Location: Council Rotunda, Armathane Time: Day 86 After Alec's Arrival
The Council Rotunda had never been silent.
Even at rest, its walls carried the soft echoes of history—boots on polished stone, whispers behind columns, the murmur of old politics pretending to be new again. But this morning, the noise was muted. Edged. Watching.
Alec stood at the base of the rotunda's central stair, hands behind his back, eyes locked on nothing. His coat was black today. Plain wool. No frills. No visible crest. The duchess had offered one. He'd declined.
He wore his own skin today.
The benches along the rotunda's outer ring filled slowly. Lords and ladies entered in clusters, dressed like thunderclouds and harvest feasts. Colors spoke louder than voices. Silks, crests, jeweled pins that meant things only other nobles understood.
He recognized none of them by face.
But he recognized the way they looked at him.
Most didn't speak. A few stared. One nobleman—a broad, thick-necked man with a patch of grey fur at his collar—smirked openly as he passed Alec.
"So that's the mill-fixer," he muttered. "Hope he can read a title."
A woman beside him smiled behind her fan.
Alec said nothing.
He'd already won by standing here.
The trumpets were ceremonial. Soft, not triumphant. The sound they made wasn't a declaration. It was a command for silence.
And silence obeyed.
Duchess Vaelora entered through the high gate—not with flourish, but with deliberate motion. Her robe was steel grey trimmed in white thread, her hair pinned tight. She walked with no escort. The room bowed as one.
Alec did not.
She didn't expect him to.
She took her place on the elevated seat above the rotunda's center. No throne. Just a chair. But no one doubted what it meant.
Her voice needed no elevation.
"Lords and Ladies of Midgard, assembled council, recognized guildmasters, honored stewards," she said. "We meet this morning not to discuss grain, or banners, or border disputes—but legacy."
Murmurs. A few looks exchanged.
"We meet because we live in a world that does not reward the slow. Because if Midgard waits for the world to come to it, we will be nothing but a name remembered by those who out-built us."
Some nobles stiffened.
"Three months ago," Vaelora continued, "a man emerged from nowhere. Out of ashes. And oblivion. Into light. No title. No land. No notable family. No notable history. But what he lacked in station, he carried in design. and ingenuity"
Now the glances turned to Alec, more openly.
"I invited him to the capital, Probed him.. Tested Him."
"He asked for no coin, but gave results. He demanded no name, but left one behind in stone and water. He is not noble. He is not legacy. But he is proof that merit can still move the world."
Vaelora stood.
"I, Duchess Vaelora du Martel of Midgard, grant the man named Alec of House Alenia the title of Ducal Advisor On Innovations and Chief Architect of Development He will report directly to my council, carry the seal of Midgard's sanction, and wield command over development, planning, and civic renewal across the duchy."
A gasp. Murmurs.
The rotunda didn't applaud.
Not immediately.
A few courtiers clapped—hesitantly. One woman in merchant livery offered a single nod.
Lord Halven did not clap.
Instead, he stood.
"Your Grace," he said, loud enough to echo, "does a title no longer require blood?"
Vaelora's gaze turned toward him, calm.
"A title requires worth where blood is not, Lord Halven. If you object, I welcome a comparison between Alec's last three months and your last four years."
Halven flushed.
Another voice: "And if he builds a kingdom while your back is turned?"
Vaelora did not blink. "Then I will sell him the crown and ask him to build another."
Silence.
Then applause.
Stronger now.
Not unanimous—but real.
Alec stepped forward.
He didn't bow.
Instead, he spoke.
"I am not here to replace what you are," he said. "I'm here to fix what hasn't worked."
His voice wasn't loud. But it carried.
"I don't know your customs. I don't wear your names. But I know how to build. And that's what I'll do. You can call me what you want. I'll answer with results."
He stepped back.
That was all.
Later, in the council chamber side corridor, Vaelora stood beside a tall window overlooking the outer gardens. Alec approached without being called.
"You handled it well," she said.
"They're not convinced."
"They're not meant to be. Yet."
He glanced at her. "Halven will be a problem."
"He's a candle," she replied. "Bright, but quick to burn out."
"Still fire."
"I have water."
They stood in silence for a while.
"You understand what you've become now," she said.
"Yes."
"You're not invisible anymore. You'll be watched. Tested. Expected to fail."
"I don't intend to."
"Good," she said. "Because I didn't name you to provoke a fight. I named you to build something too strong to tear down. In my name."
Alec turned toward the garden.
"I'll need materials. Access to information, Surveys, Labour, Manpower, Resources. And direct authority over site leads."
"You'll have it."
"And I want Serina on my project team."
That caught her off guard.
"She's not an engineer."
"She understands systems. Her role will be administrative only."
"If I am building something she will inherit, she should be better prepared to run it" he added.
Vaelora studied him. "And what else?"
Alec met her gaze. "You know what I am. But I think she knows what I need to be."
Vaelora exhaled slowly.
"I'll speak to her."
"Thank you."
She didn't reply.
—
By nightfall, the rotunda still hummed with the aftershocks.
In the wine halls and whisper corners, Alec's name shifted from rumor to title.
In Lord Halven's estate, a private letter was drafted for Edenia's envoy.
In the barracks, soldiers began betting on whether the new Lord Advisor would last a year.
And in a quiet scribe's chamber, a guild assistant copied a transcript of the duchess's speech for merchant records.
One line was underlined three times.
"He is not noble. He is not legacy. But he is proof that merit can still move the world."
Alec had entered as an outsider.
Now he was something far more dangerous:
A legitimate one.