Interlude: The Council Of Kings
The grand halls of Zephyrion, the floating citadel of the angels, were radiant, the light filtering through the celestial marble casting soft, ethereal shadows across the room. Statues of the Old Gods stood vigilant along the walls, silent reminders of an ancient order. Today, the five leaders of the world’s great races gathered under the guise of unity, though none among them felt kinship. The Council of Kings, a temporary alliance forged in times of crisis, was nothing more than a brittle truce, often stained with old grudges and hidden agendas.
This was one such time.
It had been called only in times of great crisis, and now, the shifting of the world’s balance demanded their attention once more.
Seated at the center of the room was Seraphiel Dawnwing, Sovereign of the Angelic Race, her ethereal wings folded behind her like shimmering curtains of light. Her golden eyes flickered with restrained frustration as the others took their seats. To her right sat Zerathiel, the High Human Emperor, his cold blue eyes surveying the room with a detached indifference that only emperors could afford. Across from him, Gorak Stormfang, Chief of the Beastmen, scratched his clawed fingers against the stone, his amber eyes burning with impatience.
“Is it too much to ask,” Gorak growled, his voice thick with irritation, “that we skip the pleasantries? We know why we’re here.”
Zerathiel’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “I didn’t realize you had such a limited attention span, Stormfang. Perhaps I should send you some human literature to broaden your horizons.”
“Careful, human,” Gorak snarled, baring his fangs. “I’ve never needed words to prove my strength.”
“Please,” Elandor the Verdant, Emperor of the High Elves, interrupted, his smooth voice lilting with the elegance of a thousand years of elven rule. “If we’re going to insult each other, at least be creative. These old quarrels bore me.”
Zerathiel’s smile faded, but his eyes remained locked on Gorak. The tension between the High Humans and the Beastmen was ancient, rooted in countless battles over territory and supremacy. But this council, though fragile, demanded cooperation—even if the knife remained hidden behind their backs.
Seraphiel raised her hand, her voice calm but firm. “This is neither the time nor the place for petty bickering. We are here because something has changed in the world. A new power has emerged—one we cannot afford to ignore.”
Thurak Stonefist, the gruff King of the Elder Dwarves, grumbled from his seat. His heavy arms rested on the stone table, fingers still calloused from centuries of working the forge. “You speak like we don’t feel it. The whole damned mountain’s been humming with it for days. But what’s worse is that it’s growing. Whatever it is, it’s on a bloody fast track to the Second Order.”
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Seraphiel nodded. “The creature has evolved at a speed unprecedented in history.”
Gorak snorted. “Good. Let it grow. I’ve never been one to turn down a proper challenge. Whatever it is, we can crush it before it becomes a real problem.”
“Crushing it,” Elandor said smoothly, “might not be as simple as you believe, Gorak. Not all threats can be faced head-on with brute force.”
Gorak’s lips curled into a sneer. “Is that how you justify hiding in your trees every time a war breaks out? The elves always find a way to disappear when things get difficult.”
Elandor smiled faintly, his green eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. “Perhaps. Or perhaps we simply choose our battles more wisely than those who charge headlong into the fray, only to bleed for nothing.”
“Enough!” Zerathiel’s voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the exchange. His steely gaze moved between Gorak and Elandor. “This is not the time for old grudges. We’re facing something we don’t fully understand.”
“Understand this, human,” Gorak said, his growl low and menacing. “When the time comes, I’ll be there, teeth and claws. Just make sure you don’t trip over your pretty little sword.”
Seraphiel exhaled softly, her patience wearing thin. “We must focus. What we felt is a shift in the very essence of the world, something powerful enough to unsettle the balance. The Scorching Badlands are stirring, and we all know that means trouble.”
Thurak, ever pragmatic, leaned forward. “You don’t get this kind of power for free. This thing—whatever it is—has to be feeding on something. It’s probably devoured more than we can imagine, and at this rate, it’ll reach the Second Order in weeks.”
Seraphiel’s wings fluttered slightly as she spoke, her voice even but urgent. “We cannot wait for that to happen. If it reaches the Second Order, we’ll lose the opportunity to intervene.”
Elandor, still the calmest among them, raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest? We hunt it down? The world is vast, and we know little about this new power. Acting rashly could do more harm than good.”
Zerathiel’s hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. “I am not in favor of inaction. We cannot afford to be caught unprepared.”
“Funny, coming from the race that’s always scheming,” Gorak muttered, earning a glare from Zerathiel. The Beastmen had never trusted the High Humans, their rivalry going back centuries, but the fragile peace of the Council kept their swords sheathed. For now.
Thurak leaned back, stroking his thick beard. “I agree with the elf, for once. We need to understand what we’re dealing with before rushing in. But we can’t just sit on our asses either. We need to keep an eye on this thing.”
Seraphiel, though frustrated with the division among them, nodded. “Then it’s decided. We will watch, but we must be prepared to act swiftly if necessary.”
"Then we are agreed?" Seraphiel asked, her eyes sweeping over the gathering. "We will observe for now. But should the threat grow—"
The temple shuddered.
It was faint, almost imperceptible to those not attuned to the flow of essence in the world, but to the five leaders, it was as clear as the tolling of a bell. A pulse of power, raw and primal, rippled through the very foundations of the citadel. Seraphiel’s wings flared wide as her eyes widened in realization. The others looked toward the horizon, their expressions darkening.