the silence. My arrival was not unexpected—after all, I was here officially to propose Noctalis's inclusion as the thirteenth guild among the Twelve. A historic precedent, to be sure, but one that I knew they would try to resist.
I passed Helen and Maxwell, catching the brief flicker of recognition—and something sharper—in their eyes. Resentment, perhaps. Or fear. Maybe both. I didn't care. I wasn't here to make friends.
My gaze drifted upward, resting on the Throne. Empty, as it had always been, its dark surface absorbing the light and reflecting nothing back. A void. A challenge.
This summit wasn't about inclusion. It was about claiming that Throne.
I stopped at the base of the circle and inclined my head slightly, just enough to be polite without bowing. "Guildmasters," I said, my voice carrying effortlessly across the hall, "thank you for allowing me to address this esteemed gathering."
The murmurs began almost immediately, a ripple of whispered conversations that I ignored. Let them talk. Let them speculate. I stepped forward, taking a seat in the chair provided for me—lower than the Twelve, of course. A concession they insisted upon, though one that would be rendered meaningless soon enough.
"Arthur Nightingale," a voice called out, sharp and commanding. It was Horace Blaithe of Auristrade, his dark eyes gleaming with suspicion. "You've disrupted markets, challenged traditions, and now you come here seeking a place among us. Tell me—what makes Noctalis worthy of joining the Twelve?"
I leaned back in my chair, my expression calm. "Worthy?" I repeated, my tone almost amused. "Noctalis does not seek to join the Twelve. Noctalis seeks to lead."
The room erupted into chaos.
Guildmasters shouted over one another, their voices a cacophony of outrage and disbelief. Horace's face twisted into a scowl, while Lenora Trask of Harmonyx leaned forward, her elegant demeanor replaced by cold curiosity. Even Helen, who had always prided herself on composure, narrowed her eyes at me.
"Lead?" Maxwell's voice cut through the noise, his tone dripping with disdain. "You dare speak of leadership after barely surviving our confrontation?"
"Surviving?" I echoed, letting the word hang in the air like an accusation. "Ferraclysm, Maxwell, is no longer the force it once was. You sit here diminished, your power fractured, your influence waning. And you know why."
Maxwell's knuckles whitened against the edge of the table, but he said nothing.
"I came here," I continued, rising to my feet, "not to beg for a seat at your table, but to inform you that Noctalis has already taken what it needs. Five of the Twelve have already submitted. Luminalis. Pyronis. Skyveil. Chronovant. And yes—Ferraclysm."
The silence that followed was deafening. The implications of my words sank in like poison, spreading doubt and fear among the gathered guildmasters.
"You lie," Horace spat, though his voice lacked conviction.
I smiled faintly and raised my hand, activating the holographic projector embedded in the table. Documents appeared in the air, glowing with irrefutable evidence: contracts, mana signatures, legal bindings—all proof of the alliances I had forged behind the scenes.
Helen remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. Maxwell's face darkened further, the defeat he had tried to bury now laid bare for all to see.
"Noctalis," I said, my voice steady and resolute, "is not here to ask for recognition. It is here to take its rightful place. The time for balance is over. The era of the Empty Throne ends today."
I turned, my gaze locking onto the obsidian seat above us. For a moment, I imagined myself sitting there, and the weight of it didn't feel crushing. It felt inevitable.
"Submit," I said, my tone as unyielding as the stone of the Throne itself. "Or be left behind."
The room didn't erupt this time. It froze, the guildmasters caught between anger, fear, and something far more dangerous: the realization that their time at the top was over.
And for the first time in its history, the Empty Throne seemed closer to being filled than ever before.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The silence following my declaration was short-lived, shattered by an eruption of voices. The guildmasters of the remaining seven guilds leaned forward, their objections immediate and fierce.
"This is preposterous!" Horace Blaithe of Auristrade barked, slamming his hand on the table. His dark eyes darted from me to the holographic evidence I had displayed. "No guild has ever sat above the Twelve! It would destabilize the entire balance of power!"
"And who benefits from that destabilization?" Lenora Trask of Harmonyx added, her voice sharp and measured, though her expression betrayed unease. "Arthur Nightingale, and his Noctalis, of course."
A low chuckle from the opposite side of the table drew their attention. It was Lady Helen Varnhart, her poise unbroken as she addressed Lenora. "Perhaps you haven't been paying attention, Lenora," she said, her tone almost condescending. "The balance of power is already broken. Noctalis didn't create that imbalance; it simply capitalized on it."
"You would defend this… usurper?" Horace hissed, his voice laced with venom.
Helen's lips curled into a faint smile as she turned her gaze toward him. "I defend pragmatism. Aetherite has revolutionized every industry it touches. The world is changing, and clinging to old hierarchies will only ensure your irrelevance."
Maxwell von Pontes, the formidable guildmaster of Ferraclysm, spoke next, his voice heavy with resignation but carrying the weight of authority. "I fought him. I know what he's capable of. If any of you think resisting Noctalis is an option, you're fooling yourselves."
"But we're stronger together!" snarled Rhys Thalor of Terranova, his green eyes blazing with defiance. "If we combine our resources—"
"Combine them for what?" interjected Kael Dravus of Pyronis, his voice as fiery as his guild's reputation. "Another war? Another humiliating defeat like Ferraclysm's? We've already seen what happens when one of us challenges Noctalis. Do you want to be next?"
Rhys hesitated, his bravado faltering under Kael's cutting words.
Lenora, ever the diplomat, tried a different tack. "Even if Noctalis has gained ground, what you're proposing—elevating a single guild above all others—is unprecedented. It risks alienating not just the Twelve, but the entire guild system. Do you truly think the empire will stand for it?"
"Perhaps you've forgotten," Helen said smoothly, "that the Chancellor herself has supported Noctalis's rise. And let's not pretend the Imperial Family doesn't value stability over tradition."
"Stability?" Horace sneered. "What stability is there in handing over control to a single guild? This isn't governance—it's tyranny."
"Tyranny?" Arthur finally spoke, his calm, measured tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "Noctalis doesn't seek to oppress the Twelve; it seeks to unify them. The guilds have long operated as fractured powers, competing for dominance while the world faces threats greater than any of us can handle alone. The resurgence of black mana species and their cults. Do you truly believe the old ways can protect us against these challenges?"
His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the larger threats looming over them all.
Kael Dravus nodded in agreement, his fiery disposition tempered by a rare moment of clarity. "Arthur's right. The threats we face aren't ones we can handle individually. We need a unified front, and Noctalis is already proving itself as a leader."
Lenora's expression shifted, doubt creeping into her features. "And what guarantees do we have that Noctalis won't abuse this power?"
"The same guarantees you had with the Twelve," Maxwell said grimly. "None. Power is always a risk. But the difference here is that Noctalis has proven its ability to wield it effectively. Can any of you say the same for your own guilds?"
Helen leaned forward, her gaze sweeping the remaining dissenters. "This isn't about guarantees, Lenora. It's about survival. Adapt, or perish."
The tension in the room was palpable as the dissenting guildmasters exchanged glances, their resistance wavering under the weight of the argument. Slowly, reluctantly, Lenora broke the silence.
"If we agree," she said cautiously, "what assurances do we have that Noctalis will respect the traditions and contributions of the Twelve?"
I met her gaze, my expression steady. "The Empty Throne has always symbolized the collective strength of the guilds. By filling it, Noctalis doesn't destroy that strength—it consolidates it. The Twelve will remain vital, their autonomy respected, but under a unified banner. Together, we face the future as one."
A long silence followed, broken only by the soft hum of the holographic displays. Then, one by one, the dissenters began to nod, their resistance giving way to the inevitability of change.
Helen's voice cut through the quiet, her tone resolute. "Then it's settled. Let the guilds unite under Noctalis."
The room was silent, the kind of silence that wasn't absence but presence—the weight of history settling over the air, making every breath feel momentous. My gaze lifted to the obsidian throne that loomed above the circular table. For decades, it had remained empty, a reminder that no guild could claim supremacy, that the Twelve were equals.
Until now.
I took my first step toward the throne, the black marble stairs gleaming under the soft glow of mana-powered sconces. Each step echoed in the chamber, a deliberate cadence that carried with it the weight of inevitability. Behind me, the Twelve guildmasters watched in silence, their expressions a mixture of resentment, resignation, and, in some cases, respect.
Maxwell's eyes followed me, his face stoic but his clenched fists betraying his lingering frustration. Helen, ever composed, inclined her head slightly as though acknowledging a long-overdue truth. Kael crossed his arms, his fiery temperament subdued for once. And Horace, still simmering, glared daggers, his silence sharper than words.
The throne drew closer, its dark surface seeming to absorb the light rather than reflect it. It was more than a seat; it was a statement. The culmination of ambition, strategy, and sacrifice. But not just mine. Noctalis's rise wasn't the story of one man—it was the reshaping of an entire era.
I reached the top of the steps and paused. For a moment, I let the weight of the moment settle over me, feeling every eye in the room boring into my back. This wasn't just for me. It was for every member of Noctalis who had fought, struggled, and believed in the vision we shared. For the future that demanded unity, not division.
I turned slowly, facing the guildmasters below. The circular table seemed smaller from here, the figures of the Twelve reduced to spectators. I met their gazes one by one, letting the gravity of the moment stretch out.
And then, without hesitation, I lowered myself onto the throne.
The cool obsidian pressed against my back, its smooth surface unyielding. A faint hum vibrated through the seat, almost as if the throne itself acknowledged its first occupant. I rested my hands on the armrests, my fingers curling around their edges.
A smile tugged at my lips, small but unmistakable. For the first time in history, the Empty Throne was filled. No longer a symbol of restraint, but of power and purpose. Noctalis now stood at the pinnacle, above even the Twelve.