Smoke rose over the Furnace Coil, thick and black, twisting into the sky like the breath of a dying world. Vaelrik stood at the edge of the crater, the heat of the scorched earth still licking at his boots. Behind him, the lava had begun to cool, hardened into black glass where molten rivers once flowed.
The ground bore scars of conquest. And he had made them.
Skarn prowled at his side, the Iron Howler's eyes flicking across the horizon. Its massive form cast long shadows in the ashlight, every movement sending tremors through the brittle ground. The crown mark on its skull pulsed, as if alive.
Nearby, Valgrin stirred, coiled among the obsidian ridges. The Embermaw Drake breathed in slow, smoldering exhales, steam rising from its nostrils as molten cracks pulsed beneath its scales. It had accepted the Brand. It had bowed to the crown. Now it waited.
Vaelrik surveyed the valley below.
Riders approached.
Dust plumed in the distance, a trail of movement that cut across the barren plain. Banners snapped in the wind, bright with red and gold, the mark of the Thronelords of Duren.
So they had come.
Vaelrik watched in silence, unmoving. His cloak shifted in the wind, the Sovereign Brand hidden beneath leather and steel. The flickering Vaulting Gate had vanished, its power buried beneath his skin, dormant but pulsing.
A scout approached, blood-smeared and panting.
"They bring thirty strong, with two chained beasts," the scout said. "War-trained. Bound in iron."
Vaelrik turned to him. "Bound beasts die like men."
The scout hesitated. "You want to retreat? Fortify the ridge?"
Vaelrik shook his head slowly. "We walk out to meet them."
Skarn growled in approval.
The scout swallowed, then nodded, retreating into the shadows. Vaelrik looked to the horizon once more, the wind carrying the distant thunder of hooves and steel.
"Let them come," he said quietly. "Let them see what crowns answer to me."
---
They marched down the slope just after midday.
The sky had turned a pale orange, tinged with ash, and the sun was little more than a red smear above the Furnace Coil. Vaelrik led the way, each step deliberate, each breath steady.
Behind him, the ground shook with Skarn's tread. Valgrin moved in silence, wings half-folded, heat rolling from its body in waves. The earth cracked beneath their weight, the air thick with the scent of molten stone and blood.
Ahead, the Thronelord warband formed a line.
Rows of armored soldiers stood at attention, flanked by two chained Writhe... smaller than Skarn, leaner than Valgrin, but still beasts of war. One was horned, with scales of dark green, the other winged, eyes blindfolded with metal.
At the front, mounted atop a black charger, sat Lord Duren.
He wore heavy gold-plated armor, a red cape flowing behind him, and his helm bore the symbol of a broken crown. His voice carried across the plain.
"You are brave, or mad, to stand before me like this."
Vaelrik said nothing.
Duren laughed. "You think two beasts make you king? I will chain them, as I have chained all Writhe. And you, Sovereign or not, will kneel."
Skarn snarled, low and dangerous.
Vaelrik took a single step forward.
"Your chains are lies," he said. "Your thrones rot."
Duren's smile faded.
"Kill him," he ordered.
The army surged forward.
Vaelrik lifted the Sovereign Brand, and the ground erupted with fire.
The first line of soldiers never reached him.
Skarn thundered across the battlefield, iron claws tearing furrows through the scorched earth. The Iron Howler hit the Thronelord front line like a storm given form. Its jaws snapped shut around the lead rider, horse and man crushed in a single lunge. Bone splintered. Steel warped. Blood sprayed in arcs across shattered shields.
Vaelrik followed in silence.
The Stonefang Maul formed over his right arm with a sound like stone grinding on stone, heavy and final. He raised it high and drove it into the earth. The ground split, shockwaves tearing through the enemy ranks, tossing soldiers into the air like broken dolls.
Valgrin rose above them all, wings unfurled, a burning shadow against the ash-stained sky. The Emberwake Spiral formed along its maw, spiraling flame coiling outward. A single breath of fire became a wall, washing over the battlefield. Screams echoed as molten heat consumed the Thronelords' second line.
Their formations crumbled.
Vaelrik pressed forward, the Maul swinging in wide arcs. Every impact broke shield walls, every step drove fear deeper into the enemy's spine. Skarn moved alongside him, a beast of relentless momentum, tearing through pikes and chainmail as if they were nothing.
The two chained Writhe fought free of their bonds.
One turned to flee. The other lunged.
Vaelrik met its charge with a brutal swing, the Maul colliding with the creature's head in a spray of blood and fire. It staggered, stunned. Skarn struck from the side, claws raking down its spine, dragging it to the ground where its struggles ended.
The surviving Writhe took flight, wings beating the air in desperation. Valgrin soared upward, giving chase, flame trailing in its wake, but Vaelrik raised his hand.
"Let it run. Let it tell them who broke their chains."
Valgrin veered away, circling above the field, its eyes glowing in the smoke.
The battlefield quieted.
Ash drifted on the wind. The stench of burned flesh hung heavy. Vaelrik stood amid the ruin, Skarn beside him, Valgrin overhead. His cloak was tattered, the Brand on his hand glowing like molten iron.
From the ridge, Lord Duren watched, unmoving.
Their eyes met.
Vaelrik walked toward him.
He stepped over the dead, through rivers of blood and shards of shattered steel. Each stride slow, deliberate. Skarn followed close, the ground trembling beneath every footfall.
Duren's sword was drawn. His hand trembled.
Vaelrik stopped a dozen paces away.
"Your chains have broken," he said, voice calm. "Your beasts are gone. Your men are ash."
Duren raised his blade. "I am a Thronelord of Duren. You will not... "
Vaelrik struck.
The Maul slammed into Duren's sword, shattering it in an explosion of metal shards. The Thronelord staggered, fell to one knee.
Vaelrik stood over him.
"Your throne dies here."
He brought the Maul down.
Duren's helm cracked open, and silence followed.
Vaelrik turned to the field.
He lifted the Brand high. The symbol blazed against the gray sky.
"This land answers to me now. Crown it."
The ground shuddered as the Sovereign Brand seared its mark into the earth. A vast sigil burned into the soil, lines of molten light stretching outward in every direction.
Menagerie Hold was born.
The first piece of his realm, taken not by treaty or title... but by conquest.
Vaelrik looked to the horizon.
This was only the beginning.
The world would kneel.