King Mikael walked briskly through the quiet stone corridors of the Elnorian royal palace, a cold rage simmering within him.
This part of the palace housed his personal gardens and was usually lined with guards, but tonight, the hall was empty. The light from the torched flickered weakly, emphasizing the facts that his own soldiers had abandoned their posts.
He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. The lack of security here wasn't some sort of oversight. It was a message.
The Pope had grown bold.
Mikael forced himself to relax. He unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. Anger would do nothing here, not yet. Not when he was about to meet the greatest threat to the safety of the kingdom.
His father had taught him well, but he was sure that nothing had been able to prepare him for meetings .
He reached the tall oak door at the end of the hall and paused for a moment, gathering himself before pushing it open.
The room beyond was large and empty, except for a single chair in its center, and the Pope sat upon it. This way, he'll force the king to stand before him like a boy about to be scolded.
Mikael's anger threatened to boil over, but he managed to snap the lid close on it. Not today. Not here. Not now.
His eyes flicked to the Pope, taking him in. It had been more than a year since they met in person.
White-bearded and robed in purest silver, the old man looked more like a statue than a living being. He sat as still as possible, not moving as he stared at Mikael.
Mikael's eyes narrowed as he walked in, the sound of his footsteps echoing around the high arching ceiling of the room.
The Pope's eyes gleamed, his lips twitching. "Mikael." He smiled in what he probably thought was a grandfatherly manner, using the king's first name with casual disrespect. "You've come. Good. I was beginning to worry you'd lost your courage."
Mikael's heart burned, but he managed to keep his voice level. "I was wondering what brought the pope all the way here to my city."
"And yet, I suspect that is not why you answered my summons." The Pope chuckled.
Mikael's hands trembled at the insinuation the old man was making. Summoning the king in his own palace?! He wanted to lash out but that would just be childish. Instead, he moved to what he had on his mind.
"Why?" He stepped forward slowly. "Why is the Church doing nothing as the kingdom rots away? The infected are spreading through the countryside. Villages are going dark. You've delayed long enough. I want the Chosen deployed. Alongside my soldiers. We end this now."
The Pope leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled. "You know what must be done."
Mikael's eyes narrowed. "You cannot be serious."
"Perfectly." The Pope said, voice calm. "Pass the decree. Let no monarch ascend the throne unless they are Chosen by the Shivering Tree and bound to a priest or priestess as their holy pair. Then, and only then, shall the Chosen march."
Mikael laughed. Loud, bitter, and wild. His entire body shook with it.
"Do you take me for a fool?" He barked. "You want me to make a law that would bind my bloodline to the Church forever. To give you the right to declare my heirs invalid if the Tree so much as hesitates. You'd make the monarchy a puppet show, with you holding the strings."
He stepped forward, his voice rising. "If an heir fails the ritual, the line breaks. And then what? You choose a noble with better 'divine alignment'? My family becomes a historical footnote. The throne becomes your altar."
"Why ascribe nefarious motives to beneficial proposals, Mikael?" The Pope chuckled. "This is for the good of not just the church but also your bloodline. You know what the people say. Only the king is outside the embrace of the Creator. I only want to see the monarchy sit with the grace it had always been given."
"Grace? Good of my bloodline?" Mikael scoffed. "You want to bury my bloodline beneath the roots of the Church, Pope. We both know that. And I will not have my children kneel to bark and scripture."
There was a beat of silence before the Pope chuckled, and the air shifted.
A pressure descended on the room, like the world had just remembered gravity.
The air rippled visibly, warping space around the Pope as he tapped into his Resonance loop. The weight was suffocating, spiritual and at the same time, physical. Mikael stumbled before catching himself.
"You misunderstand your position, Mikael." The Pope said, still seated. "Elnoria stands right on the edge of ruin. I am the only thing holding it together. If you do not act, all you do is ensure that it falls. The plague will burn every city to ash and all that would be left standing upon the ruins is the church."
"Whatever you want for Elnoria, the outcome shall be the same. I can have the plague gone, Mikael." The pope shifted slightly, enough to be unnerving. "I already have my Chosens on standby. It's all up to you."
Mikael struggled to remain standing, hunched slightly as the air kept rippling around him.
He held the Pope's gaze before speaking. "This isn't the Tree speaking, old man. This is your ambition. You spent decades crafting your loop, becoming so fragile you can't even ride a horse for fear of breaking it. That still doesn't satisfy you. And now you want to rule through me."
He straightened with effort. "You want a throne without sitting on it. But I will not be your puppet. Over my dead body."
He turned on his heel and left, refusing to stagger, even as sweat dripped down his back.
The Pope watched him go, amusement in his eyes. "Foolish man." He muttered. "Let him cling to pride."
A shape moved in the shadows, and a Chosen, cloaked in white and bearing the sigils of the Shivering Tree, stepped forward. A silver mask covered her face.
The Pope didn't look at her. "Let the infected into one of the cities."
"Perhaps," the Pope said softly, "when he sees one fall, he will understand the necessity of the decree."