Yvanna shook off the shock that gripped her chest like frost. The silence that lingered after the rchant’s words was tense and suffocating, but she dismissed it with a slow, steady breath. She would not falter, not today.
With a graceful wave, she dismissed the rchant and turned from the shadows of her study toward the brite light spilling through her balcony. Today was historic. Today, the Gilded Dominion would crown its queen.
Her position was stronger than ever. Corvin had dismantled the opposition, three ducal houses lay in ruin thanks to his silent, surgical campaign. The remaining political voices had either pledged their support or fallen silent in the wake of overwhelming force.
There would be no challenge. No whispered defiance. Only celebration.
Goldhaven would not simply mark this day, it would rember it for generations.
She stood up and started to walk within her palace to the ceremony hall. Thus was her last walk as duchess. One last ti she will bed her knees in front of clregy. After the what will arise would not be considered a person anymore. She will be the embodint of Gilded Dominon. Each of her steps carried the weight of her psyche. The sparkle on her eyes increased in intensity with her new mindset, a mindset of a ruler.
The midday sun broke through parting clouds, gilding the marble and gold facades of the Royal Square with radiant brilliance. Every banner snapped in the wind, the colors of House Vellgard now shimring with new aning. The entire court had gathered atop the tiered dais facing the sea, nobles clothed in their finest silks and embroidered velvets, while honored citizens lined the outer balconies and crowded the lower tiers of the capital’s amphitheater.
A procession of temple priests, clad in fla edged robes, ascended the ceremonial stairs. At their center, Duchess Yvanna Vellgard stepped forward, now robed in ceremonial white with golden trim that shimred with arcane embroidery. Her hair was braided into an intricate cascade of silver gilt threads, and upon her brow sat the diadem of the old queens. Polished, ancient, and reforged for her reign.
The Crown of Sovereign Accord, a circlet of seven interwoven golden bands forged from tals mined from the Dominion’s three founding provinces, was presented upon a velvet pillow. The High Seer lifted it with both hands as silence fell across the square. Even the sea seed to pause.
As the crown was lowered onto Yvanna’s head, a sudden gust of wind swept through the square, scattering petals and banners like confetti from the skies. A thousand trumpets sounded in unison. The crowd erupted with cheers so deafening that the harbor gulls took flight in a wave.
"Long live Queen Yvanna! Queen of the Gilded Dominion!" the voices roared in rhythmic chant, echoing from towers to shoreline.
Cascades of light blood from magisters stationed on rooftops, brilliant magical displays in the sky above the square. Arcane fireworks blood in, roaring silently as ribbons of fla, water, and light danced in aerial display.
The Queen raised one hand, calm, poised, commanding.
Goldhaven had a new ruler. And the world was watching.
--
While Yvanna was donning her crown and celebrations erupted across the realm, shadows stirred in the heart of Blackspire Bastion.
General Kaelen Dros, Commander of the Northern Border, arrived at the central citadel within the hour. Without rest or ceremony, he proceeded to the high chamber of strategy where Grand Marshal Varkos Thorne awaited, surrounded by the crackle of arcane communication crystals and the rhythmic sound of scribes etching reports onto enchanted vellum.
Maps were unrolled, scout reports placed on the stone war table. The walls, lined with weapons of war and banners from the War of Eastern Grudges and the Siege of Redglen, flickered with torchlight, casting long shadows like specters of battles long past. Magical runes pulsed faintly along the ceiling, signifying active wards and communication sigils.
Kaelen stood tall, his travel cloak still dusted with frost, the sharp scent of the northern wind still clinging to his armor. His boots left wet prints across the obsidian floor.
"Marshal Thorne, the situation is worse than I feared. Verranus has fallen, burned from within and without. Twelve of their legions were not defeated, they were crushed. The streets were red with the blood of their own faithful. The capital is no longer theirs."
Varkos raised a heavy brow, the scar on his cheek twitching. "Slaughtered by whom?"
Kaelen’s tone was grim. "An army. Led by an Elf. Not a raiding party, unclear if Aurelian or Synod. An actual army that moves with discipline, coherence. The scouts described it as terrifying. No hesitation, pure discipline. These soldiers marched and killed with precision. Psychic domination is suspected. Or worse, fanatic loyalty driven by so unseen force."
The Grand Marshal leaned forward, fingers pressing against the iron edge of the map table. "And size of this so called perfect army?"
"Estimated five to nine thousand. Nearly all are identified as forr Purifiers, War Priests, or elite infantry. Veterans of holy wars, now serving under this Elf. Only banner seen was a raven infront of a broken sun. Not registered within our records. Obe of our scout teams was captured by them. I’ll take position upon getting update about their situation. We can determine if this force is standing against us or not by this step.
Varkos grunted, voice like gravel. "That puts them within striking range of our border. If they cross, we’ll have towns burned before dawn."
They deliberated for hours, military readiness, strategic containnt, ergency provisioning. Defensive gaps were analyzed. The tone was tense, the implications vast. Whispers of contingency operations spread through the chamber as more reports poured in.
Finally, Grand Marshal Varkos stood, his armor creaking like a war machine awakening from slumber. He delivered his orders with resolute calm:
"Deploy twenty thousand to the Northern Border. Establish a defensive crescent across Greyshield Plateau to Fort Dross. Reinforce every supply route. Erect temporary shelters and dical stations along the Iron Road. Civilian flow from Verrenate is inevitable. Brigadier Lysara is to open the southern refugee corridors and increase food ration allotnts. Admiral Velcross will fortify the eastern harbors and assign auxiliary ships to intercept unregistered sea traffic. Colonel Ardan will double patrols across the western cliffs and set mage towers to detect any abnormal arcane spikes."
He turned to Kaelen and his voice dropped into sothing colder. "Send envoys. Aurelian Dominion first. Synod second. Request all known records on the Elf seen leading that army. I do not believe he is a rcenary even though send a letter to their guild and ask for information on Elven mbers active on Argyll. Use encoded scrolls. And send an envoy to Queen Yvanna to congratulate her throne and crowning. Afterwards ask her ’plainly’ if this elf has anything to do with the elf we heard about whom cleared the way to her throne. If yes ask her what has she brought to our doorstep?"
Kaelen bowed with clenched fists. "It will be done."
The Iron March would not be caught unaware. Not twice. This ti, the hamr would swing first, and it would not hesitate.
--
While Verthalis was churning with the news of Holy Verranate’s defeat the person responsible for it was two hundred ters deep underground, rasing one corpse after another in the ritual circles. Total number of his troops reached eighteen thousand and there were still more to go. Bob carried corpse after corpse. Once raised, the dead joined Corvin’s ranks with silent devotion, lining up to await storage. One of the newly risen caught Corvin’s eye.
He nad the man John.
The original John was a brother to Corvin. The painful truth about the John from earth was Corvin lost him not to the hellish operations his team undertake but to drugs. John has committed suicide. Corvin was the person who found him after three days of the deed. John was laying within his blood, as if sleeping in crimson roses. His corpse was bloated a bit. The pistol that severed his tie with life was standing next to him. Corvin couldn’t process this death and to be honest even after his transmigration he was still not able to..
This new John was a Paladin Captain, as ironic as the situation was this John could have been twin of his ’brother’ from his forr life.
There were monts, subtle, brief.. when Corvin swore he saw sothing familiar in the way John carried himself. The slight squint of his eyes, the faint line between his brows, even the hesitant way he tilted his head when awaiting orders. It stirred a hollow ache in Corvin’s chest. This John looked so much like his John, it felt less like coincidence and more like a mory clawing its way into reality.
Corvin continued raising Covenant Bound undead, one by one, pouring mana into the ritual circles with thodical precision. As the lines filled and the sigils pulsed, he couldn’t help but wonder, his Space Affinity was already at S . What would happen when it reached the next level? Would the dinsional storage he relied so much on grow? Or would sothing else erge from that increase, sothing new?
He slid another hundred risen into his personal storage, watching them vanish in a clean sequences of light. And there, John was among them.
There was still intelligence behind his eyes. Not as sharp, not as free, but there. The absolute loyalty was a different story though. John obeyed without question now, it unsettled Corvin more than he liked to admit.
He had wanted the special ones, the ones he nad, the ones he was ’collecting’ to resemble his forr team to be different. To be more intelligent, more... them. As if naming them was a way to preserve what he missed, what he lost. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was the only way he knew how to grieve.
Reviews
All reviews (0)