The kingdom of Drakmaris lay sprawling beneath the shadow of the Blackspire Mountain, its peaks a constant reminder of the harsh, unforgiving landscape that had birthed the kingdom. From the towering walls of Drakmaris's capital, the bustling streets and grand palaces were a testament to the unyielding ambition that coursed through the veins of its rulers. It was a kingdom built on blood and sacrifice, and Elias von Drakrion intended to see it thrive, no matter the cost.
The throne room of Drakmaris stood in stark contrast to the rest of the kingdom's architecture. Its cold, stone walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the kingdom's brutal past—wars fought, betrayals committed, and blood spilled for the throne. The throne itself, a towering seat of obsidian, sat at the far end of the hall, awaiting its true ruler.
Elias von Drakrion stood before it, his gaze steady and unflinching as he surveyed the room. His journey to this point had been long, filled with strife and betrayal, but it had been necessary. He was the heir to Drakmaris, and his bloodline would see the kingdom restored to its rightful power.
Behind him, his trusted allies gathered. Selene, her pale skin reflecting the dim light, stood at his side, her eyes sharp as always. Varek, a towering presence in the room, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. Dorin, still uncertain in his newfound role, stood nervously in the corner, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
Elias turned to face them, his expression unreadable. "The time has come," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Drakmaris will no longer be weak. We will not bow to anyone. Not the nobility. Not the empire. No one."
Selene nodded, her lips curling into a cold smile. "We've already shown the nobles what happens when they defy you. But we need to take the next step. The council of Lords will still resist. There are those who will not bow without a fight."
"I'm aware," Elias replied, his gaze cold. "But they will bend. Or they will break."
The council of Lords convened the following day in the grand hall of Drakmaris, the air thick with tension. The room was filled with the most powerful noble families of the kingdom, their faces painted with masks of politeness and suspicion. Elias sat at the head of the long table, his presence commanding the room even without words.
Selene stood at his side, her expression unreadable as she observed the lords. Varek remained at the door, ever vigilant. Dorin, though still young and inexperienced, had been tasked with observing the political game that was unfolding.
The meeting began with a hushed murmur, the lords exchanging cautious glances. At the far end of the table sat Lord Malvorn, the head of House Valorian, a man known for his scheming ways and ambition. He was the first to speak, his voice oozing with condescension.
"You've made quite a name for yourself, Elias von Drakrion," Lord Malvorn said, his eyes narrowing. "But let us not forget that power is fleeting. You are still only a prince, not yet crowned, not yet secure."
Elias's gaze hardened, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his throne. "You forget, Lord Malvorn, that I am already more powerful than you could ever dream to be. And I will be crowned when I choose. This kingdom—this empire—will bow to me."
Malvorn's eyes flickered, a slight hint of fear betraying his otherwise composed demeanor. He was a man who valued his life above all else, and Elias knew it.
Before Malvorn could respond, Lord Galrick of House Velden, a bolder figure with a reputation for directness, spoke up. "Enough of these games. If you think you can simply take the throne without bloodshed, you are sorely mistaken. We will not kneel to a shadow prince. You are no Emperor, no ruler. You are a mere tool of ambition."
Elias's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You mistake me for a man who cares for titles. I am Elias von Drakrion. And I will not be denied."
The room fell silent as his words hung heavy in the air. Elias's confidence was palpable, a fire that could not be extinguished. The nobles exchanged wary glances, but none dared to challenge him openly.
Selene stepped forward, her voice sharp and cutting. "You speak of titles, Lord Galrick, but what you fail to realize is that titles mean nothing when the true power lies in the hands of those who can seize it. Elias has already proven his strength."
Varek's voice rumbled from the back of the room. "We've already crushed your allies in the north. We've burned your enemies to the ground. What more must be said? The kingdom belongs to Elias, and if you resist, you'll see just how far he'll go to claim it."
The lords bristled, but none spoke up. Fear had settled over them, and Elias could taste it in the air.
"Your time is over," Elias said, standing up from his throne. "You are free to make your choice. Join me, or face the consequences. But know this—the shadow of Drakmaris will cover you all, whether you kneel or not."
The council dissolved soon after, the lords leaving in tense silence, their minds whirring with the weight of Elias's words. Selene, Varek, and Dorin remained behind, the tension in the air thick as Elias stared at the empty chair where the council had sat.
"They will come around," Varek said gruffly, his voice echoing through the room.
Selene's eyes gleamed. "Or they'll be crushed beneath the weight of their own pride."
Elias's gaze remained fixed on the seat where the lords had gathered. "Drakmaris will be mine. The throne will be mine. No one will stand in my way."
And as the first rays of dawn filtered through the tall windows, the kingdom of Drakmaris began its descent into an era of darkness and ambition, led by its true ruler, Elias von Drakrion.
To Be Continued...