The chamber had not emptied entirely when Adrian, Finn, Edric, Marcus, and Sara were dismissed. Their footsteps faded into the corridors beyond, leaving the heavy oaken doors to close with a dull thud that echoed like finality. Silence lingered for a moment, as though the air itself weighed down on those who remained.
Marshal Alaric leaned forward over the council table, his gauntlets resting against polished wood worn smooth by centuries of difficult decisions. "There's one matter we cannot ignore." His voice cut through the silence, low and edged with steel. "That merchant wagon. The man who revealed himself as a demon noble was not the merchant originally contracted for the escort."
The six headmasters stirred, exchanging grim looks that spoke to decades of experience with demonic treachery.
Headmistress Kara of Ironfang scowled, her scarred face darkening. "You're saying the merchant was switched? That demons intercepted the real one, killed him, and planted one of their own in his place?"
Alaric nodded gravely. "That is the only conclusion that fits. The caravan contract was verified by the merchant guild in the city before it ever departed. Background checks, travel permits, the entire standard process. Yet the man our knights met on the road was someone else entirely." He paused, letting that sink in. "The true merchant never made it back. Likely killed days ago, his body disposed of, while a demon noble wore his face and traveled into the heart of our kingdom."
Headmaster Theron of Dawnspire pressed his fingers together, his serene expression cracking to reveal concern beneath. "A demon infiltrator operating so deep within Arathor's borders, maintaining a human disguise for days or possibly weeks... this is no mere opportunistic attack. Demons rarely employ such elaborate deception. For one to masquerade successfully requires planning. Resources. Intelligence about our systems." His pale eyes narrowed. "A guiding hand."
Master Valen of Stormwatch tapped the table with a gloved finger, his hawk-like features sharp with calculation. "The question is how. How did they slip past the border watch? Northwatch reports nothing unusual. Neither do the forward patrols along the northern ridges or the eastern approaches. No breaches, no major incursions. Yet a demon noble walks freely into our heartland?"
Commander Brynn of Stonewall grimaced, her massive frame shifting in her chair. "With respect, even Northwatch cannot account for every shadow. No fortress, no patrol, no matter how vigilant, can maintain perfect security forever. If even one demon with intelligence and patience slips through, it can rot us from the inside out."
The truth of her words drew reluctant nods from several headmasters. Perfect security was an illusion, and they all knew it.
Lord Cassius of Silverkeep exhaled slowly, his aristocratic features troubled. "Still... for years, the demons have lain relatively dormant. Yes, there have been skirmishes at the borders, the occasional cultist foolish enough to summon something into our world—but nothing like this." His gaze darkened. "Not coordinated infiltration. Not blood anima used openly. Not since the old wars three centuries past."
Mistress Elara of Ashbourne leaned forward, her crimson robes matching the intensity in her eyes. "Dormant is the wrong word. Waiting would be more accurate. I've reviewed the reports from across the kingdom—demon sightings have risen steadily in recent months. Bands appearing deeper in the wilderness. Scout patrols vanishing without trace. Villages reporting missing livestock and strange lights." Her voice hardened. "This attack is not isolated. It's part of a pattern."
Headmaster Theron's calm voice took on an edge. "And there are whispers." He let the word hang for a moment. "Of neighboring kingdoms dabbling in powers they should not touch. Rumors of courts making pacts with demons, trading favors for military advantage or political leverage. If even half those whispers hold truth..."
The room fell into heavy silence, each person processing the implications.
Headmistress Kara's fist slammed the table, making teacups rattle. "If Arathor's enemies conspire with demons, then we face more than raids. We face coordinated assault. Possibly war."
Marshal Alaric's gaze swept the table, his voice steady though the steel beneath did not soften. "Then we must assume this is only the beginning. Demons are testing our defenses, probing for weaknesses, gathering intelligence. What happened last night was not meant to win a territorial battle—it was reconnaissance. An experiment to see how we respond."
"And they learned we have squires manifesting unprecedented colors," Lord Cassius added grimly. "Crimson flame that kills demon nobles. Legendary violet in the princess. Yellow light that disrupts blood anima. They came to gather information, and we gave them quite a show."
Master Valen leaned forward, his sharp eyes focusing on the figure at the far end of the table. "Your Majesty, forgive me if I speak boldly—but Princess Alice was present at this attack. More than present—she was fighting, manifesting violet flame." He paused delicately. "Do you suspect targeting? Could this have been an assassination attempt disguised as routine ambush?"
All eyes turned toward King Aldric Valebright, who sat at the table's head with the weight of the crown visible in every line of his weathered face. His expression was carved from stone, revealing nothing. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence pressed harder than any words could.
Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying absolute authority:
"Whether my daughter was specifically targeted or merely in the wrong place at the wrong time is, at this moment, irrelevant. What matters—what cannot be tolerated—is that demons reached this far into our heartlands. That a demon noble walked our roads wearing human skin. That our systems failed to detect the deception until bodies were already falling." His gaze swept the room like judgment itself. "That is unacceptable."
He stood, and everyone else immediately rose in respect.
"From this day forward, security protocols are tightened across the kingdom. Not just here in the capital, but in every major city, every border fort, every waystation." His voice was iron. "Night patrols double. Merchant caravans receive enhanced scrutiny—backgrounds verified multiple times, travel routes monitored, escorts increased. We cannot afford another massacre."
His expression softened fractionally, though steel remained beneath.
"Every squire who died last night was someone's child. Someone's sibling. Someone's friend. We asked families to entrust their sons and daughters to us—to train them, protect them, forge them into defenders of this kingdom. Nine families will receive corpses instead of knights. That trust we were given has been violated." He paused. "It will not happen again. Not on my watch."
The headmasters stood in solemn acknowledgment of that vow.
"And as for my daughter..." The king's voice dropped, becoming quieter but no less forceful. "Whether coincidence or design, we cannot gamble with her safety. She manifested legendary violet flame—that alone makes her a target of interest to every demon and dark power in this region."
He turned to Master Valen.
"I want your best Stormwatch knights assigned to shadow her movements. Discreetly. She's already furious that I'm pulling her from field training temporarily, but I will not lose my daughter to demonic ambush. Your people are swift and subtle—use those talents to keep her alive without making her feel imprisoned."
Master Valen bowed his head. "It will be done, Your Majesty. Our hawks will watch over her."
"Good." The king's gaze swept across all six headmasters. "You're all aware that the tournament proceeds in two months as scheduled. Perhaps more important now than ever—we need to identify exceptional warriors, especially those with rare or powerful manifestations. The demons are escalating. We must escalate our preparations as well."
"The boy with crimson flame," Mistress Elara said. "Blackthorn. You're allowing him to remain in training despite the unprecedented nature of his manifestation?"
"I am," Aldric said firmly. "My daughter's testimony is clear—his crimson flame killed the demon noble that had just slaughtered two veteran knights. Whatever questions we have about its nature, its effectiveness against demons is proven. We need that power on our side, not imprisoned or executed out of fear."
"Though we will be testing it," Headmaster Theron added. "Understanding its capabilities, its origins if possible. With the squire's cooperation, of course. He's agreed to submit to examination."
"As he should," the king said. "But he does so as a student, not a prisoner. Make that distinction clear."
Nods all around.
Marshal Alaric cleared his throat. "If I may, Your Majesty—there's also the matter of the blood anima technique. For demons to be using that forbidden art again suggests either desperation or a significant power backing them. Either way, it's a tactical concern."
"Which is why Squire Finn's yellow manifestation is so valuable," Headmaster Theron said. "The purifying light counters blood anima directly. We need to understand how he manifested it spontaneously and whether others can be taught to do the same."
"Another reason the tournament matters," the king said. "We need to identify all exceptional manifestations, understand what triggers them, develop training that might replicate them. The old ways of spirit flame development may not be sufficient anymore."
He moved toward the door, signaling the meeting's end.
"Tighten security. Increase patrols. Watch for infiltrators. Prepare for escalation." His voice carried the weight of royal decree. "And above all else, keep our students alive. They're the future we're fighting to protect. Without them, demons win regardless of how many battles we claim."
The headmasters bowed as their king departed, followed by his personal guard.
Once the door closed behind him, Marshal Alaric exhaled heavily. "He's right, of course. But tightening security across the entire kingdom..." He shook his head. "That's easier decreed than executed."
"We do what we must," Commander Brynn said gruffly. "Better paranoid and alive than trusting and dead."
"Agreed," Mistress Elara said. "Though I worry about the boy—Blackthorn. Crimson flame. Everyone will be watching him now, waiting for signs of corruption. That kind of scrutiny could crush him, or worse, drive him into making poor choices."
"Then we ensure it doesn't," Headmaster Theron said calmly. "We test his flame, yes. But we also support him. Make clear he's valued, not suspected. A warrior fighting for us, not against us."
"Assuming that's true," Lord Cassius said quietly. "We still don't know what crimson flame truly is. What if it is demonic? What if we're nurturing a threat?"
"Then we discover that through testing," Theron replied. "But until proven otherwise, I choose to believe the evidence—he kills demons, not serves them. That should count for something."
Slowly, reluctantly, the others nodded.
The meeting dissolved, headmasters departing to their respective academies with the weight of new responsibilities and old fears. In the empty chamber, only the echo of their concerns remained, hanging heavy in air that smelled of old wood and older secrets.
Somewhere in the academy, five squires tried to process trauma and revelation.
Somewhere in the palace, a princess argued with her father about being confined.
And somewhere beyond the walls, in shadows the patrols couldn't reach, demons planned their next move.
The war was just beginning.