[Unknown POV]
The hall was filled with a rare tension, a quiet anticipation that rippled through the diverse lineup of talents summoned by the Queen herself. Each person there held a reputation, a legacy in their respective fields, and yet, here they were—waiting for an audience. The royal decree had come like a thunderclap, drawing them all to the Palace of Peace, and not a single one dared refuse.
As Sir Armstrong, the renowned Dwarven blacksmith, stood near the front, his weathered features betrayed nothing of the curiosity swirling in his mind. Beside him, Avland, the distinguished magician in azure robes, fidgeted with his book, glancing around in wonder.
"It's strange, isn't it?" Avland mused, his voice low but filled with awe. "To see so many gathered for a single reason. Do you think it's about Lady Fiana?"
The question echoed the thoughts of many in the room. Indeed, the mysterious summons had sparked countless rumors, but the most prevalent theory revolved around Lady Fiana Windslow. Her name was on everyone's lips these days. She was no ordinary noblewoman; she was a phenomenon.
Armstrong glanced towards the other end of the hall, where a dark figure caught his eye. "Look there," he muttered, nodding to Avland. "Mani Volstrad, the Dark Magician. Haven't seen him outside his tower in decades."
Volstrad was infamous for his deadly concoctions and ruthless methods. The story of him poisoning a Warbear with a single drop was legendary. His presence here, like everyone else's, suggested that whatever was happening today was monumental.
Around them, whispers buzzed. Some spoke of Lady Fiana as the "Second Coming of the Magi," a title that hinted at her extraordinary intellect and influence. Others referred to her as the "Celestial Roc," an allusion to her father's title, the "Amethyst Hawk," implying she would soar even higher. The less flattering nickname, "The Witch of the Harvest," spoke to her meddling in every corner of the kingdom, her reach and ideas touching industries, economies, and political spheres in ways no one could have anticipated.
"Her influence is undeniable," Avland murmured, tapping his book thoughtfully. "She's practically reshaping the kingdom with every move she makes."
Armstrong grunted in agreement, his sharp eyes scanning the room. "She's got the kingdom wrapped around her finger, but she's not just clever—she's ruthless when she needs to be. There's a reason no one's dared challenge her rise."
Avland nodded, but his eyes were drawn to a quiet figure in the corner. "Do you think we'll get a chance to speak with her today? With all this speculation, everyone wants to form a connection with her."
And it was true. Despite the diverse talents gathered in the room, there was one common thread uniting them all: a burning desire to be on Lady Fiana Windslow's good side. It wasn't just her genius that drew them in, nor simply her ideas that spread like wildfire across the empire. It was the sheer weight of her presence, the influence she wielded like a blade sharpened with precision. Everyone in attendance, no matter how accomplished or powerful, wanted to secure a place at her side. They knew that being aligned with her meant access to unprecedented opportunities.
But getting close to Lady Fiana was no simple feat.
Even the most well-connected among them—scholars, nobles, artisans—had struggled. Her title alone, as the daughter of Duke Windslow, was enough to make any would-be opportunist think twice. And then there was her long-standing relationship with the Queen herself. The thought of approaching Fiana directly, without caution or the proper channels, seemed akin to attempting to steal a Duke's prized golden hen from his coop. A single misstep could ruin careers or, worse, cost someone their standing entirely.
Business proposals, discussions of innovation, and alliances—it all came at a steep cost. To approach Fiana without her invitation was to court disaster, as if tempting the wrath of not just one powerful family, but the entire royal structure. Even these brave and intelligent men, many of whom were giants in their own fields, knew that one wrong move could sever their chances at greatness before they even began.
The line shuffled forward as another royal guard ushered the next person into the chamber. The tension grew thicker with every step closer to the door.
Avland leaned in closer to Armstrong. "Do you really think she discovered the ruins of a lost civilization? Some people are saying her ideas are too foreign, too advanced, to be anything but ancient knowledge."
The blacksmith scoffed lightly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest. "I've heard those rumors too, but I wouldn't put it past her to create such things from her own mind. That girl's sharper than any blade I've ever forged."
As they inched forward, the speculation continued. Everyone in line had their own theories, their own ideas of what awaited them inside that chamber. But one thing was certain—the Queen had summoned the best and brightest for a reason, and that reason likely revolved around Lady Fiana.
Finally, it was Avland's turn. The royal guard stepped forward, signaling him to proceed.
Ushered through the doors, he found himself in a chamber far more elegant than he'd expected, but not overly grand. The walls were lined with ancient tapestries and bookshelves, an air of intellectual purpose filling the space. At the center stood Lady Fiana, her posture calm and composed, radiating authority far beyond her years. She was in the midst of discussing something with a tall, regal-looking man, clearly a servant, but the moment her eyes caught sight of Avland and Armstrong, she dismissed the other figure with a wave.
Avland, visibly excited to be in the presence of the illustrious Lady Fiana, stepped forward with a formal bow, the kind one would give to royalty. "Lady Fiana," he greeted, his voice steady but filled with respect.
To his surprise, she returned the bow with equal formality, her eyes holding a sharp, almost calculating gleam. "Professor Avland, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person." Then, with no hint of hesitation, she handed him a stack of documents. "But first, I need you to read through these."
Avland, though slightly taken aback by her direct approach, nodded quickly. "Of course," he said, taking the documents in hand. His fingers traced over the thick parchment, each page covered in precise handwriting and detailed diagrams. Without delay, he began reading with the trained speed of a seasoned scholar.
As Avland read, his eyes widened with every sentence. It wasn't just some new business venture or political strategy. This was something far grander, far more ambitious. The documents detailed a series of new technological concepts, each backed by both magical theory and practical application.
One particular document caught his eye—a concept on the use of magic communication engrams combined with runic symbols to revolutionize the communication sector. His breath hitched as he skimmed through the idea. It wasn't just theory; it was a full-blown proposal to create a network of devices that could transmit voices and even images across vast distances.
"Phones?" Avland murmured, his voice betraying the shock and excitement building within him. The word sounded so simple, yet the implications were staggering.
Lady Fiana, noticing his reaction, stepped closer, her gaze keen. "Yes," she said, her tone as if this was the most natural progression in the world. "I plan to implement these communication devices across the entire Empire. Imagine a world where people can communicate instantly, regardless of distance."
Avland's heart raced. The very idea of such a system—something so far beyond what even he had considered possible—left him breathless. The applications of this concept were endless.
"I'm glad to see you're pleased, Professor," Fiana said, her tone light, but her words weighted with layers of intention.
Avland looked up, briefly stunned. He'd read through hundreds, perhaps thousands of manuscripts in his career, but this… this was something different. "Pleased?" he said, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. "This idea could reshape not only the Kingdom, but the entire continent!"
Fiana nodded as if she had heard such praise a hundred times before. "It could," she said with a calm certainty, "and it will. But..." her gaze sharpened, and the atmosphere in the room shifted slightly, the weight of her next words hanging in the air. "This is merely something to get you interested, Professor. A taste, if you will."
Avland furrowed his brow, curiosity swelling. "A taste?! THIS?!"
Fiana's smile widened, but her eyes remained sharp. "Consider this an appetizer to whet your appetite, Professor. In a few days' time, a far grander event will take place. One where every major player, every single stakeholder, will be present to discuss much more."
The pause that followed was electric. Avland's thoughts raced. "A summons?" he asked, almost breathless.
Fiana nodded. "Yes. A summons, not just for a handful of minds like yourself, but for everyone. Every guild master, every scholar, every influential figure across the Kingdom will be called. The Alkavian National Assembly is being held once more."
Avland's heart nearly skipped a beat. "The National Assembly!!!" He stared at her in disbelief. The National Assembly was an event of historical significance, only ever convened at times of extraordinary change. It was not called lightly, and the implications of such a meeting being held now…
He stammered for a moment, his mind struggling to grasp the enormity. "But why are you telling me this now? Why bring me here, ahead of the others?"
Fiana stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with purpose. "Because, Professor Avland, I need people like you." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "You are one of the best in your field, a pioneer in magical studies and innovation. And I need people who are willing to be part of something bigger than themselves—something bigger than even the Dukes."
Avland felt a chill run down his spine at her words. "You're scouting us," he said, the realization dawning on him.
Fiana chuckled softly. "Exactly."
He paused, trying to piece together her intentions. "I have a very good relationship with Duke Windslow," he began, his loyalty to the Duke something he was sure Fiana would respect.
But to his surprise, Fiana laughed—a bright, almost mocking sound. "Oh, Professor," she said, shaking her head, "I'm not asking for a partnership. I'm asking for allegiance."
Avland blinked, his confusion deepening. "Allegiance?"
Fiana's gaze hardened. "Yes. I'm not seeking temporary alliances or convenient agreements. I want unwavering loyalty. And that, Professor, means renouncing your autonomy."
Avland felt the words like a blow. He, like many others in the hall before, had always valued his independence, even in his dealings with the Dukes. He had worked with them, yes, but he had never bound himself to their service. And now, here was this young woman—this prodigy—asking him to give that up?
"That's a lot to ask," he said quietly, his mind racing with the implications.
Fiana's expression softened, if only slightly. "I understand," she said. "It's not a decision to be taken lightly. But I believe you'll see the necessity of it soon enough. After all..." She paused, her eyes gleaming with something deeper. "There's someone who will be able to convince you if I cannot."
Before Avland could ask what she meant, Fiana gestured for him to follow. "Come," she said. "There's something I need to show you."
As they walked through the winding halls of the palace, the air grew colder, and the light dimmer. Avland could feel the weight of the building shifting around him, as though they were descending into the belly of something ancient, something unknowable.
"I'll need to check you before we proceed," Fiana said suddenly, breaking the silence. "To ensure you're not carrying anything harmful."
Avland nodded, though a flicker of unease crept into his chest. "Of course," he replied, allowing the royal guards who had suddenly appeared to search him. Their hands were swift and efficient, finding nothing out of place.
With that done, they continued down a long, narrow corridor. As they went deeper, the walls seemed to close in, the darkness swallowing the light.
Suddenly, Avland felt it—a presence. Cold and ominous, like a shadow lurking just beyond his perception. He stopped in his tracks, his magical senses flaring. His breath hitched, and for a brief moment, his heart froze.
"Ha!" Avland gasped, whirling around, certain he had felt the shadow of death itself behind him.
But there was nothing. Only darkness.
Fiana's voice cut through the eerie silence. "Is something wrong, Professor?"
He swallowed hard, his eyes scanning the shadows. "No..." he said, though he didn't quite believe it himself. "I just... I thought..."
"Come," Fiana said, her tone calm but insistent. "We're almost there."
They reached another set of doors, tall and ancient, the wood creaking as they opened. But this time, the sensation was different. If before Avland had felt the shadow of death behind him, now it was in front of him—looming, waiting.
His steps faltered as they entered the room, his eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. And then he saw it.
Sitting on a throne at the far end of the chamber was a figure—gaunt, hollow-eyed, his skin pale as if drained of life itself. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating, like a wave of cold air had swept into the room.
Avland's heart seized in his chest.
The figure... this man... was supposed to be dead.
Avland stood frozen, his thoughts spinning out of control, reeling in disbelief. "Impossible..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.
There, on the throne before him, sat the man who had once ruled the entire Empire of Alkavia. A man whose death had shattered the realm into chaos, whose passing had ignited a storm of political intrigue, unrest, and power struggles. And yet, here he was—gaunt, hollow-eyed, a shadow of his former self. His very presence sent a bone-chilling cold through the room, the air thick with something unnatural.
Fiana, standing beside Avland, watched him closely, a hint of amusement playing at the edges of her lips. Slowly, she turned her gaze to the figure on the throne, her smile widening, but not in the way of a young noblewoman; it was something more calculated, more dangerous.
"Professor," Fiana said softly, her voice sharp yet calm, slicing through the suffocating silence like a knife. "I believe you've met once before, but let me offer a proper introduction this time."
Avland's heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to speak, to ask questions, to understand how this was even possible, but the words died in his throat as Fiana's gaze locked onto him, commanding his attention.
"The Emperor of Alkavia," she continued, her voice reverberating through the chamber, "welcomes a friend."
Avland's knees nearly buckled as the reality sank in. His eyes flicked back to the figure on the throne—The Emperor, his Emperor—returned from the grave. The man who had once ruled over an era of prosperity and power now looked at Avland, his cold, hollow eyes seeming to pierce through his very soul. His lips parted ever so slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft but laden with a weight that chilled the air even further.
"We've got a lot to talk about," the Emperor said, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. Then, almost casually, he smiled—a delicate, haunting smile that sent a shiver down Avland's spine.
For a moment, Avland felt his heart falter, as if he might collapse right there on the floor. The weight of everything—the dark room, the impossible figure before him, Fiana standing beside him like a spider in her web—overwhelmed his senses. He clutched at his chest, struggling to breathe, his mind racing as he tried to reconcile this ghostly presence with the reality he thought he knew.
Fiana watched him closely, her amusement barely masked. "Easy, Professor," she said with a chuckle, stepping closer to him, her voice carrying an edge of mock concern.
"No need to have a heart attack just yet. There's so much more to discuss."