The grand chamber within the Northern Palace was a place of unrelenting magnificence — a testament to the might and unity of the Seven Human Kingdoms. A vast circular hall adorned with intricate frescoes and marble pillars, it was the heart of Triveni's power. The walls were etched with ancient runes and tales of battles fought and alliances forged, telling the story of humanity's resilience through the ages. Golden light filtered in through high, arched windows, casting an ethereal glow over the thrones arranged in a perfect semi-circle around the central dais.
Seated upon these thrones were the seven sovereigns who ruled over the human territories — each distinct, each formidable in their own right.
At the head of the semi-circle sat King Royvi Vigix Ard of Himdom, his presence commanding and his gaze sharp as steel. He was a towering figure in his mid-forties, clad in dark crimson robes that shimmered with enchantments woven by the finest mages of his realm. A silver crown, embedded with rubies, adorned his brow, symbolizing his authority as the supreme ruler of Himdom. His face, marked by the passage of countless battles, was framed by a neatly trimmed black beard streaked with grey, and his eyes, like burning coals, seemed to pierce through the very soul of those who dared meet his gaze. The room seemed to draw breath with him, as if his very presence could bend the fabric of the air.
To his left sat King Arya of Aryavart. King Arya was the youngest of the sovereigns, his appearance contrasting sharply with the rest. With smooth, bronze skin and long, raven-black hair tied back in a regal knot, Arya radiated a sense of calm, but there was an undercurrent of fire in his emerald-green eyes. He wore robes of pristine white and gold, a testament to the purity and wisdom his kingdom was renowned for. Though his build was slender, there was an elegance and precision in the way he held himself — a testament to the martial prowess his people valued. A thin, ornate blade rested by his side, more a ceremonial symbol of his authority than a weapon he needed.
Beside him sat King Sya Rakri of Matsya, a portly man with a broad, ruddy face and a constant, jovial smile that belied his shrewd intellect. His robes were a deep ocean-blue, trimmed with silver patterns mimicking the scales of the great fish his kingdom was named after. He wore no crown, preferring instead a simple circlet of braided coral and pearls, and his fingers were adorned with rings set with shimmering aquamarines. Yet his smile never quite reached his calculating eyes — eyes that missed nothing. King Sya's laughter was well-known, but so too was his ruthlessness in matters of statecraft.
To the far left, a towering figure sat silently — King Maksh Rari of Kurma, known as the Giant King. His physique was massive, his shoulders broad enough to dwarf the others. Draped in heavy, earthen-colored armor, his presence was as solid and unmovable as a mountain. His eyes were a deep, thoughtful brown, hidden beneath a mane of wild grey hair. Though he rarely spoke, when he did, his words carried the weight of boulders, and his people revered him for his strength and resilience. A helm adorned with the likeness of a tortoise's shell rested beside him — a symbol of his unyielding nature.
Opposite King Maksh sat King Jara Doot of Doot, a slender man of unassuming height with a face that seemed to blend into shadows even under the brightest light. His robes were a muted black and green, the colors of the forests and hidden paths that his kingdom controlled. King Jara's gaze flitted restlessly around the room, and his fingers tapped an erratic rhythm on the armrest of his throne. He was a master of secrets, a man who saw and heard everything. His power lay not in might but in knowledge — and the ability to bend it to his will.
Beside him, the regal figure of King Reek Tha of Shreekatha sat in perfect stillness. His features were sharp and angular, with skin pale as the moon's light and hair a cascade of silvery-white. He wore a flowing robe of deep violet, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shimmer and move as if alive. His eyes, an unsettling shade of silver, were cold and calculating, reflecting the celestial magic that ran through his bloodline. Reek Tha spoke rarely, but when he did, his words carried a hypnotic power that could ensnare even the strongest minds.
And lastly, seated to the right of King Royvi, was Prince Hima of Jugisa — the sole heir to the seventh throne. Prince Hima was barely twenty, a boy-prince in comparison to the older, seasoned rulers. Yet, his posture was regal, his expression set with determination. His eyes, a piercing blue, seemed to challenge anyone who looked down on him. Clad in the traditional silver and azure armor of Jugisa's knights, Hima represented a kingdom famed for its warriors. Despite his youth, he had already proven himself a capable leader, and his presence here spoke of his growing influence among the seven.
As they gathered in the hall, the air buzzed with the subtle tension that always accompanied such gatherings. An unspoken power struggle was always present, as each ruler guarded their own interests while maintaining the fragile alliance that kept the human territories united.
At the center of the room, a soft hum of magic resonated as a parchment, the original copy of Rawa's magical assessment, materialized on a pedestal enshrined in a pillar of blue light. All eyes turned toward it, and a hush fell over the chamber.
King Royvi leaned forward, his gaze narrowing as he reached out and plucked the document from the air. The kings and prince watched in silence as he unrolled it, his eyes scanning the details etched onto the enchanted page.
The silence stretched as King Royvi read, his face betraying nothing. When he finally looked up, his eyes were darker, sharper, and a heavy frown creased his brow.
"What is it, Royvi?" King Arya asked softly, his gaze intent. "Does the assessment confirm our suspicions?"
King Royvi's fingers tightened around the edges of the parchment. "It does not," he said slowly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "The Bhugol's assessment is… incomplete. It recorded only fragments of his true nature. But what it does show is alarming enough."
He held up the parchment for the others to see. "This Rawa Vols… he possesses moon magic."
A collective murmur swept through the hall. Even the stoic King Reek Tha leaned forward slightly, his expression turning thoughtful. Moon magic was exceedingly rare, a power that few in history had wielded — and fewer still had mastered. To hear that an unknown outsider possessed such a gift…
"But moon magic is the domain of our strongest mages," King Sya Rakri objected, his brow furrowing. "If he has been hiding among us, why haven't we sensed his presence before?"
"Because," King Royvi said, his gaze shifting back to the parchment, "his power is shrouded. Hidden. The Bhugol could not pierce through the veil concealing his true abilities. There is only one conclusion to be drawn from this."
The kings waited, the air thick with anticipation.
"This Rawa Vols," King Royvi continued, his voice low and dangerous, "is a wild card. A force outside our control. Whether he is an ally or an enemy, we cannot say. But one thing is clear — his presence here is no mere coincidence. It is a harbinger of something far greater."
A chill settled over the room as the full weight of his words sank in.
"So what do we do?" Prince Hima asked quietly, his youthful face set in a mask of determination. "Do we bring him in? Question him? Or… eliminate him?"
King Royvi shook his head slowly. "No. We watch him. We wait. If his power is truly as great as this suggests, then our actions must be measured carefully. For now, we let him continue his journey… and see where it leads."
The other kings nodded slowly, each of them lost in their own thoughts.
And as the document floated back to its pedestal, the Seven Thrones of Power sat in uneasy silence, knowing that the arrival of Rawa Vols could either be their salvation… or their doom.