Chapter 945 — The Gathering of Kings
The sea air was thick with salt and tension.
Kael stood upon the wide deck of the Aegis Dawn, the massive skyship anchored above the turquoise expanse that marked neutral waters between the Hollow, Ironside, Greystone, and the Ocean Kingdom. Around him, banners fluttered in the sharp wind—each sigil a symbol of nations that had once sworn to never share a table again.
Now they had no choice.
At the head of the long obsidian table set upon the ship's upper deck, three monarchs and a queen waited, their gazes fixed upon Kael as he approached. The murmurs of their retinues faded into silence.
King Alaric of Ironside was first to speak—his voice a deep rumble, every syllable heavy with steel.
"Kael of the Hollow," he began, leaning forward, his scarred hands folded before him. "You called us here. You claimed the Church was making weapons that would unmake the world itself. If that's true, show us your proof."
Kael exhaled slowly. Even now, facing them, his heart felt as though it were clutched by an invisible fist. Every instinct screamed that this moment—this fragile union—could fracture with a single wrong word.
Steady your breath, Eris whispered softly inside his mind. Her tone was not commanding—only calm. You are the flame they gather around. Do not let it flicker.
He nodded subtly, drawing strength from her. Then he began.
Kael placed the containment crystal onto the table's surface. Its glow painted their faces in a soft crimson hue. "This," he said, "is what the Church is building its weapons around. A chaos core. Artificial, alive, and endlessly fueled."
A low hum rippled through the gathered leaders.
Queen Lysara of Greystone—the silver-haired ruler whose measured words often held the weight of ten armies—studied the crystal with sharp eyes. "You mean to say the Church has learned to create chaos from nothing?"
Kael shook his head. "Not from nothing. From someone. There's a daemon imprisoned within the crystal's heart. It's being drained—its essence turned into energy. They've built entire facilities dedicated to making more of these."
The room chilled.
King Thalren of the Ocean Kingdom—a tall man wrapped in sea-blue armor that shimmered faintly like scales—leaned back in his chair. "And if they finish this work?"
Kael's gaze darkened. "Then every kingdom here will burn. Every wall you've built, every army you've trained, every god you pray to—none of it will stop what they're unleashing."
The table fell silent again. The only sound was the wind screaming past the hull.
For a heartbeat, Kael felt the tremor in his chest—the fear he had buried for so long. The sheer scale of what he was saying, of what might come, pressed down upon him until he felt like the air itself was too heavy to breathe.
They won't believe you, a dark whisper inside him said. They'll see a warlord. A heretic trying to drag them into your chaos.
Kael, Eris's voice cut through the storm of his thoughts, steady and sure. Do not let your fear speak. Let your truth speak.
He lifted his head, his voice steady once more. "If you don't stand with me," he said, "then your choice isn't peace. It's surrender. The Church will not stop with me—they'll come for each of you in time. They'll brand your people as heretics, your lands as unholy. They'll burn your temples, your ships, your cities. And when they do, you'll wish you'd fought beside me when you still had the chance."
Thalren's eyes narrowed. "And if we do help you? What's your plan?"
Kael leaned forward, placing both hands on the table. "We strike fast. Hard. We take their chaos forges and destroy them. We cut out their heart before it beats once more. And then we leave before their armies can form."
Alaric's lips curved faintly. "You're proposing an act of war, Kael."
Kael didn't flinch. "No. I'm proposing an act of mercy. Because if those forges go active, mercy will no longer be possible."
The ocean wind surged around them, rattling banners and chain-links.
Eris whispered again—gentle, guiding—Now remind them who they are.
Kael straightened, turning his gaze to each ruler in turn. "Thalren. You forged your kingdom from iron and blood to protect your people's freedom. Will you let it be melted down by false gods?"
Thalren's hands clenched, but he said nothing.
"Thalren," Kael continued, "your kingdom thrives on the sea's balance—give and take, ebb and flow. The Church's chaos would poison that balance forever."
Thalren's stare wavered just slightly.
"And Lysara…" Kael met the queen's cold, calculating eyes. "Your scholars built Greystone's future on reason and truth. But reason means nothing under a Church that worships obedience. You'd lose everything your people stand for."
Lysara's fingers tapped once on the table, then stilled.
Finally, Kael's voice softened. "I don't ask you to follow me. I ask you to fight for yourselves. Because if I fall, the Hollow falls—and when that happens, the fire will spread to your gates."
The wind howled between them, carrying away his final words.
Alaric broke the silence first, his deep voice a steady rumble. "You've grown sharper, Hollow King. Smarter. Maybe wiser."
He stood, towering above the table. "If your strike is as fast and clean as you say, I'll lend Ironside's strength to your cause."
Thalren rose next, his ocean-blue cloak snapping in the wind. "You'll have my fleets. The Church's forges lie near the coast—we can cut their supply lines."
All eyes turned to Lysara. She held Kael's gaze for a long, silent moment before nodding once. "Greystone will send our artificers. We'll see to it that their weapons never awaken."
Relief washed through Kael like sunlight through stormclouds. For the first time in months, he felt the faintest pulse of hope.
Eris's voice hummed faintly in the back of his mind—warm, almost proud. Well done, Kael. You've bound them with truth, not fear.
He smiled faintly, bowing his head. "Then we move at dawn."
And beneath the deck, far below their feet, the shard pulsed again—its crimson light flickering faster, like a heart quickening before battle.