Upon waking, Aemon is greeted by two beautiful maids who serve him breakfast with warm smiles.
— Good morning, my lord — they say, almost in unison, as they place the dishes before him.
Aemon, still trying to shake off the fog of sleep, blinks a few times, surprised by the sight.
— Good morning... — he responds, but his eyes wander over the graceful figures of the maids, noticing the details of their attire and the way their hair gently falls over their shoulders.
For a moment, Aemon gets lost in thought, admiring the young women's beauty. Before he can correct himself, Lord Thorne's firm voice interrupts the moment.
— Well, you'd better stop staring and start eating. It's going to be a long day, young man.
Aemon nearly drops his fork at the counselor's serious tone. Quickly, he averts his gaze from the maids, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.
— That wasn't my intention... — he mumbles as the two maids exchange discreet smiles and leave the room.
Trying to compose himself, Aemon grips his fork more firmly and begins to eat, still feeling the heat of embarrassment on his face. Lord Thorne, who has already settled into a nearby chair, crosses his arms and watches the young man.
— Today will be a busy day, Aemon. We have much to do.
Aemon pauses and looks at the counselor, trying to anticipate what lies ahead.
— And what exactly? — he asks, with a note of curiosity.
— We will study the art of war, the current situation of Volcrist with other Domains, and the geography of our kingdom. — Thorne pauses before continuing, with a slight ironic smile. — And at the end, good manners.
Aemon almost laughs, finding the idea absurd.
— Good manners? What for? I'm not a child...
Before Lord Thorne can respond, King Alaric's grave and authoritative voice echoes through the room.
— To form strong alliances and improve your communication with the people.
Aemon quickly turns toward the door, where the king stands, watching him with a gaze that mixes expectation with a touch of severity.
— Alliances... — Aemon repeats, as if pondering the concept. He takes a deep breath and nods. — Understood. I'll finish eating and join you shortly.
King Alaric gives a slight nod.
— We'll be in the library. Don't take too long.
Lord Thorne stands up with the king, and both begin to leave the room. However, before fully exiting, Thorne casts one last look at Aemon, now softer, almost paternal.
— Remember, Aemon, what we do today shapes tomorrow. Think about that while you study.
Once they leave, Aemon remains silent for a moment, reflecting on Thorne's words. He then resumes eating, but his appetite seems to have diminished. As he chews, his mind is already in the library, imagining what the day will hold.
After finishing his breakfast, Aemon rises from the table, straightens his clothes, and leaves the room, walking down the corridor toward the dining hall. Upon entering, he immediately feels the weight of the stares on him. Cedric and Seraphine are seated, exchanging whispers, but when they notice Aemon, their faces turn cold and impassive. Even so, the hatred they feel for him is evident, hidden only by a thin veil of courtesy.
Aemon senses the tense atmosphere, but instead of hesitating, he keeps his head held high. As he passes by them, he casts a brief glance at each, noticing how Cedric presses his lips together and how Seraphine barely manages to conceal the disdain in her eyes.
— Lord Cedric... Lady Seraphine... — Aemon greets them with a slight nod, maintaining his serious expression.
Cedric responds with an almost inaudible grunt, while Seraphine only slightly inclines her head, avoiding direct eye contact. Aemon continues walking, not wanting to prolong the uncomfortable interaction.
As soon as Aemon leaves the hall, Cedric leans toward Seraphine, his face hardened with concern.
— What is he doing here so early? — Cedric whispers, his voice laden with suspicion.
Seraphine, with an equally worried tone, responds:
— I don't know, but he seemed different today. More... confident.
Cedric shakes his head, uneasy.
— I don't like it. We can't let him roam freely, doing as he pleases. Who knows what he might be plotting...
— Perhaps it's just a coincidence... — Seraphine suggests, though her voice betrays uncertainty.
Cedric, however, is not convinced.
— I won't take any chances. — He pauses, pondering the best course of action. — I'll send some servants to keep an eye on him. Let them do it discreetly. We can't allow him to make a move without us knowing.
Seraphine nods, her eyes fixed on the door through which Aemon passed.
— Right. We need to be prepared for anything.
Cedric rises from the table, his thoughts already focused on executing his plan.
— Make sure only those most loyal to us are involved. We cannot afford any mistakes.
Seraphine agrees, and as Cedric heads to the servants to give orders, she remains seated, gazing at the empty hall. A chill runs down her spine as she thinks of Aemon and what he might mean for their future.
Outside, Aemon continues his path down the corridor, unaware of Cedric and Seraphine's suspicions. However, an uneasy feeling begins to stir in his chest, as if he is being watched. He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. For now, he needs to focus on the day's lessons, but the seeds of distrust have already begun to take root, ready to erupt into future conflicts.
After finishing his breakfast, Aemon rises from the table, straightens his clothes, and leaves the room, walking down the corridor toward the dining hall. Upon entering, he immediately feels the weight of the stares on him. Cedric and Seraphine are seated, exchanging whispers, but when they notice Aemon, their faces turn cold and impassive. Even so, the hatred they feel for him is evident, hidden only by a thin veil of courtesy.
Aemon senses the tense atmosphere, but instead of hesitating, he keeps his head held high. As he passes by them, he casts a brief glance at each, noticing how Cedric presses his lips together and how Seraphine barely manages to conceal the disdain in her eyes.
— Lord Cedric... Lady Seraphine... — Aemon greets them with a slight nod, maintaining his serious expression.
Cedric responds with an almost inaudible grunt, while Seraphine only slightly inclines her head, avoiding direct eye contact. Aemon continues walking, not wanting to prolong the uncomfortable interaction.
As soon as Aemon leaves the hall, Cedric leans toward Seraphine, his face hardened with concern.
— What is he doing here so early? — Cedric whispers, his voice laden with suspicion.
Seraphine, with an equally worried tone, responds:
— I don't know, but he seemed different today. More... confident.
Cedric shakes his head, uneasy.
— I don't like it. We can't let him roam freely, doing as he pleases. Who knows what he might be plotting...
— Perhaps it's just a coincidence... — Seraphine suggests, though her voice betrays uncertainty.
Cedric, however, is not convinced.
— I won't take any chances. — He pauses, pondering the best course of action. — I'll send some servants to keep an eye on him. Let them do it discreetly. We can't allow him to make a move without us knowing.
Seraphine nods, her eyes fixed on the door through which Aemon passed.
— Right. We need to be prepared for anything.
Cedric rises from the table, his thoughts already focused on executing his plan.
— Make sure only those most loyal to us are involved. We cannot afford any mistakes.
Seraphine agrees, and as Cedric heads to the servants to give orders, she remains seated, gazing at the empty hall. A chill runs down her spine as she thinks of Aemon and what he might mean for their future.
Outside, Aemon continues his path down the corridor, unaware of Cedric and Seraphine's suspicions. However, an uneasy feeling begins to stir in his chest, as if he is being watched. He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. For now, he needs to focus on the day's lessons, but the seeds of distrust have already begun to take root, ready to erupt into future conflicts.
Upon arriving at the library, Aemon is immediately struck by the immensity of the place; he had never imagined something so grand, filled with books that stretch from floor to ceiling. In the center of the hall, he spots King Alaric and Lord Thorne, quietly discussing something. The room is silent, except for the soft sound of pages being turned by the scholars around, creating an almost reverent atmosphere.
Noticing Aemon's presence, Lord Thorne interrupts the conversation and quickly beckons him over, pointing to a nearby chair.
— Sit down, Aemon — Thorne says, his voice firm but not without a hint of expectation.
Aemon obeys, his heart still racing from the grandeur of the place. As he settles in, he asks:
— Where shall we begin?
Alaric, who had been observing Aemon with critical eyes but not without a touch of humor, responds with a subtle smile:
— Perhaps we should start with manners, considering what happened earlier. You can't afford the same behavior with the noble ladies.
The comment makes Aemon blush slightly, and he lowers his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the embarrassment return. He quickly composes himself, trying to maintain a confident posture, but the memory of the incident still lingers in his mind. Alaric continues to watch him, now with a more serious expression.
— The truth is, Aemon, you're in a position that requires much more than brute strength or bravery in battle. — Alaric pauses, choosing his words carefully. — What you do, how you behave, all of it shapes the perception others will have of you as a leader.
Thorne, beside the king, nods in agreement and begins to outline the day's study plan:
— Today, we'll cover the art of war, diplomacy, and, as the king mentioned, the etiquette necessary for someone who might one day lead Volcrist.
Aemon listens intently, though he feels the pressure mounting on his shoulders. The weight of expectations, from both Alaric and Thorne, is palpable. Still, he knows he cannot fail, not now.
— I understand — Aemon replies, his voice firm but with a touch of humility. — I'm ready to learn whatever is necessary.
Alaric exchanges a meaningful glance with Thorne before continuing:
— Good, then let's begin. You have much to learn and little time. But remember, Aemon, knowledge is as powerful a weapon as the sword you carry. Use it wisely.
With that, Thorne picks up a scroll from one of the many piles on the table, unrolling it in front of Aemon, while Alaric remains standing, watching him with the gravity of someone who knows that the lessons of that day could shape the future of the kingdom.
After hours of intense study, Aemon finally gets a break, but even then, he is made to review the main Dominions of the realm. He starts with Volcrist, one of the oldest and most influential houses, known for its military strength and for leading battles in the mountainous regions. He then moves on to House Faelorn, famous for its skill in espionage and diplomacy, governing the coastal city-states and maintaining a vast network of spies.
Aemon continues without hesitation, detailing House Dravenmoor, known for its involvement in arcane and magical practices, being the guardians of ancient artifacts and participants in mysterious rituals. He then describes House Lysanthor, masters in the art of politics, who govern and cultivate alliances through marriages and treaties.
Next is House Thorneveil, with its reputation as strategists and masters of intrigue, manipulating events and people to achieve their goals. Finally, Aemon mentions House Elowen, which values wisdom and connection with nature, governing the rural regions with their skills in agriculture and environmental preservation. The stronghold of Elowenhold, situated in a vast forest and protected by ancient magics, is a symbol of their devotion to natural balance.
— I didn't need to review — Aemon concludes, his voice firm and confident.
Alaric watches the young man with evident surprise in his eyes, impressed by the clarity and precision with which he recited the information.
— Very well, Aemon — says the king, finally, with a nod of approval. — You may go.
With a sigh of relief, Aemon stands up and leaves the library, leaving behind the weight of study, at least for a time. As he exits, Alaric, visibly tired, leans back in his chair and looks at Thorne.
— Was it productive? — Alaric asks, his voice laden with fatigue, but also with concern.
Thorne, who also seems exhausted, reflects for a moment before responding:
— He's learning quickly, but time is short. We have only a few days, perhaps, before the people start demanding a new king.
Alaric lets out a deep sigh, his expression grave.
— I am the king, Thorne, but Volcrist needs a new leader. Someone who can bear the weight of this crown with the strength and determination that the kingdom demands.
Thorne nods slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation. The future of Volcrist is at stake, and time is a luxury they do not have. Both men know that the decisions made in the coming days will be crucial for the kingdom's fate. The silence that follows is heavy with uncertainty and concern as the two men ponder what tomorrow will bring.
After a period of exploring the castle, both inside and out, Aemon notices that various servants seem to be observing him under Cedric's orders. Despite the sense of surveillance, he continues to familiarize himself with his new surroundings.
Eventually, Aemon returns to his studies with Thorne, as King Alaric is extremely fatigued and unable to participate. They dive into the details of the realm, focusing on the intricacies that will be crucial for Aemon's understanding.
After some time, a carriage arrives carrying troops from House Lysanthor. The guards quickly summon Thorne, who remains with Cedric in the throne room.
— Thorne, the Lysanthor delegation has arrived. I'll stay with Cedric here. Please attend to them and find out what they want. — one of the guards informs Thorne.
Thorne nods and heads to the entrance to meet the newcomers, while Cedric, his face a mask of barely concealed frustration, watches him leave.
— This is certainly unexpected. — Cedric mutters, turning to face the throne. — The timing couldn't be worse.
Back in the king's quarters, Aemon informs Alaric about the unexpected arrival of the Lysanthor delegation. Alaric, with a concerned look and drawing from his experience, senses that this visit might be significant.
— Aemon, this situation is troubling. Lysanthor's arrival could mean something serious. — Alaric says, his voice strained. — Help me down the stairs, and once we've dealt with this, head back to the library. Tomorrow's geography session is crucial.
Aemon assists Alaric carefully down the stairs.
— Of course, Your Majesty. I'll make sure everything is prepared. — Aemon responds, his voice firm and respectful.
As Alaric proceeds to meet the Lysanthor delegation, he stops for a moment and looks back at Aemon.
— I appreciate your help, Aemon. This kingdom needs every bit of preparation and diligence it can get.
Aemon nods solemnly, watching Alaric continue his path.
Once Alaric is on his way, Aemon heads back to the library. He is met by Thorne, who has returned to continue their study.
— The delegation from Lysanthor... — Thorne begins, a hint of concern in his tone. — Cedric is agitated. I fear that if we don't stay focused, our preparations could be undermined by political maneuvering.
— I understand. I'll focus on the geographical details and be ready for whatever comes. — Aemon replies, resolute.
Thorne nods in agreement, and the two of them dive back into their studies. The tension in the air is palpable as they work late into the night, aware that the events of the coming days will test their resolve and preparation.