The banners of the three great houses hung heavy in the Hall of Concord gold, crimson, and silver their silks unmoving in the stale air.
The hall itself was a cathedral of stone and shadow, built before memory, before mercy. Pillars as thick as oaks rose into the dark, carved with the faces of kings long erased from history. At the center stood a marble table, shaped like a blade, its edges cracked with age.
Only three seats were filled.
High Lord Ardent Valen of House Valen leaned lazily in his chair, a cup of wine balanced between two jeweled fingers. His armor purely ceremonial caught the torchlight like fire. He moved with a predator's ease, all charm and danger disguised as boredom.
To his right sat Lady Serana D'Amara, Matriarch of House D'Amara, cloaked in crimson velvet and steel. Her face was severe, carved in calm fury. Ardent played at warmth; Serana embodied winter itself.
The third seat belonged to Lord Erynd Kael of House Kael, his silver eyes reflecting no light at all. He wore no armor only a high-collared coat the color of smoke. His hands rested still upon the table, his every movement deliberate. If Serana was ice and Ardent was flame, Kael was the shadow between them.
Three lords.
Three legacies.
Three fragments of what once was a single crown.
No throne sat at the head of the table anymore. It had been torn down when the Veyra bloodline fell when the world decided one ruler was too dangerous for peace.
Now peace was a myth.
"Two border skirmishes in a fortnight," Serana said at last, her voice cutting through the silence like glass. "Your men are testing patience again, Valen."
"Testing strength," Ardent replied, swirling his wine. "And if patience snaps under strength, perhaps it was never worth keeping."
Her jaw tightened. "If they trespass on D'Amaran soil again, you'll find my patience reinforced with steel."
"Steel dulls," he said, smiling faintly. "Power doesn't."
"Enough," Kael said quietly.
The single word was soft but it carried like thunder. Both turned toward him. He waited, expression unreadable, until the silence settled again.
"We did not gather here to posture," he said. "While you trade insults, the outer provinces starve. Raiders run unchecked. Even the beasts grow restless in the woods. The Trials are upon us again, and yet we squabble over lines on a map."
Ardent chuckled. "Ah, the Trials. You speak as though they're a burden. For some of us, they're a celebration."
Serana's gaze flicked toward him. "Of course. Watching men bleed has always been your idea of celebration."
He smiled wider. "Entertainment? No. Order. The strong rise, the weak fall that's balance, my lady."
"Once," she said softly, "my house believed that too. Before strength learned cruelty."
Kael said nothing. His eyes lifted to the stained glass above them faded saints bleeding color onto the stone. Dust drifted like slow snow.
"The Trials were meant to remind us what stability costs," he murmured. "Blood for peace. Pain for order. The cycle must be honored."
"Spare me philosophy," Ardent said, leaning forward. "The Veyra called it balance too. Until their 'balance' meant chains on every noble house. Until their power dared rival the gods."
Serana's voice dropped. "And yet the world was quieter under their chains."
Kael's gaze turned toward her. "Do not romanticize ghosts."
"I don't," she replied. "I only remember that since their fall, we've had no kings. Only killers."
Silence. The torches hissed. Beyond the walls, the city murmured the shuffle of boots, the ring of steel, the low toll of bells.
The Trials would begin in three days.
"Has the selection been finalized?" Serana asked.
Kael nodded. "Three hundred and twelve names. Peasants, criminals, wanderers the same refuse as always. Thirty from each of our houses. The overseers are already chosen."
"And the purpose?" she asked. "The same farce?"
"The same necessity," Kael replied. "Those who survive serve. Those who fail feed the soil."
Ardent grinned. "A beautiful symmetry. Blood to nourish the land."
Serana's gaze sharpened. "You sound like a priest."
He raised his cup. "I'm what's left of one."
A raven cried beyond the window, its echo carrying through the high arches. Kael's eyes followed it briefly.
"Tell me," he said softly, "do either of you believe this will end differently this time? Three houses instead of one. Three thrones instead of a crown. And yet we circle the same madness."
"Philosophy again," Ardent said with a smirk. "Careful, Kael. You'll start sounding human."
"Even cold iron rusts," Kael murmured.
Serana rose. Her crimson cloak swept across the marble. "Then let it rust," she said. "As long as it cuts first."
Her heels struck the stone like a drumbeat as she left. Her voice lingered behind her quiet, sharp.
"Prepare your men. The Trials will test more than strength this year. Let's see how much of the world we can still break before it breaks us."
The great doors closed.
Kael remained seated. His eyes fell upon the long table, tracing the cracks that ran through its center like veins. Once, this hall had held the Veyra banner too. Once, this table had been whole.
Outside, the sky was darkening over the city. Bells rang in the distance not for prayer, but for judgment.
And somewhere, far beyond those walls, a young man named Corin took his first steps toward that very judgment his name not yet known, his destiny already whispering in the blood.