Archon Hamill, the newest leader of the Elder Council, sat hunched over his desk, besieged by a mountain of parchments that threatened to engulf him. The dim light of the oil lamp cast long shadows across the room, mirroring the terrible last few weeks in the realm. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding both sword and quill, trembled slightly as he set aside yet another report, adding to the ever-growing stack.

The silence of the night was broken by a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for a response, Councilor Valen, a middle-aged human man with sharp eyes and an even sharper mind, popped his head into the room. "Sir, are you ready for me?" he asked, eyes darting to the large stack of paper.

Archon Hamill let out a long, weary sigh, the burdens of rule evident in the lines etched deep into his face. He gestured towards the chair across from him. "Yes, yes. Come in. Let's get this over with," he said, his voice carrying the impatience.

Valen entered, closing the door softly behind him. He took the offered seat, his expression somber. The parchment he carried bore the seal of the Scholar's Guild, the branch responsible for many of the realm's goings on, and its contents were as grave as the seal suggested.

"Sir, I bring the full report of the incident at Altheria," Valen began, his voice steady despite the grim news he was about to deliver. The Archon nodded, bracing himself for the worst. He knew about most of what had happened, but over the last two weeks, a full report had been launched. They were due to make a public statement to the realm's council meeting in ten day's time.

This time, he was sure every one of the races would be in attendance.

"Two weeks past, there was a prison break at our work camp at Altheria, as you are aware," Valen continued. "An explosion rocked the island, caused by a cobbled-together bomb that was skillfully placed to create maximum chaos and destruction. The target appeared to be the powerful elven artifact known as the Heart of the Forest."

Archon Hamill's brow furrowed, his mind racing with the implications. He wasn't aware of that part. "Any idea who is responsible?" he asked.

"We suspect it was an inside job, perhaps with external assistance. The bomb's placement and timing were too precise for mere chance," Valen replied, his face a mask of professionalism. "The bomb's radius spread from a location near the prison's morgue. Just that day, a prisoner had been killed in a duel. He was an ex-councilor. Councilor Nayaliss. You may know his..."

Hamill cut him off. "Yes. Elandor's boy. Damn it to the seven hells." He let out a heavy breath.

No one spoke for a moment as the news hung in the air. Valen pursed his thin lips, then pressed on. "I had been investigating Nayal's roommate, Erevan. Reports had filtered to me that he was working with the Thieves Guild, and I had begun gathering information from the Council's guard plants about his whereabouts."

"A Guildmember? How? I was not aware of a member of the Guild in the elven sector."

"Newly recruited, it would seem," Valen said. "The roommates dueled, and Erevan killed him. Apparently, Nayaliss must have had the bomb on him when he was transported to the morgue, and then it went off somehow. Drakthir must have been hiding the artifact there, where dead prisoners would not be a threat to its capture."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Archon Hamill didn't say anything for some time. It went unspoken amongst the Council that they wanted that artifact for themselves. The Thieves Guild had gotten their hands on it somehow, and ever since, there had been a power dynamic between them and the prison.

"Tell me of this Erevan."

Valen paused. "Well, from what I gathered, he is from Fngroth. Son of a blacksmith. He killed the Lord's youngest son and was sent to the work camp for five seasons. Lenient, if you ask me. Anyway, he fought in three duels over his first season at the prison. The lad seemed to have an affinity for getting in over his head. They sent him to the forge to work with the dwarves due to his skills with the hammer, little as they must have been. I think it was done as a joke initially. Either way, he was also involved in the duel when the King's son was assassinated. We've been watching this elf for some time now."

"Curious that he was involved in the end, too. Was Elandor responsible for this? Did his people do this, working through his boy? Even though he has been retired from service, he still has great influence in the elven districts." The last few words were spat out. There was no love lost between him and that damned elf. "I know it wouldn't have been our people to destroy the artifact."

The Archon's thoughts turned dark. An inside job meant betrayal, a wound that cut deeper than any sword. "It is unknown at this time," Valen responded, looking down.

"And the prisoners?" the Archon inquired, fearing the answer.

Valen hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with his response. "One-third of the prisoners escaped, including several high-profile insurgents and war criminals, two political enemies, and six large-breed prisoners. The chaos was... unprecedented. The rest were finally corralled and put into the far wing of the work camp that remained intact. They have been in lockdown ever since. We cannot get any further production from it until it's completely rebuilt."

The news hit Archon Hamill like a physical blow. An escape of this magnitude was a disaster, a stain on his rule that would not be easily cleansed. "And what of Drakthir?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Drakthir, the Dragon Warden of Altheria, was more than just a warden; he symbolized the realm's strength and resolve. A cooperation between races that had never been accomplished before.

Valen's expression grew even grimmer. "We fear the worst, sir. Drakthir was near the epicenter of the explosion. His survival is... unlikely."

The room seemed to grow colder at the mention of Drakthir's potential death. The loss would be both a personal and political tragedy. The Northern dragons were going to be furious. And he was afraid of who they would blame this on.

Archon Hamill leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with the implications of the escape. The stability of his kingdom was at stake, and the escaped prisoners would no doubt seek to undermine his rule at every turn. War would certainly break out after this. "We must act swiftly," he declared, his voice now laced with determination. "We cannot allow this incident to shake the foundations of our rule. Assemble the Royal Guard. We will hunt down every last one of these traitors. Start in Olerial. There are certainly going to be escapees there."

"But sir," Valen said, eyebrows raising. "The Free People will certainly not allow us..."

"I don't care what they will or will not allow!" Hamill screamed, standing up from his chair. Valen sank back, cowering before the outbreak. Hamill took a deep breath, then sat back down, composing himself again. "If this elf, Erevan you said, is involved in the Guild. Their involvement, while not in the Heart's destruction, is all over the prison. Clearly, they will have rescued some of them. Check the desert, too. The Whispering Temple likes to get involved when there is chaos to be had."

Valen nodded, recovering from the fear he had shown in front of his leader. "I will make the arrangements immediately, sir. We will leave no stone unturned."

As Valen left the room to carry out his orders, Archon Hamill turned to gaze out the window, where the first light of dawn was breaking over the horizon. The door shut softly as Valen left, leaving him alone once again.

"What a mess," he muttered, then returned to his reports. He had a lot of work to do over the next ten days.