The three months following the departure of the King's Messengers were the longest of Titus's life. Aethelburg transformed from a city under siege into a city holding its breath. Every day was a countdown. Every report of a new Ashen attack in the west or another Covenanter "miracle" in the south was another weight added to an already unbearable tension.
Titus now lived in the Royal Library, serving as the Magister's official aide. His life had become a whirlwind of organizing reports, transcribing Praxus's frantic research, and managing the endless logistical demands of the coming Council. He stood now on the high battlements of the main gate, a cold wind whipping at his simple acolyte's robes, standing beside Praxus as they watched the world arrive.
"They will see our preparations," Praxus said, his gaze fixed on the sprawling training fields outside the walls where General Kyrus was drilling the Civil Defense Force. "They will see our fortifications, our armed patrols. They will either see it as a sign of strength or a sign of weakness."
"And which is it, Magister?" Titus asked quietly.
"Both," Praxus replied without hesitation.
The first to arrive were the delegations from the Forest Confederacy of Verdane. They came not as a grand procession, but in small, quiet groups, melting out of the morning mist like ghosts. They were hunters and shamans, clad in dark leathers and furs, their faces grim and watchful. They looked uncomfortable amidst the grand stone architecture of Aethelburg, their eyes constantly scanning the rooftops as if searching for hostile birds of prey. They brought with them an air of ancient, wild sorrow, and they spoke of new, twisted creatures, Ashen wolves and shadow-cats, that were now stalking their ancient forests.
The arrival from Zahram was a study in contrasts. They came in a great cloud of dust, a massive caravan of merchants and nomads. The delegation from the great city-state of Jade Oasis was a spectacle of wealth and fear, their leaders traveling in ornate, enclosed palanquins, surrounded by a small army of guards in polished bronze armor. But it was the nomads of the Al-Sabil who truly commanded respect. Matriarch Soraya rode at their head, not in a palanquin, but on the back of a magnificent desert charger, her weathered face open to the wind, her obsidian eyes taking in every detail of Aethelburg's defenses with a critical, unreadable expression. Titus noted the cold, hostile distance between the different Zahramite factions. They were a delegation at war with itself.
The last to arrive, and the most dramatic, were the clans of Karak. They came in two distinct, openly hostile waves. The first was a thunderous procession led by Gunnar Frostfang. He and his allied chieftains were giants of men, clad in heavy steel mail and thick bear-pelt cloaks, their beards braided with iron rings. They rode into the courtyard with an air of arrogant contempt, their warriors openly mocking the "southern soft-bloods" of the Royal Guard.
A day later, the second delegation arrived. It was smaller, more pragmatic. Astrid Stonehand led them, her expression a mask of cold fury. Her warriors were leaner, their equipment practical and well-worn, their movements economical. The two Karak factions nearly came to blows in the palace courtyard, a shouting match filled with accusations of treason and cowardice that had to be broken up by Commander Eva herself.
It was a gathering of wounded, resentful, and deeply suspicious rivals, and this was the alliance that was meant to save the world.
That night, in Praxus's study, they finalized the official roster for the King. Titus stood before the great map of Aethelgard, which was now covered in markers and annotations. He tallied the grim arithmetic of their broken world.
"The Great Summons was sent to forty-seven recognized sovereign leaders," Praxus said, his voice heavy as he dictated the final report.
"Thirty-two have sent delegations," Titus confirmed, making a note. "Though the unity of the Zahram and Karak delegations is… questionable."
"Note it as such," Praxus instructed. He gestured to a section of the map stained with the black ink of Duke Gareth's rebellious province. "Eight have given their silence as a final answer. The lords of the Sunstone March, and the clans allied with Gunnar Frostfang who, despite his presence here, refused to officially acknowledge the King's authority."
Praxus then drew his finger over a collection of remote territories in the far west of Verdane and the deepest parts of Zahram. "And seven… seven remain unaccounted for. Their messengers never returned. We must assume their lands have been lost, either to the Ashen, or to the Covenanters."
The final tally was a grim reality. Their grand alliance was smaller, more fractured, and more fragile than they had dared to hope.
The next day, the leaders of the world gathered. Titus stood in a high, shadowed gallery in the Great Hall of the palace, looking down at the impossible assembly. The air was thick with centuries of mistrust. He saw the fur-clad warriors of Karak glaring at the silk-robed merchants of Zahram. He saw the proud lords of Aethel looking down on the tribal folk of Verdane. They were not allies. They were a room full of fear and ambition, held together by the single, terrifying threat that was waiting to devour them all.
King Valerius entered the hall, his face a mask of regal determination. He ascended to the High Seat at the head of the great council table. At his signal, the Royal Guard, stationed at the entrance, pushed the massive oak doors closed. They shut with a deep, resonant BOOM that echoed through the hall like the sound of a tomb being sealed.
The Council of the Sundered Sky had begun.
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The Chronicle of the Fallen
Time Period Covered: Approximately Day 304 through Day 400 of the Age of Fear
Victims of The Reaping: 32
Victims of the Covenant: 817
Deaths from Ashen Attacks: 1,140
Deaths from Civil Unrest: 211
Total Lives Lost: 2,200
Of Note Among the Fallen:
— The entire population of the remote Verdane tribe known as the River-Serpent Clan, whose lands were declared "unaccounted for," presumed wiped out by a new, more powerful form of Ashen.
— A powerful merchant-prince in Zahram who opposed the Covenanters, found dead in his locked chambers, his entire fortune having vanished.