One week before the arrival of the royal prince at the Southern County, in the office of the provisional chief, Brianna occupied herself in concluding the last preparations. The pen finally rested upon the parchment, and, before the mirror, she allowed herself a moment to dress according to the occasion.
The chosen garment highlighted her singular presence: a long cloak of fine fabric, in deep shades of dark blue, embroidered with silver threads that reflected the light in a subtle way. The contrast made her tanned skin shine with intensity, while her wavy white hair descended like ivory framing the face. The white eyes, clear as the moon, gained even more prominence under the ceremonial hood drawn back, revealing her as an imposing and undeniably striking figure.
Karna waited at the door. His short white hair was well aligned, reinforcing the sobriety of his posture. The silver-gray tunic he wore, adorned only by a dark leather belt, reflected his discreet and practical nature. The light brown eyes transmitted serenity, balancing Brianna's impressiveness with a silent and firm presence.
Together, they followed through the corridors of the county. The sound of their steps echoed on the smooth stones of the floor, flanked by tapestries that still kept the marks of the old count Caeté. The stained glass filtered the afternoon light in reddish and golden tones, projecting designs that moved over the walls as they walked. Each step forward seemed to announce the weight of the responsibility that now fell upon Brianna.
Upon reaching the tall doors of solid wood, adorned with carvings that reminded of past victories, the guards pushed them slowly. The main hall revealed itself in its grandeur — the vaulted ceiling, the imposing columns and the timid shine of chandeliers sustaining the atmosphere of dignity and silence.
Brianna crossed the hall with firmness, feeling the gazes that followed her. Karna walked right behind, silent, positioning himself discreetly among the nobles. His steps echoed until the seat reserved for the provisional chief of the county. There, Brianna settled with the calm of one who knew that the coming days would define not only her position, but also the future of those lands.
Brianna stood up from the seat, letting the murmur of the nobles dissipate before speaking. Her voice echoed clear through the hall:
" Gentlemen, in the last two months I had to deal with more than simple papers and agreements. There were among us those who did not seek the order of the county, but only the position of leadership left vacant with the fall of Caeté. Many believed they could use this moment of fragility to impose their own interests."
She made a brief pause, running through each face with her piercing white eyes.
"They were filtered. Those who sought only power are no longer here. And thanks to this, the flame of discord that threatened to ignite within our own walls was extinguished before consuming everything."
Her posture remained firm, but her voice acquired a graver tone:
"The revolt that could come from the North did not find here allies. The threat that lurked in the East will no longer find a divided county. Today, we are fewer in number, but stronger in purpose. And when the royal prince arrives, he will not see an unstable land, but a county prepared to move forward."
At last, Brianna remained standing before them, without diverting her gaze from the nobles.
"The time of blind ambition has ended. Now is the time of order."
Her voice deepened into the silence of the hall, becoming even clearer:
"I know very well of your fears… You ask yourselves why the countess is not before you, and what will happen with the lineage of Caeté. As adoptive daughter, I possess no blood ties with the count. The only reason why I could act as provisional chief in this castle was my mother's marriage with the deceased. Imagine, then, the heart of a daughter who lost not only a father, but also the mother… I could not be at their side in their departure, and this will be, forever, my greatest regret."
She took a deep breath, the pain giving space to firmness in her voice:
"But today we are not here to cry for the dead. We are here to define the path the marquisate will follow. Regardless of what is said, my father's victory may not have been the most honorable, but it was the last that prevailed. The Southern County resisted until the end. This is a fact that no one can erase."
The nobles looked at each other, attentive. Brianna then opened a roll of parchment upon the table before her.
"Here are my pillar plans of this county."
She made a discreet gesture with the hand. The doors of the hall opened slowly, and Heron entered the space. The murmur of the nobles ceased immediately. The man had an athletic build, muscles well defined under the noble garment in deep tone of black, embroidered with golden threads. His long black hair fell to the shoulders, and the intense gaze seemed to measure each step until the main seat.
When he reached the center of the hall, Heron did not stop before the nobles, but walked straight to Brianna. There, before her, he inclined his head and kneeled, resting one knee on the polished marble. The gesture made echo a deeper silence among those present — it was not submission, but recognition of the weight of the moment.
Brianna rose, sustaining her presence with the same firmness as before. Before her rested four symbols of the county.
First, she extended the signet ring, small, but of an immeasurable weight, marking the right to decide and seal in the name of the county."This is the sign of authority, Heron. With it, you will speak for the Southern County."
Then, she removed a short cloak, in dark blue with silver borders, and placed it over the shoulder of the kneeling warrior."This is the weight of responsibility. It is not an adornment, but a reminder that the burden of leadership will always rest upon you."
After, she pinned upon his chest the brooch of the county's coat of arms, sculpted in silver with the symbol of the southern lands."This is the link between you and these lands. While you carry it, you will not govern for yourself, but for the people you represent."
At last, she took in her hands the ceremonial sword, whose blade reflected the light of the chandeliers. With solemnity, she offered it to Heron."And this sword is the oath. Not for war, but for protection. With it, you swear not to betray the memory of those who fell, nor the future of those who still live."
Heron raised his eyes to Brianna, holding the sword against the chest. The hall, before tense, plunged into reverence — in that instant, all knew that the destiny of the Southern County was being sealed.
After receiving the symbols, Heron stood up. His figure, now adorned with the ring, the cloak, the brooch and the ceremonial sword, seemed greater than before. He took a deep breath, gave a few steps forward and turned to the hall.
"Nobles of the South…" — he began, his firm and grave voice echoing among the columns. "Today I do not announce only myself as leader. Today I announce the future of our lands."
Brianna, in a gesture of humility, left the seat of the provisional chief and descended the steps, mingling with the other nobles who looked at her with respect. Heron observed the gesture and continued.
"The first announcement: with the ruins of the marquisate and the victory of the Southern County over it, I declare that, from this day, our county will cease to be only a county. We elevate our lands, and from now on we shall be known as Marquisate of the South."
The hall vibrated in murmurs of surprise and approval. Heron raised the ceremonial sword, the reflection of the blade illuminating his austere features.
"And the Second announcement" — he said, looking directly at Brianna — "is that the loyalty and the services she demonstrated to our people cannot pass without recognition. In the name of the new Southern Marquisate, I grant her the title of Viscountess of the Western Territory, lands that once were known as the Western Marquisate."
The nobles stirred. Heron, then, signaled with the sword."Let the voting be opened. Let the pillars of this new marquisate give their vote upon this decision."
The voting ran brief, without dissonant voices. One by one, the nobles raised the hand in agreement. The consensus was clear.
Heron turned to Brianna:"Brianna, come to the front."
She crossed the hall under the gazes of all. Heron awaited her, and when she stopped before him, he declared in firm voice:
"From this moment, you are no longer only adoptive daughter of Caeté, nor provisional chief of the county. By the power of the Southern Marquisate, I name you Brianna Thorne, Viscountess of the Western Territory."
The name echoed in the hall, sealing not only a title… but a legacy.
Heron then made a brief pause, observing the nobles in silence, and continued:
"There is a last announcement to be made."
The doors opened slowly, and Phoebe Tirésias appeared. Dressed entirely in white, with a delicate cloak partially covering the face, her golden hair tied with silver adornments shimmered in the light of the chandeliers. Despite being blind, her posture transmitted authority and serenity, each step measured with confidence.
The entire hall held its breath as she advanced. Heron took a step forward and raised the hand, indicating that all should be silent.
"Nobles of the South" — he declared —, "from today, Phoebe Tirésias, as my wife, is the Marchioness, and together we shall unite faith and sword to guide the people."
Phoebe inclined lightly the head in reverence, transmitting respect and commitment, even without needing vision to perceive the weight of the moment. Heron continued:
"And with her ascension, I declare that the old name, Caeté, shall cease to exist. The new Marquisate of the South shall be born under the name Tirésias, representing the union of the leadership of Heron and of the saint of the county, and the beginning of an era of renewal and order."
The murmur of approval ran through the hall, and the impact of the words spread. That entrance, her posture and the solemnity of the declaration marked the end of a cycle and the beginning of another. The chapter closed there, with the sensation that the Southern Marquisate entered a new chapter of its history, guided by the union of Heron and Phoebe.