On the same night that Sullivan had his secretive meeting, the moon, which illuminated the darkened streets of Amberheart, cast its pale glow over the towering stone walls of the Elders’ Council Hall. Within, a heated debate roared, its intensity rivalling the flickering torchlight that lined the chamber’s marble pillars. The vast and imposing hall seemed to echo the voices of the seven High Elders who sat in a half-circle, their gazes fixed upon one another in fierce disagreement.
High Elder Marcus Remington, an old man with thin grey hair and a sharp, hawk-like gaze, slammed his fist down on the wooden table. “We cannot remain idle while three nobles of the Remington line are dead in cold blood! If we do nothing, we risk losing control of Amberheart itself!”
Across from him sat Elder Verida Sinton, a tall, elegant woman whose silver hair flowed past her shoulders. Her calm demeanour belied the intensity of her gaze as she responded, “Summoning the nobles now, in the midst of rising tensions, will do nothing but fan the flames, Elder Marcus. I beg you to see reason.”
Reason was the one thing the Elders lacked that night. Elder Ceryn Remington, a broad-shouldered man with a booming voice, let out a huff of disdain. “See reason? Verida, three noble corpses lie in the streets, and you’re worried about politics? These killings cannot go unanswered.”
Before Verida could reply, Elder Tyris Remington, the youngest of the Elders and a known ally of Marcus, leaned forward in his chair. His green eyes blazed with frustration. “You speak of waiting, Elder Verida, but for what? For more blood to be spilt while the nobles scramble to cover their tracks? Those responsible must be brought to light, and summoning the nobles for questioning is the first step.”
The tension thickened as Elder Verida pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully. “Are you certain that the nobles from Amberfell are the ones behind these murders? Moreover, It’s not a matter of ignoring the murders, Tyris. But do you truly think the nobles will willingly expose themselves? They are already frightened and paranoid. If we summon them now, they’ll see it as a trap. This will incite rebellion—Amberheart is already on edge, and any spark could ignite chaos.”
Marcus’s gaze hardened as he glared across the room, his hands tightening on the edge of the table. His voice, now low and cutting, filled the silence like the slow creaking of the council’s tension-strained wood. “Who else can do it besides the nobles? This isn’t about fear, Verida. It’s about duty. We are bound to maintain order in the kingdom, and if the Remington line is under attack, we must act!”
Elder Lawrence Kirin, a stoic figure with dark eyes that held wisdom far beyond his years, broke his silence. His voice was slow, deliberate. “Verida is right. This move is like pouring water into oil. You think it will settle the nobles, but it will do the opposite—it will set them ablaze. We must tread carefully.”
Elder Venor Crain, a supporter of Marcus and one of the four leading the charge for summoning the nobles, sneered at Lawrence. “Careful, you say? And how many more bodies will pile up while we ‘tread carefully’? The Remington family is under attack, and you two speak as if the nobles are innocent! We all know the ties that run through Amberfell’s noble circles. Their hands aren’t clean.”
Lawrence met Venor’s sneer with an unblinking, calm stare. “You speak as if your hands are clean Venor... Don’t make me being up the things I’ve heard about you. These nobles are no strangers to power struggles. If you think they will willingly accept this questioning, you are mistaken. They will see our summons as a direct accusation and retaliate in kind.”
Tyris stood abruptly, his frustration boiling over. “So, what’s your grand idea then, Lawrence? Just sit around and wait while the bodies pile up? Let this mystery deepen until the kingdom drowns in its own blood?”
Before Lawrence could respond, Verida interjected, her voice rising with a calm authority that cut through the escalating noise. “No one is suggesting inaction, Tyris. But sending writs of summons to the nobles now will only divide the kingdom further. We risk pushing them toward rebellion.”
A tense silence followed, broken only by the creak of old wood as Marcus rose to his feet, his sharp gaze sweeping over his fellow Elders. “Enough of this back and forth. It is time to decide. We cannot continue to debate while the kingdom rots beneath us. We vote.”
The room fell still, and all eyes turned to Marus as he raised his hand, the signal for a vote of confidence. “Those in favour of summoning the nobles for questioning, raise your hands.”
Without hesitation, four hands shot into the air—Marcus, Tyris, Ceryn, and Venor.
“Those opposed?” Marus’s gaze shifted as Verida raised her hand, followed closely by Lawrence and Elder Irin Remington, a man known for his quiet but incisive counsel.
The hall seemed to hold its breath as the division solidified, four to three.
Tyris leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest as a sneer curled at his lips. “Of course you two would oppose this. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not of Remington blood—you can’t feel the weight of what’s happening to our lineage. In this regard you can’t compare to Elder Venor. But Elder Irin... I must say, I am disappointed by your conduct towards the plight of your own lineage.”
“I was killing for this family since before you were sucking on your mother’s tits, boy,” Elder Irin’s voice thundered, a fiery gleam in his eyes. “So I suggest you shut that insolent mouth before I rip it off!”
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Tyris had an ugly countenance after the swift reply, but he couldn’t retort because Iris Remington had indeed done much for the family.
Meanwhile, Lawrence’s dark eyes hardened. “My decision was not made from a lack of understanding, Tyris. It was made because I can see what will happen if you proceed. Summoning the nobles like this is a dangerous gambit. It will exasperate the situation, turning paranoia into open hostility.”
Verida nodded in agreement, her voice calm but firm. “We oppose not because—” Verida started, but Tyris cut her off with a snarl, “Why the hell are you stalling, Verida? Explain that.” She shot him a look before continuing, her voice ice-cold. “Because we can’t force compliance from nobles without lighting the fuse to war.”
Marcus scoffed, his face twisting with impatience. “This is not a matter of choice anymore. The situation has gone beyond that. We must act decisively, and at this point, hesitation is more dangerous than the summons itself.”
Ceryn slammed his hand down on the table. “Let them bristle! Let them rage! This is something that must be done. We’ll flush out the guilty from their dens.”
The words hung in the air, thick with finality.
Satisfied with the outcome, Marcus turned to a guard standing by the chamber doors. His voice was clipped and commanding. “The King’s will has been made clear. King Leifstein Remington has issued a Royal Writ to summon all nobles at or above the station of Viscount. The decision has been approved by the Elders’ Council.”
The guard, a tall man with a stern face, stepped forward and bowed respectfully. “I will see that the orders are passed on, High Elder.”
Marcus gave a curt nod. “Good. Have the heralds prepared by dawn. These writs must be delivered in person. The nobles must be here in Amberheart in three months’ time. There will be no delay.”
The guard bowed once more and left the chamber to carry out the orders.
As the sound of his retreating footsteps echoed through the hall, the seven Elders sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken tensions. Though the vote had been decided, it was clear the lines had been drawn, and the divisions among them had deepened.
Lawrence, Verida, and Irin exchanged quiet, knowing glances. They could all see it—the storm brewing on the horizon. Summoning the nobles might bring answers, but it would also bring consequences they were not prepared for.
And with that, the council was adjourned, leaving Amberheart teetering on the edge of chaos.
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Elder Irin Remington sat in the cushioned interior of his carriage as it rattled quietly through the streets of Amberheart. The faint clop of horse hooves and the muffled rustle of the night wind were the only sounds that accompanied him. Two guards, their faces stoic, flanked the carriage, keeping a watchful eye on the shadows.
The council meeting still echoed in his mind, and he let out a long, thoughtful breath. Tension had always existed among the Elders, but tonight was different. Tonight, the stakes had risen. The city was being steered toward dangerous waters.
He reclined in his seat, letting the soft sway of the carriage lull him into a meditative calm. Then, he heard it—three sharp knocks against the window. His eyes narrowed as he reached out to open it.
A figure clad in dark clothing slid into the carriage with practised ease. A hood obscured his face, but his sharp features and piercing green eyes became visible as he stood straight and pulled it back. The man bowed slightly in respect before seating himself opposite Irin.
“Tyris,” Irin greeted without surprise, his voice steady and devoid of any warmth. “Quite a show at the Council.”
Tyris Remington—one of the most vocal in tonight’s heated debate—smiled, leaning back into the velvet seat. His eyes glittered with a certain smugness. “Appearances must be maintained, Elder Irin. The others need to believe that I’m as riled up as they are. If I played it too calmly, someone might get suspicious.”
Irin nodded slightly, his hands folding together in his lap. “And the preparations?”
Tyris’s smile faded into a more serious expression. “Everything is in place. I’ve personally selected a few heralds who will carry the writs to certain nobles—those loyal to our cause. They’ll understand the signal: the time has come for a cleansing of the Remington Clan.” His eyes flickered with something darker, a lingering uncertainty. “But... Marcus. He’s going to be difficult to take down. His influence runs deep.”
Irin’s lips curled into a subtle, calculated smile, a look that rarely graced his features. “You don’t need to concern yourself with Marcus,” he said smoothly. “His time will come soon enough. Focus on what matters—when the moment's right, the others won't stand in our way. Your task is to ensure that the loyalists act at the right moment. When that happens, Marcus won’t matter.”
Tyris clenched his jaw, a brief flicker of emotion crossing his face. For a moment, it seemed as if the carefully built facade would crack, and then it did. “No,” he growled, his voice laced with barely-contained fury. “Marcus does matter. I want to be the one to end him. Not just to watch him fall but to feel it when I drive the blade into his chest. I want to feel the warmth of his blood as he chokes on it. That man—" Nerves popped on his neck as venom seeped into his tone. "He’s taken everything from me…”
Tyris clenched his fists, the tension rippling through his frame. For a moment, he said nothing, just glaring into the dark, before finally spitting out, “When the moment comes, I will deliver the final blow.”
Irin’s eyes flickered with intrigue at Tyris’s raw emotion, though he said nothing, allowing the silence to stretch as Tyris’s words hung in the air.
Tyris took a deep breath, the hatred still burning in his gaze but his composure returning. “Very well. I’ll see to it that our heralds understand their roles. Everything will be in motion by the time the meeting happens in two weeks.”
With that, Tyris stood, glancing out the window to ensure no eyes were watching. “I’ll take my leave.”
Tyris exited the carriage and disappeared into the shadows of the night. As the door shut behind him, Irin remained still, his gaze lingering on the dark street beyond. Tyris’s fury was a useful tool, but Irin knew better than to trust rage alone to see this through. His Lord would have contingencies— he always did.
Irin then reached into his robes and pulled out a small, glowing stone. A communication stone, polished smooth, hummed faintly in his palm. The power of his spirit energy flowed into it as he muttered a quiet incantation, activating the stone’s connection.
The glow intensified, and a familiar voice emerged from the other side after a brief pause. “Sir Lian Chen,” Irin greeted, his voice steady, “The Council bought the fake writ. Our heralds are ready.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Lian Chen’s voice responded, smooth and calculated as ever. “Good work, Irin. The day of our vengeance finally draws near. The pieces are falling into place. Soon, the Remington bloodline will be cleansed, and those who stand against us will be swept away in the tide.”
Irin’s eyes gleamed in the dim carriage light, satisfaction and bloodlust mingling in his expression. “Indeed. Everything will go as planned.”
The connection severed with a soft click, the light of the communication stone dimming. Irin tucked it back into his robes and leaned against the plush seat, his mind already racing through the steps that would follow in the coming days.
The Council may have believed their decision was their own, but in reality, it had all been orchestrated from the shadows. As Amberheart prepared for the upcoming summons, the actual game was only just beginning.