The fires of the announcement had barely settled when Velarion stirred anew. Whispers echoed through corridors, murmurs flowed in the markets, and across the recovering capital, the Arcana-chosen felt a subtle tremble in their veins. The Tournament of Decree was not just a battle of strength; it was a summoning of histories, grudges, hopes, and honor. It was a reminder that the world still turned, and power still mattered.
Inside the royal citadel, the war room was brought to life.
Ancient tapestries hung over cracked stone walls, and a massive obsidian table carved with the map of the Seven Nations dominated the center. A golden chandelier flickered with enchanted fire, bathing the chamber in amber.
Auren Vehlion stood at the head of the table, arms folded, his silver hair catching the light. His red eyes scanned the room sharply. He wore a sleeveless black cloak over a military-styled tunic—functional, authoritative.
Aurelia entered moments later, armor replaced by her formal queenly attire. Dark crimson and silver silk flowed behind her, and her Spear of Vehlion was conspicuously absent for once.
Caelan was already seated to Auren's right, boots kicked up casually on the edge of the table. His sword leaned against his chair, his blue eyes half-lidded with ease, though he listened intently.
On the far side, emerging as if from the shadows themselves, stood the Raven.
He didn't give a name. He never had. But those who served the crown knew him as the Shadow of Velarion—the head of the Blackwings.
Leaner than the others, the Raven's purplish-black hair fell across his face like a silk curtain. His eyes, a piercing violet, seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Draped in a raven-feathered cloak, he stood still and silent, a phantom given form.
Aurelia took her place at the other end of the table. "We'll begin."
The silence was thick, unbroken until she continued. "Three names. That's what we must decide. The Tournament requires three champions from each nation. And if Velarion is to rise again, we must send more than strength. We must send a message."
Caelan tapped his fingers against the table. "Then the question is: do we pick our most powerful, or our most symbolic?"
Auren answered immediately. "Both."
The Raven chuckled softly. "A war council already. I almost miss the decision of the nobles colliding with one another."
"We could arrange a reenactment," Auren said without looking.
"Tempting."
Aurelia ignored the banter. Her gaze swept across the table. "Let's start with candidates. The first name will be obvious."
Her eyes locked on Auren.
He didn't blink. "No objections."
Caelan sat up straighter. "You sure? Once you step into the ring, there's no turning back."
Auren met his eyes. "We fight to rebuild. I'll do more than watch from a tower."
Aurelia nodded. "Then our first champion is Prince Auren Vehlion."
The Raven smirked. "One crown prince on the board."
"The second," Aurelia continued, "is less obvious. I propose Caelan."
Caelan blinked. Then raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
Auren raised one brow too, but said nothing.
Aurelia crossed her arms. "You're Velarion's blade in all but name. Your loyalty, skill, and Arcana make you a symbol of survival—Ordran's last son, now Velarion's protector."
Caelan whistled low. "Queen's getting a bit too dramatic ..."
Auren added, "She's not wrong."
Caelan leaned back. "Fine. I accept. But only because I want to see Auren lose once before I die."
"Keep dreaming," Auren muttered.
Aurelia turned. "Which leaves the final name."
The table fell into silence again.
The Raven spoke first this time. "You want a message. I can be your shadowed blade."
Auren looked over. "You want to be named publicly?"
The Raven tilted his head. "Only if it serves. Otherwise, I fight masked."
Caelan glanced at Auren. "What do you think?"
Auren was quiet a long time. Then: "Let the Blackwings decide amongst themselves. If one steps forward worthy of the crown's trust, they will be considered."
The Raven gave a slight bow. "Then I will test them."
Aurelia nodded. "That buys us time."
Caelan grinned. "So what now? Wait until people start showing off?"
Auren looked to Aurelia. "No. We observe. Test. Watch. We hold trials in secret. Invite our knights, our Arcana-bearers, those who survived the Rifts. We give them a challenge."
Aurelia smiled. "Velarion's silent trial. I like it."
The Raven bowed again and disappeared into the shadows without another word.
Caelan stretched. "Then it begins. The war after the war."
Auren remained at the table, eyes fixed on the map.
His thoughts drifted.
Not just to the tournament.
But to the prophecy.
And the Riders of Ending.
Elsewhere, high within the ruins of a broken observatory tower, a crystal device glowed.
An scholar watched as Arcana readings spiked.
"It begins," he whispered. "Just as the stars said."
Far below, across Velarion, the pieces began to move. The prophecy soon will come true.