The council leaned forward, documents rustling, pens scratching, as the emperor took his place at the center of governance—his mind half in the chamber, half in the gardens, where magic and laughter now intertwined.
The council stirred, papers shuffling and murmurs rising as Valerius's presence seemed to anchor the room. One by one, advisors and generals spoke, their voices carrying the weight of distant provinces, border outposts, and strategic concerns across the kingdom.
"Your Majesty," a general began, pointing to a detailed map spread across the table, "reports from the northern border indicate a surge in rogue activity. Small bands have been raiding villages along the Kethril Pass. They've grown bolder—likely emboldened by the gaps in patrols after the recent storms."
Valerius nodded, eyes scanning the marked positions. "And the garrison?"
"Deployed as requested, sire," another officer responded. "But their numbers are stretched thin. Reinforcements would need to be redirected from the central provinces, which may weaken the southern borders."
A councilwoman, responsible for commerce and trade, leaned forward, her fingers brushing the parchment with market routes. "The northern trade caravans are reporting delays. Merchants are hesitant to travel unless security is strengthened. Grain shipments may be affected if the unrest continues."
Valerius's jaw tightened. "We cannot allow instability to spread. Recommend a strategic rotation of patrols—ensure both trade and security are maintained without leaving other regions vulnerable."
Valerius's gaze shifted to Lira Starwall, her posture straight and eyes sharp beneath the weight of her responsibilities. "Lira," he said, voice calm but carrying the authority of command, "you've been monitoring magical activity across the northern provinces. What is your assessment? Are these disturbances tied to the rogue movements, or is something else at play?"
Lira leaned forward slightly, her fingers resting lightly on the map as her eyes flicked between marked locations and the emperor. "Sire, preliminary reports suggest a combination. The rogue activity is opportunistic, yes, but we are also detecting fluctuations in resonance energy—bursts that don't correspond to known ley lines or any sanctioned spellwork."
Valerius frowned, folding his hands on the table. "Unexplained resonance?"
Lira inclined her head once, expression grave. "Yes, Your Majesty. The resonance fluctuations are already causing localized mana saturation in the northern reaches—particularly near the outlying tribes beyond the Kethril Pass."
A quiet murmur rippled through the chamber.
"When mana pools unnaturally," she continued, tapping a marked region on the map, "it disrupts crops, wildlife, even the minds of those untrained to withstand it. We've received reports of sickness, heightened aggression, and erratic behavior among several tribes. Hunters turning on one another. Elders losing control of long-held wards."
Valerius's eyes darkened. "And the bandits."
Lira nodded. "Likely a symptom, not the cause. Desperation breeds violence. If their lands are failing and their people are suffering, some may turn to raiding simply to survive—others may be drawn to the saturation itself, seeking power without understanding the cost."
She straightened slightly, voice firm. "If the resonance continues unchecked, we won't just be dealing with bandits. We'll be dealing with fractured tribes, unstable magic, and the possibility of something far worse awakening in those regions."
The chamber fell into a heavy silence.
Valerius straightened, the last trace of hesitation leaving his posture. When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of final command.
"Very well," he said. "We proceed on two fronts."
He turned his gaze back to Lira. "Commander Starwall, you will deploy a contingent of the Twelve Pillars—select those best suited for resonance analysis and containment. I want experienced mages, not apprentices. This is observation first, intervention only if necessary."
Lira bowed her head. "Understood, Your Majesty. I will assemble a team immediately."
Valerius's attention shifted to the generals. "A full platoon of the Royal Guard will accompany them. Not border infantry—guards trained in civilian protection and magical interference protocols. Their priority is to stabilize villages, escort caravans, and ensure the safety of the research team."
"Yes, sire," the general replied, already making notes.
"And I want a dedicated research unit," Valerius continued. "Scholars from the Imperial Archive, ley-line cartographers, and at least one historian familiar with pre-empire resonance events. If this saturation doesn't match known patterns, we need to know why."
He paused, eyes sweeping the table. "They move at first light. Discretion is paramount. No proclamations, no panic. Officially, this is a reinforcement and survey operation."
Then, more quietly—but no less firmly—he added, "Unofficially, they are to report everything. Even anomalies that don't yet have names."
The council nodded in solemn agreement as the orders were set into motion, the first pieces shifting on a board far larger than any map laid before them.
The discussion continued for some time—logistics refined, routes confirmed, contingencies layered carefully atop one another. When at last there was nothing more to add, Valerius rose from his seat.
"That will be all," he said. "Carry out your assignments. I expect preliminary reports within the week."
Chairs scraped softly against the stone floor as council members stood. Scrolls were gathered, maps rolled, quiet conversations sparked and faded as advisors filtered toward the great doors. One by one, they bowed and departed, the chamber gradually emptying of its earlier tension.
"Lord Cassian."
The name cut cleanly through the low murmur.
Cassian, already halfway to the exit, paused. He turned slowly, brows lifting in mild surprise before he inclined his head. "Your Majesty?"
Valerius remained at the head of the table, hands resting against the carved wood, his expression unreadable. "Stay a moment. I need to speak with you."
A flicker of curiosity—and something more guarded—passed through Cassian's eyes. He gestured for the last remaining advisors to continue on without him, then turned back toward the emperor as the heavy doors thudded shut behind them.
The council chamber fell silent once more.
"In the east," Cassian continued, "tribal shamans speak of spirits growing restless. Totems failing. Hunting grounds warped by lingering magic. In the southern lowlands, migratory beasts have altered their routes entirely—avoiding ancient watering sites that have been used for centuries." He hesitated. "And in the west, near the Ashen Ruins, one scout reported a sealed site… humming."
Valerius's fingers tightened against the edge of the table. "Humming."
"Yes, sire. No breach. No awakening. Just… resonance. As if something is responding to something unseen."
Silence settled between them.
Cassian lowered his voice. "Individually, the reports mean little. Together…" He met the emperor's eyes. "They form a pattern. Something is shifting across the kingdom. Slowly. Intentionally."
Valerius closed the folio with a soft, final sound. His thoughts flickered—not to maps or borders—but to a garden filled with laughter, to a small dragon asleep in Selene's lap.
"Continue the surveillance," Valerius said at last, voice iron-steady. "Double it. And if any surrounding areas show signs of… Chaos. Then we must be ready."
"I will inform you immediately," Cassian said, bowing.
Valerius turned toward the tall windows, looking out over an empire unaware of how close it stood to change. "See that you do," he replied quietly. "Because whatever is stirring out there… has already answered her."
Cassian did not move to leave.
For a long moment he simply stood there, studying the emperor's reflection in the tall windows—the rigid line of his shoulders, the weight carried in his stillness. Then, carefully, as though each word might disturb something long buried, he spoke.
"Your Majesty…" Cassian hesitated, his voice low, stripped of formality. "Do you truly believe it's happening again?"
Valerius did not turn.
Cassian took a slow step forward. "That this is Chaos returning," he continued quietly. "The same force Grand Emperess Aleroia gave her life to seal away."
The memory hung between them—unspoken, heavy. Cities scarred by wild magic. Ley lines torn raw. The cost it had taken to contain it… and the people it had taken with it.
Valerius's reflection shifted as his jaw tightened. "I don't think it," he said at last, voice measured but edged with something far more dangerous than fear. "I recognize the signs."
Cassian swallowed. "Back then, it began the same way," he said. "Subtle distortions. Animals fleeing. Resonance where none should exist."
"Yes," Valerius replied. "And this time, it has a focal point."
He finally turned, meeting Cassian's gaze fully.
"A heart," Valerius said quietly. "A will. A response."
Cassian's breath caught. "The princess…"
"She hasn't summoned Chaos," Valerius said firmly, cutting off the implication before it could take root. His voice was steady, deliberate—but beneath it lay a current of iron resolve. "But I believe her awakening is an answer to it."
Cassian frowned slightly, absorbing that. "An answer…"
"Chaos does not move blindly," Valerius continued. "It rises where balance has already begun to fail. And resonance—true resonance—has always emerged in response to that imbalance. Not as a cause, but as a counterweight."
He glanced once more toward the window, toward the unseen gardens beyond. "Anna's power did not call Chaos," he said quietly. "It recognized it. Reacted to it. As if the world itself is preparing a safeguard… before the fracture widens."
Cassian's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Then she's not the danger."
"No," Valerius said, meeting his eyes without hesitation. "She's the warning."
Valerius drew a slow breath, as if steadying not just himself, but the weight of centuries pressing in around them.
"Six years ago," he said quietly, "Chaos forced its way into the world because the balance had already been broken. We were late. Desperate. Reacting to wounds that had already gone too deep." His gaze hardened. "This time is different."
Cassian listened without interrupting, every instinct telling him this was a truth not often spoken aloud.
"This time," Valerius continued, "the ley lines are stirring before the rupture. The resonance is answering before Chaos has fully taken shape. That has never happened before. Not in any record. Not even in Aeloria's journals."
Cassian's brow furrowed. "You're saying the world is… adapting."
"I'm saying the world remembers," Valerius replied. "And it learned from what nearly destroyed it."
He turned fully now, voice lowering. "Anna is not a vessel. She is not a seal. She is not meant to be sacrificed like my grandmother was." The words carried unmistakable steel. "She is a convergence. A living harmony between ley, will, and choice."
Cassian exhaled slowly. "And the dragon."
Valerius's lips curved faintly—not in amusement, but recognition. "Confirmation. Chaos spawns aberrations. Corruption. Hunger. What answered Anna was ancient, ordered, bonded. A guardian—not of destruction, but of continuity."
Silence stretched.
"If Chaos is returning," Cassian said carefully, "it will seek her."
"Yes," Valerius agreed. "And others will too—those who remember the old power, and those who fear it." His eyes darkened. "Which is why no one outside this room is to frame her awakening as prophecy or weapon."
Cassian nodded once. "Then what is she to be called?"
Valerius didn't answer immediately. His thoughts returned, unbidden, to a child laughing in the gardens, grass-stained knees, a dragon tripping over its own wings.
"At first?" he said softly. "A child who deserves time. Safety. Joy."
Then his voice sharpened, carrying the quiet authority of an emperor who had already chosen his line in the sand.
"And when the world finally forces her to stand—she will not stand alone."
Cassian bowed his head—not in ceremony, but in understanding. When he looked up again, the guarded edge in his expression had softened into something steadier, resolute.
"I understand," he said quietly. "This truth does not leave this room. Not to the court. Not to the advisors. Not even to those who think themselves loyal enough to know."
Valerius studied him for a long moment, weighing not rank or title, but years of service, of silence kept and orders carried without question.
"That," Valerius said at last, "is precisely why I trust you with this."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice further. "I need eyes that see beyond reports. Hands that act without stirring fear. If Chaos truly is returning, I cannot afford panic—or zealotry—around my daughter."
Valerius's voice softened—not with weakness, but with something far rarer.
"You are more than a retainer to me, Cassian," he said quietly. "You have been at my side through war, through loss, through decisions that stained my hands and haunted my sleep. You have carried burdens that were never yours to bear… and never once asked for recognition."
Cassian's breath stilled.
"I trust you," Valerius continued, meeting his eyes fully now, "not because of your oath—but because of who you are. Because you know when to act… and when to protect silence."
He turned slightly, gaze drifting once more toward the windows, toward the gardens beyond stone and duty. "This secret is not only for the sake of the kingdom," he said. "It is for my family. For my wife. For my daughters." His jaw tightened. "And for Anna most of all."
Cassian nodded slowly, the weight of that trust settling into his bones. "Then I will guard it as fiercely as any border," he said. "As fiercely as my own blood."
Valerius allowed himself a single, controlled exhale. "Good. Because if this truth is mishandled—if fear reaches her before understanding does—then Chaos will not need to return." His eyes darkened. "We will have created it ourselves."
Cassian straightened, resolve carved into his posture. "I won't let that happen."
Valerius inclined his head, a rare gesture of equal regard rather than command. "I know you won't."
As Cassian turned to leave, the emperor remained where he was, alone once more in the council chamber—an empire on one side of his shoulders, and his family on the other.
And for the first time, Valerius knew with certainty which weight he would protect first.
When the chamber was empty at last, Valerius reached into the inner pocket of his coat and drew out a weathered journal, its leather cracked with age and time. His mother's diary. He traced her name with his thumb, then opened it—seeking answers from a voice long gone, and truths the past had tried to bury.