The grand hall of the palace lay shrouded in silence, broken only by the soft clinking of Ryker's armor and the distant howling of wolves outside the palace walls. The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the dark stone walls, making the room seem to shift and writhe like a living thing. The scent of lavender wafted through the air, a subtle reminder of the queen's presence.
King Malathar sat upon his dark, ornate throne, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the cold armrest. His piercing eyes narrowed as he watched Ryker approach.
"The executions," Ryker began, his voice low but firm, "while necessary, have left the countryside riddled with orphans." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "These children wander aimlessly, starving or turning to banditry. A liability, in the long run."
Malathar leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "Do you question my methods, Commander?"
"Never, my king," Ryker said quickly. "The traitors deserved their fate, as do all who oppose your reign. But their remnants... the chaos they leave behind festers. The seeds of rebellion can take root in the most unlikely of places, even among children."
Just then, Lord Thomas, a grizzled advisor, spoke up, his voice laced with doubt. "Are we certain this is wise, my king? Using children as soldiers? It reeks of desperation."
Ryker's expression remained resolute. "Desperation, my lord, is precisely what drives our enemies. We must adapt, or risk being overrun."
Malathar's gaze shifted between Ryker and Lord Thomas. His mind was already spinning with possibilities. An unseen hand to crush dissent, one that could never be traced back to him.
"Continue, Ryker," Malathar commanded.
"The orphans," Ryker began, choosing his words carefully, "are the children of traitors. Their families were executed for their treachery. They have no one left to turn to."
Lord Thomas's expression turned somber. "And what of their loyalty, Commander? Can we truly trust children whose families were killed by our hand?"
Ryker's voice took on a calculated tone. "That is precisely why they will be loyal, my lord. They have no one else. We will provide for them, train them, and give them purpose. They will owe their very survival to the king."
Malathar nodded, his eyes gleaming with approval. "You suggest creating an elite force from the very children left behind by our enemies."
"Yes, my king," Ryker said, his voice gaining momentum. "Who better to instill loyalty than those who owe their very survival to you? Trained in secret, shaped by your will alone. A weapon that no one would see coming."
The queen's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though her thoughts remained veiled.
Malathar leaned back in his throne, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Very well. Begin the selection. Only the strongest, the cleverest, and the most ruthless will do."
"As you command," Ryker said, bowing deeply.
The queen's smile widened, though her thoughts remained veiled. "A bold move, my king. But boldness often begets greatness."
Malathar rose from his throne, his shadow looming large over the room. "Then let us sow the seeds of greatness, my queen. And may they grow into the doom of our enemies."
The brazier crackled louder, its embers glowing brighter as if in response to the dark pact forged in that room.