Heinz stood rigidly as the Imperial Herald concluded the lengthy declaration elevating House Dragonclaw to nobility under Heinz's lordship. Choosing his mother's surname to represent his new noble line had seemed safest, distant as he was from the other branches of his family.

Now, gazing out at the sea of hard, unfriendly faces filling the Hall of Lords, Heinz realized his mistake. The ancient Dragonclaw line had many cadet branches, nearly all of whom viewed Heinz as a bastard unworthy of nobility.

An imposing lord draped in finery stood, shooting Heinz a look of contempt. "You claim lordship over House Dragonclaw, yet you are not even pure-blooded!"

Heinz clenched his fists but kept his tone steady. "My mother was the eldest daughter of your House. I honor her name and lineage."

"You are still a peasant and outsider playing at nobility!" the man retorted as others murmured agreement. "House Dragonclaw recognizes no kinship with the likes of you."

Stung by the open disdain, Heinz drew himself up proudly. "Kinship, you may deny, but Emperor Aeron has granted me authority over all Dragonclaws. Even you must bend a knee to Imperial decree."

Heinz held his challenger's sullen gaze evenly. "Of course, any who find this arrangement...disagreeable are welcome to relinquish all Dragonclaw ties and seats in this assembly."

Furious murmurs swept the Hall, but Heinz stood firm. He may always feel like a rustic farmer playing pretend lord, but Aeran needed him to embrace this role. Heinz swore to himself then that despite his own doubts, no one would question his right to stand here as the patriarch of his new House, even if he must bluff and posture to manage it.

The lords continued grumbling, yet none dared openly defy Aeron's will by rejecting Heinz's edict. For now, his legitimacy was begrudgingly accepted. But Heinz knew he must cement his authority swiftly before restless challenges 0. Thrust unwillingly onto this stage, Heinz steeled himself for the performance of a lifetime

***

Amara glanced up impatiently as yet another minor Dragonclaw cadet tried questioning her exhaustive research into their family lineage. As Imperial Scholar, no detail was too inconsequential for her thorough examination.

"Come now, is reciting generations of grain merchants truly necessary?" the latest young lord scoffed.

Amara fixed him with a stern look. "The Dragonclaw ascent to nobility began with those humble merchant routes. Or do you find your own beginnings shameful?"

The upstart had the grace to look abashed. "Of course not, my lady. I only meant-"

"You meant precisely what you said," Amara cut in sharply. "That you consider such details beneath a family now mingling alongside crown heads and Imperial blood."

The youth studied his boots. "I misspoke, my lady. Please continue your important work."

Dismissing him, Amara turned back to her expansive scrolls. Such ignorant dismissal of the past was precisely why she labored here. The greatest houses oft forgot their own modest roots.

Her detailed chronicles sought to remind the Dragonclaws and other lines that nobility was earned by service and sacrifice, not divine ordainment. Perhaps in studying such histories, the Imperium's future leaders would find wisdom and humility to temper unchecked ambition.

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Of course, few here saw merit in Amara's scholarly mission. Like this prideful lordling, they cared only for past glories, not humble beginnings. But Amara would not be deterred.

Meticulously recording the rise and falls of bygone generations, her writings wove all the Imperium's houses together in one intricate tapestry, linking past and future. The glory of dragons and kings resided alongside commoners who toiled namelessly so those heights could be achieved. Only a learned mind recognized human dignity resting in each thread.

Setting her shoulders, Amara resumed writing. Her monotonous work held meaning, though few acknowledged it. She would illuminate the past and perhaps help guide the future. That was enough.

***

Mingus swept imperiously through the bustling Imperial Court, keenly tracking Aeron's movements. The newly ascended Thorneborn kept mainly to his family and servants, shying from contact with the Noble Houses.

This seclusion irritated Mingus. As Matriarch of the exalted House Blackturtles, it was her duty to advise and guide each Emperor. But so far, Aeron had rebuffed all subtle overtures, clearly wary of her influence.

It was time to take a more direct approach. Spotting Aeron conferring with his ever-present guardians, Mingus glided over smoothly.

"Your Radiance, forgive my intrusion," she purred, sinking into an elegant bow. "I've been remiss in not paying proper respects sooner. You have many burdens, and I would offer my House's knowledge to ease them."

Looking uneasy, Aeron offered a polite nod. "You are most kind, Matriarch. Forgive me, but I am still becoming familiar with the Imperial Houses."

Mingus waved a delicate hand. "Completely understandable. I am at your disposal should you ever require counsel from your most devoted servants in House Blackturtles."

She could see Aeron's guardians bristling at this bold self-positioning as his foremost advisor. Mingus suppressed a sly smile. Ruffling feathers was often necessary when establishing one's station.

"We shall not detain you further, my liege," Mingus continued smoothly, sensing Aeron's discomfort. "Please know I am your faithful servant, ready when needed."

With another deferential bow, Mingus glided off, satisfied for now. Seeds of influence were planted. In time, Aeron would recognize his need for her steady guidance. Then, true power would be hers to wield from the shadows.

For now, she bided her time, ever patient and watchful. The game of subtly guiding the Emperor down desired paths took cunning, not rash action. Her day would come soon enough.

***

Kammy grinned from her spot lounging in the rigging as the Nightmare sliced through the choppy black waters. After days becalmed, they'd finally caught a fierce wind to speed them on their way.

Down on the main deck, her rowdy crew sang bawdy chanteys, spirits high at the prospect of action after endless boredom at sea. They lived for the thrill of adventure, as untamable as the ocean herself.

"Cap'n, Astorium's just over the horizon now!" her navigator Gen called up. "If we keep this pace, we'll make port by nightfall."

Kammy swung down to the deck, landing catlike on her feet. "Excellent! We'll raise a fine ruckus 'mongst all them perfumed nobles once we crash the imperial city's gates."

The crew whooped at the imminent promise of battle, glory, and plunder. In decades, the Imperial Capital's defenders had grown soft on easy living without a real challenge. They'd be caught completely unprepared by the wild fury of Kammy's veteran cutthroats and brigands.

"Soon enough, we'll be drinking the Emperor's fine wine from his own jewel-encrusted cups!" Kammy declared to riotous cheers. The Imperium was about to get its first harsh taste of life beyond their sheltered shores, where only the strong and daring survived.

Gazing ahead at Astorium's pristine towers just peeking into view, Kammy rested one hand on her cutlass in anticipation. The great Imperial houses were convinced that no enemies could threaten them here in their stronghold. Kammy grinned wolfishly. The time they learned how wrong they were.

The Imperium's gilded nobles faced dark days and sleepless nights ahead once the Nightmare flew her colors brazenly from their conquered palace spires. Kammy and her crew would soon teach the whole empire the meaning of fear. These were but the first swelling waves of the coming storm.

***

Aeron shifted uneasily on his ornate throne as his five soul-bound knelt before him. He still felt uncomfortable with such deification, especially from youths close to his own age. But Imperial protocol left little room for informality.

After a lengthy, awkward silence, Aeron finally spoke. "Please rise, all of you. I wish we could talk plainly, without rigid ceremony."

The soul-bound stood gracefully, their expressions ranging from reverent to skeptical. Aeron spotted Menadue and gave him a sympathetic smile. At least one of them saw him as human still.

"I confess I know little of the soul-bound oaths or what is expected of me as your...master," Aeron continued uncertainly. "But I would value getting to know each of you if we could speak openly."

Keith stepped forward, head bowed. "Forgive me, Your Eminence, but proprietary must be maintained before the Imperdex reincarnate. However, we might wish otherwise."

Aeron suppressed a disappointed sigh. Keith's devotion barred any glimpse behind the facade. Turning to the others, he asked hopefully, "Does anyone share my wish for less formality between us?"

The willowy Amara glanced at Keith before replying carefully. "While sympathizing with your desire, we equally wish not to overstep the covenant."

The other soul-bound murmured agreement. Aeron sensed their discomfort at denying his request, but ritual and doctrine held fast. The yawning gulf between emperor and subjects could not be easily bridged.

"Very well, I understand," Aeron said, trying to mask his frustration. "We shall continue as custom dictates."

Bowing again, his five attendants withdrew from the chamber. Aeron watched them go reluctantly. He appreciated their obedience and faith in his destiny as Thorneborn. But their cloistered formality and scripted roles felt more stifling than comforting.

Was this to be his fate as emperor - always the object of awe but never true kinship? Surrounded by devotees yet forever alone on an isolating pedestal? Aeron hoped kinder days might still come once the heavy mantle of divine ruler sat more easily upon him. For now, the supreme authority fate granted him seemed only to keep friendship at bay.