The Ember Court had gathered within the Hall of Flames.
Their expressions were solemn.
Never in the history of their house had they been disrespected in such a manner.
Not only had their attempt to resolve the matter peacefully been chided and spat upon.
But their own delegation, Magi who carried the Blood of the Crucible, had been butchered like cattle in stockades.
All while the nulls of Dawnhaven cheered and chanted with joy.
It was a stain on House Ignarion’s legacy they would never fully recover from.
Caustian was exhausted.
He knew exactly what this war would lead to.
The words relayed about Caedrion’s speech had not been exaggerated.
To simply break the barrier of Dawnhaven would cost them dearly, perhaps even their very status as a Great House, even in victory.
But he did not sigh. He did not shake his head. Others, with less caution and far less wisdom, had already cast aside the mask of diplomacy.
Valerius pounded his hand on the obsidian table, frothing.
"Lies! Slander! Insolent fools! They dare behead our dignitaries?! Have they no understanding of their place?!Death! Death to them all! Butcher the men, enslave the women! They must pay, every last one of them, with their bloodline!"
Then... steel crashed into flesh.
Valerius crumpled to the floor, dazed and choking.
His father, Lord Veltharion, towered over him, one gauntleted hand still glowing faintly from the backhand he’d delivered.
"You damn bastard!" he roared. "I should burn you to cinders here and now, for all you’ve done!You have no right to speak in this court. When this war is won, and Dawnhaven is reduced to ash, I will have you torched with it!"
Valerius lay motionless, his thoughts scrambled. Flames still snorted from Veltharion’s nostrils as his wrath simmered.
It was only Caustian who dared speak.
"Please, my lord... not here. Not now. We must focus on retaliation. This cannot go unanswered. If we fail to act swiftly, our rivals will seize this moment to mire our name even further. We must act."
Veltharion’s fury dulled as he slumped back into his seat.He did not even grant his son another look.
He simply waved his hand to continue.
A younger elder, centuries Caustian’s junior but old enough not to be reckless, stepped forward.
"It would seem we have no choice but to gather the army and lay siege to Dawnhaven. House Ferrondel will not leave the barrier, not while it protects them, and they know it. They will wait like cowards for our blades to dull at the gates."
Caustian nodded grimly.
"It is true that the barrier ends just beyond their castle’s outermost walls. However, the city walls themselves are vast, and their granaries lie safely within. To breach the barrier would take a decade. To starve them? Perhaps five years. Either way... a Pyrrhic victory is certain."
Veltharion leaned forward, eyes heavy on the map before him.
The situation was truly a disaster... one not even fire could cleanse easily.
"Order the siege to begin at once. Every moment we delay gives them time to prepare. Time we cannot afford to give. Not while rivals circle our lands like wolves."
And so the war had begun...
News spread like wildfire across the Ashlands, carried swiftly by horse, raven, rumor and spellwork.
By week’s end, all the Human Houses knew what had transpired between House Ferrondel and House Ignarion.
But it was not only humans who took interest.
Beneath the distant sea... beyond the borders of Dawnhaven and past forgotten shoals, other eyes turned to the surface.
The sea and all its mysteries had long been the domain of the Abyssal, the Eidolon of oceans, rivers, and unfathomable depths.
She had never favored mankind, not even before the Exodus, for men had always been unworthy of her gifts.
Instead, her children had been forged beneath the waves.
Blessed with the power to command water, to shape it as effortlessly as flame bent to the will of House Ignarion.
One race in particular had long since held quarrel with humanity’s Magi aristocracy.
At their head was a name whispered in fear across drowned ports and vanished coasts:
Thalassaria Virelleth... Mistress of the Drowned Accord, Sovereign of Submareth, Herald of the Abyssal.
She was Queen of the Sea.
But she had not always ruled the waves.
Long ago, during the Age of the Eidolons, her people had been a tribe of elves, driven from their forested homelands by the ancestors of mankind.
Starving and forgotten, they had offered a great sacrifice to the Abyssal in exchange for salvation.
And she remade them... twisted their flesh into coils and fins, granted them gills and eyes that saw through the darkened deep. She made them Naga.
From that moment, the Naga had despised humanity.
A grudge mankind had long forgotten. But they had not.
And now, Thalassaria Virelleth watched with great interest.
From her coral citadel atop the seashell throne, she gazed into a scrying orb of salt-crystal and abyss glass, its usual aquamarine glow dispersing as the surface rippled and resolved into an image.
There she saw not war... not fire...
A gilded weeping statue stood at its edge.
And beside it, surrounded by symbols she recognized only faintly... stood a man.
A man who defied the laws of the Magi.
A man restructured flame and structure with a scholar’s touch.
"How very interesting..." Thalassaria murmured.
And her serpentine tail curled ever so slightly around the base of her throne.