The Imperial City of Valeria.
The sacred heart of the empire—the Imperial Court of the Senate.
The Senate Hall was vast and grand, its towering stone pillars lined with torches that flickered softly, casting restless shadows across the chamber.
Men of power gathered here, their expressions guarded, their postures tense. At the center of it all, seated on a high throne of gold and velvet, was Emperor Xavier Valerian, his face unreadable as he listened to the proceedings.
The Speaker stood in the middle of the hall, his voice the only sound that broke the silence.
"We all know why we are here," he began, his tone calm but firm. "Word has come from Byzeth that the Fourth Prince shall make his return to the capital soon... and we must decide how to approach this event."
A murmur rippled through the assembly. Then a man rose sharply, his face twisted with disdain.
He was a Senate lord—known to be tied to the Third Prince. Of noble birth and proud standing, he was dressed in the finest silks and brocade, the crest of his house displayed upon his chest like a badge of honor.
"And this is why the Senate has convened?" the lord spat, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Simply for the return of the Fourth Prince? A bedridden child of no importance? This meeting is a waste of our time, and an insult to His Majesty the Emperor—as well as the other princes!"
His words echoed through the chamber, but the emperor did not react. Xavier sat unmoving, his gaze steady, as if merely an observer to a game played by others.
The Speaker, unfazed, stepped forward.
"You emphasize the title of ’prince’ as though it lessens the significance of his arrival." His voice was measured, but beneath it simmered quiet intensity. "Do you not know the man you speak of? Have the whispers of the streets not reached your manor of luxury? Have you not heard the name they call him?"
The lord’s scowl deepened, but he stayed silent.
"They call him the Conqueror," the Speaker continued, his words like steel in the air. "The man who overtook a kingdom without an army. He rode into Byzeth alone, and within a month, the head of its rebellious king dangled from the castle gates—alongside the bodies of his council and nobles."
The room fell silent. The bitter lord’s face twitched with anger, but he did not interrupt. Others shifted uneasily in their seats, exchanging glances. The tale was well-known, but spoken here, within these hallowed walls, it struck differently.
"Are your political ties so thick," the Speaker pressed, "that you cannot see the immeasurable significance of this?"
A scoff rang out from across the chamber. An older man rose—his face etched with years of privilege, his bearing that of one long untouchable.
"Oh, please!" he barked. "He was a bedridden prince before he left! He could barely walk, and yet you expect us to believe he slaughtered Aszer—a Martial Master Realm warrior—and bent his army to his will?" He waved a dismissive hand. "Utter nonsense!"
"They saw it, Karis," another voice interjected, this time a younger senator seated near the Speaker.
"Thousands witnessed the Fourth Prince march into Byzeth with the king’s severed head in hand, the Byzeth army at his back."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room, silenced only when another voice—smooth and dangerous—cut in.
"And along with him was the Northrender Princess and her legion, was she not?" It was Darius, the Third Prince. His tone was casual, though the smile on his lips barely concealed the anger that boiled beneath.
"It makes far more sense that they were responsible for the king’s demise, does it not?"
The chamber stilled, all eyes turning, waiting for the Speaker’s reply. But it was not he who answered.
"Is that not more impressive in itself?" Xavier’s voice was deep and commanding, filling the hall like a tide. The instant he spoke, the air itself seemed to tighten. "We all know who the Northrenders are. And if Aric could lead their princess to war for his ambition, then that, I say, is far more of an achievement."
A heavy silence followed. Darius’s smile faltered, fury flickering in his eyes, but he did not respond. None dared to.
Finally, a cautious senator broke the quiet. "But he gave them our land, Your Majesty," he said, his voice trembling. "He gave them our land."
"Aszer gave them our land," the emperor corrected sharply. "The prince merely allowed them to keep it, to avoid needless bloodshed. A war with the north is not what we desire. And mark this well—the men of winter chose the Fourth over the King of Byzeth. There is a reason for that."
His gaze swept the room, hard and unyielding.
"Perhaps Aric can bring us a true alliance with the Northrenders. If he does, our empire will stand unmatched."
The weight of his words sank in. Even the doubters fell silent, their minds turning toward the possibility. An alliance with the Northrend Empire? Unthinkable—and yet, had not the Fourth Prince already done the impossible?
Xavier rose from his throne, and at once the chamber followed suit. Princes and senators alike stood in reverent silence. His presence was regal, absolute.
"My son has done a great deed for this empire," Xavier declared, his voice ringing with authority. "When he returns, he shall be welcomed—not merely as a prince, but as the new king of Byzeth, and the victorious warlord he is. Further matters shall be decided upon his arrival."
He paused, sweeping the assembly with a final, piercing look.
"As the Emperor decrees," came the collective murmur, each man bowing deeply.
Xavier turned, his cloak flowing like a shadow, the Imperial Guard flanking him as he strode toward the great doors of the Senate Hall.
And as he walked, unseen by most, the faintest smile touched his lips.
For while the Senate debated and doubted, Xavier had always known. Get full chapters from 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚•𝙣𝙚𝙩
And his return would change everything.