Prologue: The King's Vow
Part 1: The Gathering of Elders
The Grand Council Hall of the Kingdom of Enigma stood as an enduring monument of power and tradition. A vast chamber of white-gold marble, its very walls breathed history. Carvings of dragons and swords, the sacred emblems of the royal bloodline, wove intricate patterns across the towering columns. Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows depicting the great kings of old, warriors who had claimed the throne through blood and steel.
At the center of the hall rested a crescent-shaped obsidian table, polished to an almost mirror-like sheen, reflecting the flickering golden light of enchanted torches lining the chamber. It was here that the Grand Council of Enigma convened—a gathering of the kingdom's highest-ranking nobles, elder statesmen, and warlords, guardians of tradition, law, and power.
Though they held no power above the king, their counsel shaped the course of the realm. Ten noble families, bound by ancient pacts, sat upon this council, along with a select few elders whose wisdom and strength had secured their place. Today, however, they were gathered for more than mere governance.
The trial for the throne was near.
A silent tension hung in the air like the calm before a storm. The nobles sat adorned in their house sigils, their robes embroidered with crests passed down through generations. Each man and woman present carried the weight of their ancestors, their ambitions, and their sworn allegiances.
At the head of the table sat High Chancellor Aldric Damaris, the eldest among them, a figure carved from the very stone of tradition. His amber eyes, sharp with intellect, surveyed the council as he leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. His hair, once the color of dark honey, had turned silver with age, yet his presence remained as imposing as ever. In his youth, he had fought alongside kings; now, he wielded words sharper than blades.
To his right sat Duke Gareth Vaelmont, the head of House Vaelmont, the kingdom's mightiest swordmasters. He was a warrior first, a noble second, his broad frame and battle-worn hands a testament to his countless campaigns. Streaks of gray ran through his raven-black hair, but his crimson robes, embroidered with silver dragons, marked his unwavering loyalty to the royal family.
On Aldric's left, Duchess Selene Ravencroft sat with an air of quiet amusement. The matriarch of House Ravencroft, she was known for her mastery of strategy and intrigue. Her violet eyes, cold yet mesmerizing, studied the room with a predator's patience. Clad in dark silks, she exuded the presence of a woman who knew more than she revealed.
Others among the council included:
Lord Cedric Vortannis – the kingdom's foremost scholar and elder of House Vortannis, rulers of Enigma's greatest libraries and arcane institutions. Though the royal family had never inherited magic, his influence was undeniable.
Marquis Edric Lysander – head of House Lysander, the kingdom's naval powerhouse. His fleets dominated the seas, ensuring Enigma's maritime supremacy.
Count Varian Xethis – an ambitious noble with sharp green eyes, maternal uncle of the Fourth Prince and one of the few who openly backed his nephew's claim.
Viscount Rayden Thorne – elder of House Thorne, a lineage of master archers, tied by blood to one of the princes' maternal families.
Archbishop Lucan Devereaux – the voice of the Holy Order of Enigma, keepers of the faith in the Goddess of Enigma and enforcers of divine law.
Grand Marshal Darius Blackthorne – supreme commander of Enigma's military forces, a man with no noble crest, yet a force of war who had once stood beside the king in battle. His very presence carried the weight of a thousand victories.
The hall, once filled with murmured conversations, fell silent as High Chancellor Aldric cleared his throat.
"The time is upon us. The battle for the throne is inevitable."
The weight of his words settled heavily over the council.
Duke Gareth Vaelmont leaned forward, his deep voice carrying the resolve of a warrior.
"The princes have come of age. Soon, they will face their fated trial. But this time will not be like those before it."
Duchess Selene's lips curved into a knowing smirk.
"Is that concern I hear, Duke Vaelmont?"
Gareth scowled.
"It is fact. Each prince has secured the backing of powerful noble families. This will not be a battle of mere strength but of strategy, alliances… and betrayal."
A murmur ran through the council. Marquis Edric Lysander folded his arms.
"We must not forget the greater threat. The other kingdoms watch closely. Should our civil conflict leave us weakened, they will strike."
The statement was met with a tense silence.
Count Varian Xethis, ever the political tactician, chuckled.
"Tradition dictates that the strongest shall rule. But we all know strength alone is not enough. A king without noble backing is a vulnerable king."
Viscount Rayden Thorne nodded, his brow furrowing.
"And yet, one of the princes has refused such support."
At those words, the room grew colder. All eyes turned toward the empty chair—the seat of the Queen's family.
Aldric's gaze darkened.
"Prince Lucien has refused his mother's family's backing. That much is known."
Duke Gareth exhaled sharply.
"Foolish. His brothers will wield the strength of their maternal houses. He alone will stand without such an advantage."
Duchess Selene tapped her finger lightly against the table.
"Or perhaps… he seeks a different path. The question is, why?"
No one had the answer.
Lucien's defiance of tradition was an enigma in itself.
His brothers had all forged alliances, securing their positions. Yet, the youngest prince, the one many dismissed as the least ambitious, had refused.
It was reckless.
Or was it calculated?
Through the heavy silence, a voice like steel finally spoke.
Grand Marshal Darius Blackthorne.
"A king's worth is not measured by the banners he gathers but by the weight of his sword."
His words rang like a war drum, sending an undeniable truth through the council.
Another moment of silence passed before Archbishop Lucan Devereaux leaned forward, fingers entwined in contemplation.
"The Goddess of Enigma alone knows the fate that awaits us."
Aldric closed his eyes briefly.
"For now, we wait. The trial will soon begin."
Beyond the council chamber, in the heart of the kingdom, the royal princes prepared for war.
And in the shadows of the grand halls of Enigma, a lone prince stood against the tide of fate.