The Gathering
The city of Accord had been built specifically for moments like this.
Neutral territory, claimed by no kingdom, governed by a council of merchants and scholars who profited from diplomacy rather than war. Its architecture spoke of compromise—towers that borrowed from northern ice-craft and southern stone-masonry, streets wide enough for royal processions yet accessible to common folk, temples representing every faith standing side by side in uneasy coexistence.
And at its heart stood the Great Hall, large enough to house representatives from every power on the continent.
Lioran stood at the entrance, feeling more nervous than he'd felt facing Crane's crusade. This battle would be fought with words, not fire. And words had never been his strength.
"You're glowing less," Evelina observed beside him. She'd arrived two hours earlier with a formal northern delegation, maintaining the appearance of separate arrivals even though they'd traveled together from the Sundered Peaks. "The stabilization is holding."
"For now." Lioran felt the Fire Core through their connection—no longer fighting to escape, but still restless. "But walking into a room full of people who want me dead, maintaining perfect control while they try to provoke me..." He shook his head. "This might be harder than the crater."
"Then remember what Sage said." Evelina's hand briefly touched his—ice meeting fire, the Soul Binding humming contentedly at the contact. "You're not alone in your power anymore. If the ember surges, I feel it. If you need cold to balance heat, I'm already providing it. We're connected."
Renn approached from the common delegation entrance, looking distinctly uncomfortable in formal clothes. The Ice Core had aged him further over the past six days—his hair showed grey now, his face carrying lines that hadn't existed a month ago. The price of power, paid in years rather than gold.
"The hall is already full," Renn reported. "Everyone's here. The dying king, the Church representatives—both factions—the Merchant Confederacy, every duke and duchess who matters, plus observers from at least twenty minor houses." He paused. "And Bishop Crane arrived this morning."
Lioran's fire surged. Through the connection, he felt Evelina's ice immediately respond, dampening the heat before it could become visible.
"Crane's alive?" Evelina asked sharply. "After the Blackwood, after drinking from that corrupted pool—"
"Alive and changed," Renn said grimly. "People are calling him the White Flame now. Apparently he's stopped eating, stopped sleeping, just... burns. Constantly. Like someone left a lamp on inside him that can't be extinguished."
"The divine fire consumed him," Evelina said. "He's not human anymore. Not really."
"Neither am I," Lioran said quietly. "Not after the Cores. Maybe that makes us equals."
"Or enemies perfectly matched to destroy each other," Renn muttered. "Let's try to avoid that outcome inside a neutral city during a peace conference."
The great bronze doors swung open. A herald's voice rang out, magically amplified to reach every corner of the hall.
"The Continental Council convenes! All who speak for nations, faiths, and peoples, enter and be recognized!"
...
The Hall of Powers
The Great Hall was a masterpiece of intimidation.
Concentric circles of seats rose tier by tier, each row representing a different level of power. At the bottom, closest to the central floor, sat the rulers—kings, queens, those with absolute authority. Behind them, their advisors and generals. Behind them, representatives of faiths and merchant guilds. And in the highest tier, observers from minor houses and independent cities.
Every seat was occupied. Easily five hundred people, each one representing thousands or millions more. The weight of their combined power pressed down like physical force.
At the very center of the floor stood a simple chair—the Speaker's position. Whoever sat there had the hall's attention, but also its scrutiny. One chair, surrounded by hundreds of judging eyes.
King Valorian sat in the ruler's tier, looking worse than when Lioran had visited him privately. The Void Rot had progressed—the king was essentially a skeleton wrapped in royal robes, kept alive only by magic and stubborn will. His daughter, Princess Elena, sat beside him, her young face trying to project confidence she clearly didn't feel.
Cardinal Matthias and his True Faith representatives occupied one section of the religious tier. Bishop Marcus and what remained of the High Conclave sat as far from them as possible. And in a third section, isolated from both, sat Bishop Crane—now the White Flame. His eyes literally burned, white fire visible even across the hall's distance.
Duke Aldren sat in the ruler's tier by right of his house. He caught Lioran's eye and nodded once—support, but also warning. Whatever happened here would reshape the continent.
Alessandro Velenti lounged in the merchant section, looking entirely too comfortable for someone at a gathering that might determine war or peace.
And in the northern delegation's seats, Queen Evelina of the Frost Kingdoms sat with perfect posture, her crown of frost glittering under the hall's magical lights.
"The Continental Council recognizes," the herald announced, "Lioran Vale, called the Dragon Lord, speaker for the territory of Thornhaven and its associated settlements."
Silence fell like a blade.
Lioran walked to the Speaker's chair, feeling every eye track his movement. He sat, and the chair activated—ancient magic that would allow his voice to carry to every listener, that would prevent interruption until he finished speaking, that would also detect lies and broadcast them to everyone present.
The Seat of Truth, they called it. Speak false here, and everyone would know.
"I didn't ask for this," Lioran began, his voice echoing through the hall. "Six months ago, I was a peasant boy dying of fever in a village called Ashvale. I should have died there. Instead..." He gestured at himself. "This. Power I didn't want, responsibility I never sought, enemies I never made until they decided I was one."
Murmurs rippled through the tiers. The Seat's magic confirmed: truth.
"You all know the stories. The Dragon Lord who burns cities, who commands demons, who threatens the natural order." Lioran stood, addressing the entire hall. "But how many of you have actually seen what I built? How many visited Thornhaven before deciding it must be destroyed?"
"We've seen the reports," Bishop Marcus called out. "We've heard testimony—"
"You've heard what you wanted to hear," Lioran interrupted. "So let me offer something different. Send your investigators. Send Church officials, military observers, merchant auditors—send whoever you want. Let them examine Thornhaven openly, honestly, without predetermined conclusions. Let them talk to refugees who found shelter there, to former crusaders who chose to stay, to northern soldiers who fought beside us."
"And if they find corruption?" Marcus challenged. "If they discover demonic taint, heretical practices, the dangers we've warned about?"
"Then I'll submit to your judgment," Lioran said. The Seat confirmed: truth. "But you have to actually investigate. Not just crusade based on fear and assumptions. That's all I'm asking—genuine inquiry instead of reflexive condemnation."
King Valorian's weak voice carried through magical amplification. "The Dragon Lord proposes a Commission of Investigation. Neutral observers from multiple factions, granted full access to Thornhaven and authority to interview anyone they choose. Does anyone object to this method?"
"I object," a new voice said.
Bishop Crane stood, and white flame wreathed his form. "There is no need for investigation when divine truth is clear. The Dragon Lord wields profane power. He corrupts the faithful. He undermines Church authority. These are not matters for debate—they are facts confirmed by the Pure Flame itself."
The Seat's magic flickered. Not quite lie, not quite truth. Belief presented as fact.
"Bishop Crane," Cardinal Matthias called out, "you represent one interpretation of faith, not universal truth. The True Faith disagrees with your assessment."
"The True Faith is heresy," Marcus snapped.
"Enough!" Valorian's voice, though weak, carried absolute authority. "We are not here to continue old arguments. We're here to prevent new wars." He gestured to Lioran and Crane. "These two represent different visions of power's role in society. Rather than fight until one destroys the other, I propose we test both visions. Let them prove their worth through deeds, not destruction."
"How?" Princess Elena asked, speaking for the first time. Her voice was clear, intelligent, unafraid. "What test would satisfy both sides?"
Alessandro stood, merchant prince's smile in place. "If I may suggest—economics decides everything eventually. Let Thornhaven and the Church's territories compete for citizen loyalty. See which system people choose when given genuine option. Over five years, we measure: prosperity, stability, happiness, and freedom. Whichever system proves superior gains legitimacy."
"You're proposing we treat human welfare as a competition?" Matthias asked, horrified.
"I'm proposing we let results speak louder than theology," Alessandro countered. "The Merchant Confederacy will monitor neutrally, publish findings annually. No crusades during the test period. No sabotage. Just genuine comparison. The continent watches, then decides based on evidence rather than fear."
The hall erupted in argument. Some supporting the idea, others claiming it was impossible, still others seeing political advantage in various outcomes.
Through it all, Lioran felt the Fire Core pulse with something like hope. This was what he'd wanted—chance to prove Thornhaven wasn't danger, but alternative. Five years to show that distributed power could work.
But through the Soul Binding, he felt Evelina's concern. Five years was also five years for enemies to plan, to undermine, to wait for inevitable failure.
Bishop Crane's white flames burned brighter. "I accept this challenge," he said. "But know this, Dragon Lord—when your experiment fails, when your refugees starve and your councils fracture and your alliance crumbles under reality's weight, there will be no mercy. The Pure Flame will cleanse what remains."
"And when it succeeds," Lioran replied, fire dancing briefly across his hands, "you'll have to accept that your god approves of more than one path."
King Valorian raised his hand. "The Continental Council will vote. Those in favor of Alessandro's proposal—a monitored five-year comparison between governance systems—signal now."
Hands rose throughout the hall. Not unanimous, but more than half. Enough.
"It's decided," Valorian said, and slumped back, exhausted. Elena steadied him, fear naked on her face. "The Dragon Lord gets his chance. The Church gets its vindication delayed. And the continent gets peace, at least for five years." His eyes found Lioran. "Make it count, boy. This is the only chance you'll get."
Lioran bowed. "I will."
As the council session adjourned, as factions dispersed to their quarters to process what had just happened, Lioran found himself standing in the emptying hall beside Evelina.
"Five years," she said quietly. "To change the world or prove we can't."
"No pressure," Lioran replied, echoing Renn's sarcasm from weeks ago.
"Just a kingdom, a continent, and human nature itself riding on our success," Evelina agreed.
Through the Soul Binding, fire and ice intertwined, balanced, ready.
The real work was about to begin.