Kai received one piece of news after another within an hour of waking.

  Princess Amara made sure he was fed first. A bowl of warm porridge sat in his hands while servants moved through the city, quietly informing nobles, Mages, and messengers that Arzan had finally regained consciousness. Only after that did she begin explaining everything that had happened.

  More than half of the capital had been destroyed.

  The Archine Tower was gone entirely. Large portions of the upper district had collapsed or burned, and entire streets no longer existed. Amara told him plainly that if Kai had not ordered the evacuation of the commoners during the final battle, the death toll would have been beyond counting. Even so, the damage was staggering. Fires had only recently been extinguished, and soldiers were still pulling survivors and valuables from the ruins where they could.

  For now, rebuilding has not begun.

  Duke Blackwood had deliberately held back any orders regarding reconstruction. He wanted Kai’s judgment before reshaping the capital, especially after seeing how completely the old city had been erased. Instead, the duke had focused on matters that could not wait.

  The first was consolidation.

  Reports were arriving from across the kingdom—formal declarations of submission from nobles swearing loyalty to Arzan. Those who hesitated, attempted to flee, or sought refuge in neighboring countries had men dispatched after them. No exceptions were being made.

  The second was funerals.

  Kai had been unconscious for more than two weeks.

  Duke Blackwood had refused to let the dead linger unburied. The ceremonies had already begun days ago, and most of them had already been laid to rest. Hearing that made Kai’s grip tighten slightly around the spoon. He knew that sooner or later, he would have to review the full list of casualties. He did not dwell on it yet. There were larger decisions waiting for him.

  One piece of news brought him quiet relief.

  There had been no new attacks.

  Maleficia had not moved. Despite the death of two of their members, there weren’t any assassins or retaliations. The neighbouring kingdoms had also remained silent, watching rather than acting, their borders tense but unmoving.

  Kai listened to all of it in silence, chewing slowly. He didn’t know for how long this peace would last.

  Two hours after Kai woke up, the door to the room finally opened.

  Duke William Blackwood stepped inside first, with Killian right behind him. The old duke looked as though he had aged a decade in the span of a few weeks. The lines on his face were deeper, his shoulders heavier, and exhaustion clung to him no matter how straight he stood. Killian, on the other hand, looked far better than Kai had expected—upright, steady, and free of any visible serious injuries.

  Kai had half expected Killian to take longer than him to recover. It seemed his throw had not been as disastrous as he had feared.

  They closed the door behind them without a word, dismissing the servants lingering in the hallway. Once they were alone, Duke Blackwood asked about Kai’s condition, listening carefully as he gave a brief, honest answer, but it did not take long before the conversation drifted to what truly mattered.

  The kingdom.

  “So,” he said quietly, looking at the two men in front of him, “what do you think we should do now?”

  Duke Blackwood blinked, as if the question surprised him. Then he shook his head slightly.

  “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  Kai did not look away. “I do,” he said. “But I’m asking for your counsel. You handled everything while I was unconscious—honestly, probably better than I would have. And I know you have no intention of taking the throne.”

  The old duke let out a low breath and shook his head again, more firmly this time.

  “I don’t,” he said. “And I never will. I know my limits. A kingdom needs more than a strong blade on its throne, and I am not immortal. My sons are not ready for that burden either, nor will they be anytime soon.”

  He met Kai’s gaze directly.

  “You led this campaign. You broke the capital. You ended Regina. This victory exists because of you. If anyone doubts that, they are fools, and I don’t think you should doubt your right to the throne.”

  Kai did not respond immediately.

  It was not doubt that troubled him.

  He understood the weight of authority better than most. Being a lord alone demanded constant judgment, endless responsibility, and sacrifices that never truly ended. A crown would only multiply that burden—politics, nobles, rebuilding an entire kingdom, and threats that would never stop coming.

  It would take years of his life.

  But Kai had made this choice long ago.

  He had fought for it. He had bled for it. And he had already crossed too many lines to turn back now.

  “Very well,” Kai said at last. “I’m guessing the coronation would be next.”

  Duke Blackwood nodded. “It has to be. Even with the war devastating half the kingdom, it’s paramount that we do it soon. A coronation stabilizes things. It gives the nobles no room to maneuver and forces them to acknowledge you as the king openly.”

  Kai agreed with that. Delay would only invite scheming.

  Before he could speak again, Princess Amara frowned slightly and asked, “But where would we even hold it? The capital is ruined. Rebuilding Hermil will take months, if not years.”

  Killian nodded in agreement. “A coronation isn’t something we can hold just anywhere.”

  Kai leaned back slightly, eyes lowering as he thought. For a moment, he said nothing.

  Then something clicked.

  “We don’t need to rebuild the capital,” he said. “We already have a place. Veralt.”

  The room went quiet.

  “There’s enough space,” Kai continued evenly. “It’s intact. Secure. And I doubt anyone would object.”

  Duke Blackwood did not immediately agree. Instead, he studied Kai carefully.

  “No one will mind,” the old duke said slowly. “But you need to understand what that means. Holding your coronation in Veralt will signal more than convenience. It will give the perception that Veralt is the new capital, especially since it is already your primary city.”

  He paused.

  “Do you want that?”

  Kai went silent.

  The honest answer came to him immediately—Yes. Veralt was the city he had built with his own hands. The place where his authority was absolute, where his systems worked, and where people actually loved him. If there was any city he felt connected to, it was Veralt.

  But Duke Blackwood wasn’t asking out of caution for the ceremony. Moving a capital reshaped trade routes, power balances, and noble influence. Hermil had been chosen centuries ago because it sat at the heart of the kingdom, connected to every major region.

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  Changing that would come with consequences—good and bad.

  And Kai needed to decide which ones he was willing to bear.

  People would need time to adjust to Veralt. That much was unavoidable. And beyond that, there was Hermil itself—a city that would have to be rebuilt sooner or later, no matter where the capital stood.

  Yet as Kai looked at Princess Amara, Killian, and Duke Blackwood, something settled in him.

  They weren’t debating anymore.

  They were waiting.

  Waiting for his decision, ready to accept it as law.

  Amara and Killian had always trusted him, followed him without question. But this was different. This was the first time Duke Blackwood looked at him like this, not as a commander in war, not as a powerful Mage, but as a king in all but name.

  Kai smiled faintly.

  “Let Veralt be the new capital,” he said, a sense of finality settling over him. “The kingdom is starting anew. It feels right to begin with a new capital as well. And Veralt has room to grow, especially with the Vasper Forest bordering it.”

  Duke Blackwood inclined his head without hesitation. “As you command.” He straightened slightly. “I’ll send a drone to Francis. He’s been asking about your recovery through the Watchers for days now. He’ll be the perfect man to oversee the preparations.”

  Kai nodded. “Make sure the ceremony isn’t extravagant. We’ve just come out of a war. It wouldn’t sit well to waste coin now.”

  Even as he said it, his thoughts drifted briefly—to Veralt, to the streets he had walked, to Francis and Claire. It felt like years since he had last seen them. He wished to see them sooner, to at least know how they were doing. But now was not the time for it.

  He forced himself back to the present.

  “What else needs to be done?” Kai asked.

  Duke Blackwood glanced at him—at the bandages and his face—then scratched his beard in a rare, almost awkward gesture.

  “There’s a lot,” he said quietly.

  He paused, then reached for a slate and began writing as he spoke.

  “We’ll need to send invitations to every noble and to any individuals you consider important enough to attend the coronation,” he said. “But before that, every noble will want an audience with you. You’ll have to distribute the lands and wealth taken from the losing factions, elevate those who stood by you, settle disputes, confirm titles—dozens of matters, one after another.”

  Kai felt a dull ache forming behind his temples just listening to it.

  Dealing with nobles had never been something he enjoyed.

  He exhaled slowly. “Why don’t we start by repairing the kingdom first? The nobles can wait. There are people who lost everything. They need help more than titles need confirming.”

  Duke Blackwood smiled, the expression soft but approving. “I thought you might say that.” He tapped the slate lightly. “We’ve already made a list of the regions hit hardest by the war. Cities, towns, villages that will need immediate aid.”

  Killian nodded from where he stood. “There are also many refugees. People who lost their homes entirely. We can resettle them, at least temporarily. The Church should be able to help with that.”

  Kai glanced at him. “The Church isn’t opposed to me?”

  Princess Amara shook her head. “No. From what I’ve heard, they’re grateful. You protected churches during the campaign and sent aid to several of them. None of them were close to my brothers, and only a few ever supported my mother.”

  Kai nodded slowly.

  It sounded like much of the groundwork had already been laid.

  He shifted slightly on the bed, the urge to stand tugging at him even though his body wasn’t ready. “It seems like you’ve all thought this through already.”

  He paused, then added, “But I’d like to make a few suggestions as well.”

  Duke Blackwood looked up from the slate. “Go on.”

  Kai didn’t answer right away. His mind moved through his memories—of stable empires, of systems that endured not because of a single ruler, but because power was shared, balanced and restrained.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “A council,” Kai said. “I want to create a council.”

  ***

  Raven had never thought she would feel like this.

  Even as the carriage rolled steadily along the barren roads of the Lancephil Kingdom, her chest felt tight, as if something heavy was pressing down on her heart. The landscape outside the narrow window was dry and quiet, scarred by war but already beginning to settle. The civil war was over. The world had moved on.

  She hadn’t.

  Her thoughts had been restless ever since she had left Sylvastra.

  Months ago, she had ridden out at Lord Arzan’s request, carrying his message to the elves. It had been a simple task on the surface—ask for aid, negotiate support, return before the war reached its peak. At the time, she had believed it would be difficult, but manageable.

  Now, as she finally returned, the war was already finished.

  In a way, she had failed her mission. She hadn’t brought elven aid back in time. Yet that wasn’t what troubled her most. Lord Arzan had won without it. The kingdom still stood. By all accounts, he had achieved victory beyond what anyone expected.

  And yet, the news she carried with her was heavy enough to crush that triumph.

  She had been meant to return weeks earlier. But when she reached Sylvastra, nothing had gone as expected.

  There had been no welcoming elders. There had only been destruction.

  The forests that once sang with mana had been scorched and twisted. Ancient trees lay shattered, their cores hollowed out. Entire settlements were gone, reduced to ash and broken crystal. The elves—proud, long-lived, slow to despair—were still reeling from it. Some moved like ghosts through the ruins. Others worked in silence, rebuilding without hope in their eyes.

  Whatever had struck Sylvastra had done more than destroy land.

  It had wounded the elves deeply, in a way that would take years—perhaps generations—to heal.

  Raven swallowed and leaned back against the carriage seat, closing her eyes for a moment. The image of shattered groves and bloodstained leaves refused to fade.

  A familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

  “Raven,” Gorak said gently from across the carriage. The large man shifted, his armor creaking softly. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “I know it’s hard not to think about it,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m sure Lord Arzan will have a solution. He always does.”

  She let out a quiet breath. “Is it that obvious what I’m thinking?”

  Before Gorak could answer, one of the twins leaned forward, grinning.

  “Yes,” Finn said easily. “Very obvious.”

  Finnigan from the side snorted. “You’ve gotten wrinkles from all the stress.”

  Raven shot them a tired glare, but there was no real heat behind it.

  Finn shrugged. “We’re close now. If anyone can do something about this mess, it’s him.”

  Raven nodded slowly, but the knot in her chest didn’t ease.

  She wanted to believe those words. She wanted to believe that even this could be fixed. But the images she carried from Sylvastra refused to loosen their grip. Even the elven elders—beings who had lived through centuries of hardship—had been devastated. They had searched for answers, dug through ancient records, communed with the forest spirits, and still found nothing that could truly restore what was lost.

  If they couldn’t do it, how could Lord Arzan?

  And yet… he was the Fatebreaker.

  The thought lingered stubbornly in her mind. If anyone could defy what seemed inevitable, it would be him. If anyone could find a path where none existed, it would be the man who had already overturned the course of a kingdom.

  But if he couldn’t…

  Raven’s breath caught.

  Then the elves had no future.

  There was no dramatic end waiting for them. No final stand. Just a slow fading. Forests dying. Birthrates falling. Mana thinning. One generation after another shrinking until, one day, there would be no elves left to remember what they once were.

  Extinction.

  Her vision blurred, and she quickly raised her sleeve, wiping at the moisture before it could spill over. She hated how weak it made her feel, but the thought hurt too deeply to ignore.

  Finn noticed immediately.

  He leaned closer and rested a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm and grounding. “It’ll be okay,” he said quietly.

  Raven shook her head, her voice barely steady. “I don’t know if it will.” She swallowed, staring down at her hands. “I don’t even know how to tell Lord Arzan. How do you tell someone that an entire group of people might disappear?”

  Finn hesitated, then said, “Just tell him calmly. He’ll want to hear everything. And knowing him, he’ll stop whatever he’s doing and try to think of something.”

  The carriage jolted suddenly as it passed over uneven ground, then settled back into its steady rhythm. Raven placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heart racing beneath her palm.

  “I feel like crying just thinking about it,” she admitted softly. “How am I supposed to say it out loud?”

  Gorak’s deep voice cut in, gentle but serious. “Do you want me to tell him?”

  Raven paused.

  For a moment, the idea tempted her. Gorak was calm under pressure. He could explain things clearly, without letting emotion get in the way. He could deliver the news without his voice breaking.

  But the elf elders hadn’t entrusted Gorak with this burden. They had entrusted her.

  Raven lifted her head and met Gorak’s eyes, resolve slowly settling in her expression. She shook her head.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’ll do it myself.”

  She took a slow breath, steadying herself.

  “I’ll tell Lord Arzan,” she continued, “that the Elder Tree isn’t going to survive more than a few months.”

  ***

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