[Third Person].
Stormveil celebrated for an entire week.
The naming of the royal twins beca more than a ceremony—it beca a festival that swept through the kingdom without pause.
Music filled the streets, wine flowed endlessly, and laughter echoed from the lowest quarters to the highest towers of the palace.
For seven days, Draven allowed it. He did not restrain the joy. He did not interrupt the people. He let them celebrate fully.
Then, on the eighth day, he ended it. A summons was issued.
The council of elders, Royal Alphas, Betas, and all high-ranking officials were called into the Grand Hall for an urgent assembly.
The tone of the summons was enough to draw imdiate attention, but no one knew the reason behind it. Not until Draven spoke.
He sat upon his throne, redith absent by his side for obvious reasons, while the hall filled gradually with the leaders of Stormveil. Once all were present, silence settled naturally.
Draven’s gaze swept across the hall before he spoke. "This gathering is for Randall Oatrun," he announced in a calm tone.
A ripple moved through the room. Randall stood among them, his expression unreadable, though a faint tension had already begun to form beneath it.
Draven gestured slightly. "Oscar."
Oscar stepped forward at once, a scroll already in his hands. Without hesitation, he began to read.
"Randall Oatrun, forr Alpha King of Stormveil, is hereby accused of engaging in unscrupulous practices during his reign. These include unlawful alliances and covert dealings with enemies of Stormveil."
A murmur spread imdiately. Oscar continued, his voice clear and unwavering.
"He is further accused of colluding with Reginald Fellowes, a known criminal and traitor of Stormveil, and using his influence to secure Reginald a position within the council of elders—despite his lack of qualification or standing."
This ti, the reaction was louder.
Many turned to look at Randall, trying to reconcile what they were hearing.
Since Draven had revamped the entire court, the newly elected council Elders had no idea that Randall was the one who added Reginald to the council.
Draven’s voice cut through the noise. "Do you admit to this?"
Randall t his gaze without hesitation. "No, Your Majesty." There was no wavering in his tone.
Oscar continued. Each cri was read clearly, one after another, detailing abuses of power, manipulation of authority, and decisions made for personal gain rather than the good of the kingdom.
And each ti, Draven asked the sa question. "Do you admit to this?"
And each ti, Randall denied it with either "I do not," "I did no such thing," or "These are false accusations."
The hall grew heavier with each exchange. No one had expected this, not like this.
To see a King stand in judgnt over his own father without hesitation—it unsettled even the most seasoned among them.
Yet at the sa ti, there was a growing understanding that Draven was not acting blindly. He was being deliberately thorough.
Oscar reached the final part of the scroll. His voice did not change.
"The final charge—Randall Oatrun is accused of deceiving a woman of another race for personal gain, with the intention of producing an heir."
The hall erupted. Voices rose instantly, overlapping with speculation and disbelief.
"Another race?"
"What does that an?"
"Then His Majesty—"
The implications spread like wildfire.
Randall’s composure cracked for the first ti. Shock flashed across his face, cold and sharp, as he turned toward Draven. He had not expected this to be revealed.
Not this.
Not here.
Draven raised his hand, and silence fell imdiately. "Oscar," he said.
Oscar continued. "It is further stated that said woman was confined for years, deprived of freedom, and denied both the light of day and the presence of the moon."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. This ti, there was no imdiate uproar. Only the weight of what had just been revealed.
Draven did not address the questions forming in their minds. He did not explain himself, nor did he clarify the implications surrounding his own lineage.
He simply spoke. "Randall Oatrun."
All eyes returned to him.
"For your actions, for your abuse of power, and for your cris against both Stormveil and those under your control... I pass judgnt upon you."
Randall’s jaw tightened.
"You are hereby banished from Stormveil." The words fell cleanly and decisively. "From this mont onward, you are no longer permitted to set foot within these lands."
A beat passed, then Randall laughed—short, disbelieving, and filled with anger. "You would banish ?" he demanded. "? Your father?"
His voice rose, no longer restrained. "I raised you. I made you who you are today!"
Draven t his anger without flinching. "And that is why you stand here today instead of having been punished the mont I discovered your cris," he said calmly.
The hall stilled at his statent, but he continued, regardless.
"I gave you ti. I allowed you to remain. I even allowed you to see your grandchildren." His gaze hardened slightly. "Did I not do well?"
Randall stared at him, disbelief and fury clashing openly across his face. "You—"
But the words failed him.
Draven did not wait. "Royal guards."
The doors opened imdiately as guards stepped in.
"You will escort Randall Oatrun to his estate. He will gather his personal belongings. After that, he is to be escorted beyond the borders of Stormveil."
There was no hesitation in his voice or any room for appeal. This ti, it was final.
anwhile, a satisfied smile rested quietly on Dennis’ lips.
From where he stood among the assembly, he had watched everything unfold without interruption, and now, as the weight of the judgnt settled across the hall, there was no disappointnt in him—only approval.
Draven had done exactly what needed to be done.
Before the silence could stretch too long, the Royal guards stepped forward, surrounding Randall in a firm, controlled formation.
Two of them moved instinctively to take his arms, but Randall shot them a sharp look, his pride flaring even now.
"I will walk on my own," he said coldly.
The guards paused, then stepped back slightly, though they did not lower their vigilance.
Randall turned his gaze toward Draven one last ti, his expression dark with restrained fury. "I didn’t know I raised a monster."
Draven t his gaze without the slightest hesitation. "If making people bear the consequences of their actions, and refusing to let evil go unpunished, makes a monster, then so be it."
There was no anger in his voice, only certainty.
Draven’s gaze shifted briefly toward the guards. "Lead the way for him."
At once, they stepped forward and gestured for Randall to move. Randall drew a sharp breath, then turned towards the assembly.
His gaze swept across the elders, the Alphas, the Betas, the officials—every single one of them.
"Not one of you spoke," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the hall. "After everything I have done for Stormveil... after everything I built."
No one answered or made any move to counter his punishnt.
"Rember this day." His tone sharpened as he continued, "Because tomorrow, you may stand where I stand now."
His gaze shifted and settled on Dennis. Dennis did not look away. He t it head-on, his expression steady and unyielding.
And in that mont, Randall understood. There was no support coming from Dennis either.
A flicker of sothing passed through his eyes—regret, sharp and fleeting. Then it was gone.
With a low huff, he turned and began walking.
The guards fell in around him imdiately, escorting him out of the hall and toward the waiting convoy that would take him to the Oatrun Estate.
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