Aeron's mother wrung her hands nervously as Lord Megon peered at her intently from across his desk. She had been summoned here without explanation, her mind racing with possibilities. Had her hidden lineage been discovered?

"Please sit," Megon said, gesturing to a chair. She perched on the edge, back rigid.

"I will get right to the point," Megon continued. "It has come to my attention you are originally of the Dragonrider clans, is this true?"

Aeron's mother paled, heart sinking. After so many peaceful years, her past had caught up to her. She nodded mutely.

Megon leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "There is no need for alarm. I do not intend reprisal for concealing this. But your knowledge could aid us now."

She let out a shaky breath. "My lord, I have put those days behind me. I am now only a simple townswoman."

"Perhaps," Megon said. "Yet a storm gathers, and your understanding of the old clans could prove valuable."

He stood and began pacing. "Powerful forces converge on our little town. Your son has become embroiled through mere chance."

Fear clutched her heart. "My son? What has Aeron to do with any of this?"

"Everything, potentially," Megon said darkly. He stopped and met her eyes. "If he is who some believe, the very fate of the realms centers on him."

Her pulse roared in her ears. She had given up everything to protect Aeron from the bloody legacy of her clan. But it seemed the past would not release them so easily.

"What do you require of me?" she asked steadily, though inwardly she trembled.

Megon's expression softened slightly. "For now, the only knowledge I might use to sway coming events in our favor and secure your son's safety."

She steeled herself and nodded. She would reopen old wounds to shield Aeron and hope her long-buried secrets might somehow turn fate's hand.

Megon studied her intently. "Then let us begin. There is much I need to understand."

With a heavy heart, Aeron's mother started dredging up painful histories. Her innocent son's life depended on it now. She prayed it would be enough.

“I never wanted Aeron to know the burden of my lineage. The blood of the Dragonrider clans carried as much sorrow as honor. But it seems I cannot shield him any longer.

I was born Astrala, daughter of the Dragonrider chieftain Rognar of clan Skyfell. My people had ruled these lands for centuries alongside our dragon allies before the first Emperor overthrew us.

My childhood was idyllic despite our reduced status under Imperial reign. I knew little of the old feuds and thirst for lost power that drove my father and elders. I was content simply riding the winds with my dragon partner Starwing.

But such innocence could not last. When I was sixteen, the warlord Gothreg, eager to revive the Dragonrider era, organized the clans to rebel against the throne. My father readily pledged Skyfell’s forces.

I protested allying with known tyrants like Gothreg but was dismissed as a foolish girl. In retaliation, I abandoned my clan, fleeing on Starwing’s back to build a new life far from pointless war.

Many branded me oathbreaker and traitor. But I refused to accept the ceaseless cycle of violence, even if it meant cutting ties to clan and kin. I had seen the horrors such bloodshed brought.

In time, I found a peaceful home here in Talheim and loving husband. My boy Aeron was born blessedly free of the burdens I had shed.

Or so I believed. But now you say my son is somehow intertwined in dark events stirring again after so many quiet years. Much as I wish otherwise, Aeron must learn his true heritage before fate forces it upon him.

I only pray we can temper the lessons of the past with wisdom and patience, not anguish. Our clan's legacy bears both nobility and ruin. May Aeron wield it with responsibility, untainted by blind vengeance or ambition.

For light and shadow both dwell within the Dragonriders. I can only guide Aeron toward the dawn, not the dark. That choice will one day be his alone to make, as is the burden of power.

I am ready to teach what I can so my son is prepared when destiny calls. But I beg you, Lord Megon - preserve his innocence as long as these trouble times allow. Aeron must remain free to find his own honorable path, wherever it may lead.

That is my humble request. I shall aid you as I am able, and place Aeron's fate in your hands. May the Formless grant us courage and wisdom for what is to come.”

Aeron's mother finished recounting her past to Lord Megon, her heart heavy with emotion. So many painful memories stirred up again after years of calm. Yet she did not regret opening old wounds if it might somehow help protect her beloved son Aeron.

Megon was silent, contemplating all she had revealed about her hidden heritage and the complex politics of the Dragonrider clans. Aeron's mother waited anxiously for his response.

Finally he spoke. "You have given me much to consider. Your insights into these ancient forces are invaluable as we navigate challenging days ahead."

He met her eyes solemnly. "I swear to you, I will act with Aeron's best interests at heart. The boy has shown courage and character in difficult times here."

Aeron's mother let out a shaky breath of relief. "Thank you, my lord. You cannot understand what your promise means. I only want Aeron to have a chance at a normal, peaceful life."

Megon nodded. "I understand more than you know. And we may yet guide events toward that end."

But then his expression turned grave again. "However, dark stirrings are in motion we do not fully grasp. Great powers verge on collision, with your son caught in the fray."

He leaned forward intently. "Aeron shows promise, but he is young and untested. He will need wise guidance, especially if his lineage is revealed."

Aeron's mother swallowed hard, acknowledging the truth in Megon's words. Her brave boy had grown much recently, but was still so innocent in many ways. The thought of Aeron embroiled at the center of deadly intrigues terrified her.

"What would you have me do?" she asked Megon.

"For now, watch Aeron discreetly," the lord advised. "Note what influences drift into his circle, what interests and ambitions take root. And be prepared to impart hard lessons when needed."

Aeron's mother nodded slowly. Her greatest hope was that Aeron may yet evade these gathering storms. But if dark wings closed in around her son, she would do whatever was required to shield him.

No matter how far they fled it, the past forever dogged their steps. But come what may, Aeron's mother would stand proudly at his side to face together what must be faced. This solemn promise she made as the last of the Skyfell clan. Their story was now Aeron's to continue.

***

Megon watched Aeron's mother depart, mind churning with all she had revealed. The bloodline Aeron had inherited changed everything. Megon was torn between hope and fear regarding the boy's unrealized potential.

Outwardly, Aeron seemed an ordinary peasant child, eager and exuberant. But Megon now saw the truth - those guileless eyes and humble dreams masked the spirit of an ancient warrior clan, a fierce and proud people who had ruled these lands not so long ago.

The very notion made Megon anxious. He preferred simple days of idle comfort, not navigating complex intrigues. Fate had chosen this province and now Megon himself as the stage upon which epochal events would play out. Aeron was somehow intertwined with forces poised to reshape kingdoms and continents.

Privately, the idea terrified Megon. He felt profoundly out of his depth trying to guide the destinies of kingdoms and mythical bloodlines. He longed to return to the reassuring confinement of his humble ambitions.

Megon shuddered at the thought of innocent Aeron ensnared as a pawn. No, he decided, whatever was required, he would guide the course of the coming tempest to preserve the goodness within this child. Aeron's was a fate worth fighting for, perhaps the only one that could bring light to the darkening days ahead. Whether he wished it or not, the future rested on this unprepossessing boy's shoulders.

When a knock at the door jolted him back to the present, Megon was lost in thought about Aeron's profound but dangerous lineage. It was Captain Petro, looking grave.

"My lord, you asked me to monitor the movements of the imperial diviner Deron. He continues visiting the home of Aeron, speaking to the boy at length."

Megon frowned deeply. "To what end? What interest has he in Aeron?"

Petro hesitated. "Rumors swirl that Aeron may be the 47th incarnation of the Thorneborn, the prophesied eternal emperor returned to claim the vacant Obsidian Throne."

Megon felt his blood turn to ice. The reincarnated Thorneborn ruler, here in Talheim? With Deron seeking out Aeron? It was too much.

"Then...if Aeron is this fabled heir..." Megon trailed off, the implications staggering.

Petro gave a grim nod. "Combined with his Dragonrider lineage, he would have unparalleled authority to reshape nations."

Megon's pulse pounded in his ears. This was no longer just about shielding one boy's innocence. With Aeron potentially revealed as the heir to two potent legacies, he could upend the existing order on a whim.

And men like Gothreg would not hesitate to exploit Aeron as figurehead for their conquest. A child of prophecy, under the sway of warmongers...Megon shuddered at the chaos that could unleash.

He met Petro's eyes fiercely. "Deron must be monitored at all costs. We cannot allow him to sway Aeron irrevocably. And no hint of the boy's lineage must spread."

Petro bowed. "Your will shall be done, my lord. We will protect Aeron, whatever comes."

As he left, Megon slumped exhausted in his chair. Deceivingly simple days were gone. He now navigated deadly currents with innocent lives in the balance, Aeron's above all.

The shy farm boy had unexpectedly become the fulcrum upon which the future pivoted. Megon would guide events with wisdom and compassion for Aeron's sake, or see all lost to ruin. The stakes could not be higher.

***

Aeron's father sat rigidly, trying to conceal his unease as the calculating Lady Dianoia regarded him from across the table. She had requested this secret meeting, implying she had valuable information to share. But her coy attitude told him this encounter would come at a price.

"You seem nervous, good sir," Dianoia purred, sipping her wine. "Whatever is the matter?"

He avoided her piercing gaze. "Merely wondering at the reason for such a clandestine meeting, my lady."

She smiled like a cat with a mouse. "Come now. We both know you are no ordinary farmer. Your efforts to hide your lineage are admirable, but transparent to those who know what signs to look for."

His blood turned to ice but he kept his face carefully neutral. "My lady jests. I am only a humble peasant by birth and breeding."

Dianoia leaned forward. "Let us speak frankly. You are the bastard son of Clades Andeans, are you not?"

Aeron's father closed his eyes. Somehow, she had ferreted out his deepest secret - that he was the sole offspring of the king's infirm half-brother and heir. A fact he had buried to live in peaceful obscurity.

He met Dianoia's intense gaze. "What do you want?"

She smiled. "Only your cooperation when the time comes to press your rightful claim to the throne."

He recoiled. "I renounced all claims long ago. I will play no part in courtly intrigues and power mongering."

"Come now," she pressed. "With Clades failing, you alone can counter the succession crisis. Are you not duty-bound to serve the kingdom?"

"The kingdom cares not for bastards," he said bitterly. "I must think first of my wife and son."

Dianoia's eyes glinted dangerously. "Take care, good sir. Protecting them requires ensuring certain secrets stay buried. Without my discretion..."

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

She left the threat hanging. With a sinking heart, Aeron's father realized she had backed him into a corner. If his lineage emerged, his family would be engulfed by forces beyond their control.

He rose wearily. "I must think on this further."

Dianoia smiled like a satisfied cat. "A wise choice. We will speak again soon."

He hurried from the room, guts twisted in anguish. For his family's sake, he had to keep this revelation from planting seeds that could grow beyond his control. But Dianoia held all the leverage. Outmaneuvering her would prove difficult indeed. The stakes could not be higher.

***

Everything was falling neatly into place for Dianoia. Megon remained compliant, blinded by his petty provincial concerns. And now, Aeron's father - the hidden royal bastard - was hers to command once the time came to make her move.

These men were but pawns, awaiting her orchestration in Dianoia's mind. When enthroned, she would sweep away the hapless pieces that had temporarily obstructed her ultimate objective. True power ever belongs to those bold enough to seize it, or so she told herself.

Meanwhile, Megon maintained his discreet alliance with Deron, keeping Dianoia unaware. He flattered her ego, pretending fascination with her schemes to remain apprised. Aeron's family had to be kept safe until the boy's role became clear.

Megon knew he must time his actions precisely to secure the best outcome for Talheim. Dianoia imagined him her blindly loyal puppet. But in truth, Megon danced to his own tune and watched for the moment to subtly cut her strings.

The time was drawing near for Dianoia to close her fist around Talheim completely. Her forces would soon flood the streets under pretense of aiding the town's defense. Then, her true intentions would be laid bare.

With Megon and Aeron's father subordinate, Dianoia planned to have them publicly validate her lineage's right to the throne. None would dare challenge the decrees handed down once her word became law.

Outwardly, Megon nodded and smiled at her thinly veiled threats, revealing no trace of defiance. But he had taken his own subtle measures to retain leverage when her trap finally sprang shut. On that pivot point, her confident schemes would founder, displaced by truth. For Megon had prepared his riposte in shadow.

Let Dianoia weave her tangled webs, Megon thought. His eyes were open, his movements his own. When the time was right, fortunes would reverse between spider and fly. Patience and care could forestall checkmate.

Dianoia believed the fool Megon's small rebellions were hidden, desperate gestures of false confidence masking his fear. But no pawn dictates terms to its queen, or so she arrogantly assumed.

Aeron's father's bastard lineage was now her leash to control them all. She would let her broken puppets dance a while longer, believing themselves masters. Their humbling approached swiftly. Power ever responds to might alone in Dianoia's philosophy.

Megon saw her mocking veiled threats as hollow bravado, doubt masking projected confidence. His submissive facade remained intact through every spin and turn.

With Deron's assistance, the key weaknesses in Dianoia's strategy would reveal themselves in time. She forgot that even queens can fall. No victory endures eternally.

Cunning and might alone cannot compel true loyalty when motives are laid bare, Megon knew. Those who rule through fear sow seeds of dissent. And dissent can topple tyrants, when their house is built on lies.

So for now, the deceptions continued... The true battle loomed beneath these outward smiles. Fate favors the patient, so Megon waited, watchful, appearing asleep. Soon their dance would reach its endgame. Then, fate would select who emerges victorious.

***

The day had finally arrived. Dianoia stood atop Talheim's walls gazing out imperiously at the three armies assembled below.

To the east flew the banners of Clades, the ailing king's half-brother whose support she had coerced through Aeron's father. To the south, the forces of the warlord Gothreg, temptingly within her grasp. And to the north, troops led by the ambitious Mardoc, who could be a useful ally or dangerous foe.

Talheim stood surrounded with King Rue now dead and succession wars erupting. The board was set for Dianoia's own play for power. She had but to determine which pieces to capture and which to break.

Turning to the pale-faced Megon, she gave him a razor smile. "Quite the spectacle, is it not? Now we will see where your loyalties truly lie."

Megon tensed. "This was none of my doing. I want only peace for Talheim's people."

Dianoia laughed sharply. "Come now, you need not pretend innocence with me. You must back a side. Best choose quickly before blood stains these lands."

Megon hesitated, uncertainty in his eyes. Perfect. She moved in for the kill.

"Mardoc's forces could overwhelm this town in an instant. Of course, my father's men would swiftly come to your aid..." She let the tempting implication hang.

Sweat beaded Megon's brow. "My people wish no part in this war for the throne."

Dianoia shrugged coldly. "What they wish is irrelevant. You must act now and accept aid, or be wiped off the map."

She saw the enormity of this decision weighing on Megon. To align with her was to sacrifice sovereignty and welcome subjugation. Yet to deny her meant destruction. Her trap had sprung flawlessly.

"Choose wisely, my lord," she whispered. "The course of history pivots on your next words."

Megon visibly steeled himself before giving his fateful answer: "I accept your father's aid, my lady."

Dianoia smiled. The game was won. Talheim and its lord now belonged to her.

***

Megon's head spun as he walked with Dianoia along the castle battlements. Somehow she had engineered this siege by three armies, forcing his hand. He had no notion how she had pulled the proper strings to bring Clades, Mardoc, and Gothreg all directly to Talheim's door. Her web was far wider than he realized.

"I must commend your boldness, my lord," Dianoia said, eyes glinting. "Summoning Gothreg and his forces here took courage. Though risky, given dear father's hatred of the warlord."

Megon blinked in confusion. "Gothreg's presence was none of my doing. I sought no part of any of this chaos."

Dianoia gave him a knowing smile. "Come now, no need to be modest. Making a pact with Gothreg was cunningly done."

Megon frowned, unease growing. "My lady, I swear to you I initiated no such pact."

Her smile only widened. "Of course, you need admit nothing out loud. I'm merely impressed by your subtle maneuverings. Perhaps there is hope for you yet in the games to come."

Megon's pulse quickened anxiously. Dianoia was purposefully misrepresenting his role in these unfolding events, though her true aim eluded him.

As if reading his mind, she added lightly, "Do not worry yourself trying to unravel my methods. You'll find you need only accept events as they happen and choose wisely when opportunities arise."

Megon suppressed a frustrated sigh. Once again she had orchestrated things masterfully to box him into playing the role she dictated, whether he willed it or not.

Dianoia gave him a coy sideways glance. "I hope you don't think my schemes are done simply because you've accepted my aid. We have only just begun to secure what is meant to be ours..."

Megon forced himself to meet her gaze levelly, resisting the urge to quail at the ambition burning in those eyes. He had accepted snakes into the nest - and the serpent's hunger had only just been whetted.

***

Dianoia had to restrain her laughter at Megon's pitiful efforts to conceal his maneuverings. As if she hadn't engineered this entire confrontation precisely to force his hand! The poor fool actually believed he had hidden his summoning of Gothreg from her.

It was almost sad how desperately he clung to his delusions of discretion and autonomy, even as her web closed inexorably around him. She had sculpted the events at Talheim perfectly to erase whatever leverage he imagined himself to still retain.

After their illuminating walk along the battlements, Dianoia caught Megon furtively meeting with that troublesome merchant Rurik, likely seeking some way to wriggle out of her intricate snare.

She almost felt sympathy for Megon. He was so utterly outmatched, yet persisted in his meaningless defiance. Once she was enthroned, his quaint rebellions would cease entirely.

Dianoia mused on what role Megon could still play when she had secured the crown. Perhaps as a regional governor kept under her heel. Or maybe a harmless royal consort to trot out for ceremonies, nothing more.

She smiled slyly to herself. Actually, she knew exactly how Megon could prove useful - as puppet regent for the figurehead Emperor Aeron whom she intended to install as her public-facing subordinate. With Aeron as nominal ruler and Megon as his chief adviser, Dianoia would wield all true power from behind her screens.

The board was set perfectly to place this trifecta of pawns under her control - the hidden royal heir Aeron, the oaf Megon, and through him, all of Talheim. Soon, not a move would be made without her approval. The realm itself was within reach.

Let Megon scurry about trying to reclaim some initiative. All roads now led to the same destination - Dianoia's complete authority. He had played his final card and lost decisively. Checkmate was unavoidable.

The only move left was to acknowledge her eminent victory and accept the role she granted him in the new order. Dianoia cared not if reality embittered Megon, so long as he bowed publicly.

Soon enough, she mused, Megon would stand proudly beside her as the realm's acclaim rained down upon its wise and cunning new Queen. Of course, Dianoia alone would determine where true power actually rested. But she was content to let Megon live with the illusion that he somehow still shaped events. It would make him easier to control.

***

Rurik stood rigidly, concealing his disgust as the warlord Gothreg leered down at him from atop his battle-scarred destrier.

"Well, little man? Has your master decided to surrender the city?" Gothreg rasped. "My patience wears thin."

Rurik hesitated before responding carefully. "Lord Megon remains occupied with other...delicate matters. I have come in hopes we might reach an understanding."

Gothreg barked a harsh laugh. "The only understanding of offer is between my sword and your necks unless Megon kneels before me by day's end."

Suppressing a scowl, Rurik tried a different tack. "My lord Gothreg, we have only respect for your vaunted lineage and past glories..."

"And well you should!" Gothreg shouted. "With Princess Andeans as my wife, I am heir by rights! Megon stands in defiance of the true king before him."

Rurik's gut twisted anxiously at mention of the kidnapped princess. Her plight had sparked this battle for succession.

"Might we discuss this rationally?" Rurik pressed. "Surely you see this course leads only to destruction. There are alternatives to war."

"Enough sniveling!" Gothreg snapped, hand dropping to his sword hilt. "The only 'alternative' you miserable worms have is bending your knees. Defy me, and soon Talheim will be ashes! Now crawl back and deliver my terms to Megon!"

With that, the belligerent warlord wheeled his horse around and cantered off. Watching him go, Rurik felt only a growing sense of doom. Appeasement would not placate the likes of Gothreg. He feared Talheim stood at the precipice of calamity with few paths left to avert disaster. If Megon would not lead them through this storm, they would soon be swept away.

***

Petro suppressed his unease as he sat across from the intense Lord Mardoc in the cramped war tent. They had agreed to discreet talks in hopes of averting further bloodshed. But Petro knew well Mardoc's reputation for ambition and intrigue. He would have to step carefully here.

"Talheim wishes only to remain free of broader conflicts," Petro began slowly. "I believe under wise leadership, our people could thrive together through cooperation, not domination."

Mardoc smiled thinly. "Spoken like a true politician. But we both know Megon flounders desperately against forces he cannot hope to control."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Dianoia pulls his strings and will discard him once power is hers. But we could alter that...if Megon weds my sister, securing my family's protection. I can offer escape from Dianoia's thrall."

Petro weighed his next words carefully. "Your sister's hand is a generous offer. But Lord Megon must consider Talheim's interests first in committing to any such alliance."

Mardoc's eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed, as must we all. So let me speak plainly - stand with me, and Megon could emerge from this an archduke. Defy me..." His hand drifted meaningfully to his sword pommel.

Petro tensed but kept his tone even. "Threats do not become you, my lord. Surely we can reach an understanding through reason alone."

Mardoc leaned back appraisingly. "You have spirit. I would hate to end our talks in conflict." He extended a hand. "Join me, brave captain. Talheim will thrive under my aegis, and you at my side."

Reluctantly, Petro shook the offered hand, his gut churning. He knew returning to Megon with Mardoc's "offer" carried dangerous implications. Yet refusal could provoke immediate attack. For now, he saw no choice but to placate the viper with hollow promises and buy time. The shadows encircling Talheim only grew darker.

***

Nabon stood solemnly beside the distraught Lord Clades as they gazed down at the peaceful visage of the deceased King Rue, Clades' half-brother. The wise ruler's sudden passing had plunged the realm into chaos and confusion.

And the abduction of Clades' niece and adopted daughter, Princess Andeans, by the brutal warlord Gothreg had sparked outright war. Nabon felt the heavy weight of failure pressing down upon him. He had underestimated their enemies, and tragedy had resulted.

Clades wiped his eyes, voice choked with emotion. "My poor brother, taken before his time. And my sweet Andeans, now in that monster's clutches!" He fixed Nabon with a tearful but resolute look. "We will make that fiend pay dearly for what he has done!"

Nabon bowed his head. "Your grief and rage are just, my lord. Yet we must not let emotion cloud judgment." He hesitated. "Passion now could play into our enemies' hands."

Clades turned away angrily. "While we philosophize, my niece suffers! Gothreg's arrogance cannot go unpunished." He gripped Nabon's shoulder fiercely. "You must find where he keeps Andeans and free her."

Unease prickled Nabon's neck. Such a brazen move could worsen the brewing civil war. But Clades' protective fury left little room for objection.

"As you command, my lord," Nabon acquiesced. "But promise you will avoid direct confrontation until the princess is safe."

Clades waved a frustrated hand. "Yes, very well, I shall wait. Now go! Time is precious."

Bowing in obedience, Nabon turned to depart. But his racing mind feared this reactionary path could lead them into ruin. Love and rage were poor counselors now. If he could not temper Clades' fire, the coming conflagration would immolate them all. The ashes of war cared not if a cause seemed just.

***

Deron paced furiously, no longer bothering to conceal his true stature and power before the cowering Lord Megon. The time for pretense was over. His divinations confirmed beyond doubt that the peasant boy Aeron was the prophesied 47th incarnation of the Thorneborn, the eternal emperor reborn.

Deron fixed Megon with a piercing glare. "You will bring the boy Aeron to me at once. As Thorneborn heir, he requires imperial protection now, not languishing here amidst this provincial chaos."

Megon quailed. "My lord, the boy has no inkling of -"

"Silence!" Deron thundered, his voice echoing with supernatural authority. "You have hidden the Thorneborn from his rightful guardians long enough under this humble guise. I will tolerate no further obstruction."

Sweating, Megon stammered, "Please, reconsider. Removing Aeron would only incite suspicion and conflict."

Deron slammed his fist down, rattling the walls. "You dare continue resisting my direct command? Need I call my legion of Protectors here to impose imperial order?"

At the threat, Megon turned pale. But to Deron's surprise, defiance still flickered in his eyes. "I mean no disrespect, but I undertake all actions in service of Aeron's wellbeing. Escalation endangers us all."

Deron's eyes blazed, but he checked his wrath. As much as he resented Megon's interference, the oaf was right that overt action could bring catastrophe.

With great effort, Deron restrained his fury. "Very well, we shall proceed discreetly for now. But the Thorneborn's days hidden end soon. When I return, Aeron had best be ready. You try my patience at your peril."

With that, Deron swept from the hall, trembling with rage. That insignificant lord had dared obstruct him! But no matter - Aeron would soon sit upon his rightful throne whether Megon willed it or not. The days of concealing the eternal emperor's presence were numbered. Destiny's hour approached

Deron seethed as Megon blocked him yet again from retrieving the Thorneborn Aeron. The fool had positioned guards to prevent Deron from reaching the farm where Aeron lived, clearly defying imperial decrees.

This provincial lord's insolence could no longer be tolerated. Deron would see Aeron installed upon the Obsidian Throne with or without this obstinate ruler's consent.

Eyes blazing, Deron summoned his most loyal and ferocious Protector legion, the dreaded 47th House guardians sworn to serve each incarnated Thorneborn eternal emperor.

"The peasant boy Aeron must be secured at once!" Deron commanded them. "Ride for his village and bring the Thorneborn to me! Lethal force is authorized against any who impede your sacred mission. Go!"

With fierce cries, the Protectors mounted their midnight steeds and thundered from the castle ready to slay all in their path. Deron's authority overruled all else, even provincial lords.

Soon Aeron would sit upon his foreordained throne beside Deron. None could stand before the Imperial Protectors unleashed in their crusade to retrieve the prophesied ruler.

Let Megon posture a little longer, Deron thought scornfully. The 47th House cared nothing for his meager power or defenses. Their mandate transcended mortal bounds.

When next he and Aeron spoke, it would be as brothers and equals - noble and Thorneborn, divine guardians of the realms. And woe betide any who dared obstruct that sacred reunion. Destiny's prophecies would be fulfilled.

***

Megon paced frantically, despairing at the alarming series of events that were now hurtling beyond his control. The arrival of the dreaded 47th House imperial guardians could only mean one thing - they sought to retrieve Aeron as the rumored incarnated Thorneborn.

In a matter of hours, the ferocious Protectors had demolished Megon's desperation defenses and reinforcements meant to shield Aeron. Wild rumors now engulfed Talheim of an eternal emperor reborn living incognito in their midst.

All Megon's efforts at discretion had been shattered.Between the swaggering 47th House legion brutalizing any resistance, and gossips spreading word of Aeron's supposed exalted lineage far and wide, Megon knew events had taken a catastrophic turn.

More opportunists and conspirators flocked to Talheim daily, drawn by the irresistible scent of an unprotected emperor heir in their grasp.

It was only a matter of time before someone successfully seized the innocent Aeron for their own ends or slaughtered the boy to eliminate a rival for power. And still, the 47th House legion rampaged on heedless, deaf to Megon's pleas for saner alternatives.

Head in hands, Megon groaned in despair. In trying to shield Aeron from notice, he had accidentally unleashed a perfect storm upon Talheim and the unready boy within it.

Forces collided and intertwined too complexly now for Megon to disentangle. No matter what he did, Aeron seemed fated to become a pawn or sacrificial lamb to far stronger wolves.

Megon had failed utterly. The best he could hope for now was evacuating Aeron's family to some remote sanctuary away from these deadly games of thrones and power. As for Aeron himself...Megon saw no path left to protect the hapless boy from whatever destiny now swept toward him, be it glory, ruin, or both.

***

Aeron shifted awkwardly in the ornate office as Lord Megon paced before him and his parents, looking uncharacteristically disheveled and frantic. Apparently the lord had urgent news to share, though Aeron had no inkling what it could be.

"Aeron, there is no easy way to say this," Megon began, running a hand through his hair. "You are...the reincarnation of the eternal Thorneborn Emperor. The prophesied heir returned at last."

Aeron blinked, certain he had misheard. "I'm sorry, what? The Thorne-who?"

Megon knelt before him urgently. "The old bloodline awakens in you, though you know it not. We must flee now before others come seeking to use or destroy you!"

Aeron shot his thoroughly confused parents a desperate look. "Lord Megon, with greatest respect...have you injured your head recently? I'm just Aeron, a farmer's son."

Taking Aeron's hands, Megon implored, "I speak only truth! You possess the soul of the unending emperor line. Please, I beg you, flee this place while you still can!"

Aeron gently drew back his hands. "My lord, I think you need rest and a physician. I am no emperor." He glanced again at his worried mother and father. "We should go and let you recover from whatever ails you."

Megon looked ready to protest but Aeron's father firmly guided his family out while casting concerned looks back at the distraught lord. Aeron fervently hoped Megon got the treatment he clearly needed. The man was obviously under great strain for some reason. Aeron said a quick prayer to the Formless for Megon’s health as they hurried from the baffling scene.

Aeron hurried from the castle with his parents, utterly baffled by Lord Megon's bizarre claims. He hoped the poor man would be alright.

They had just reached the castle gates when a deafening roar split the air. Looking up in shock, Aeron saw a dozen dragons circling overhead bearing fierce-looking riders.

Before he could even react, the streets erupted into chaos. Armored knights charged from all sides as common folk screamed and fled. Aeron was separated from his parents in the panicked mob.

Suddenly, a cloaked figure lunged from the shadows at Aeron, dagger glinting. Aeron stumbled back, certain this was the end.

But a blast of magical energy sent the assassin flying away. Whirling around, Aeron saw the mage Deron striding forth, eyes blazing. "You dare threaten the Thorneborn?" he thundered.

More armored men bearing Deron's crest joined the fray, cutting down assailants ruthlessly. Within moments, the battle was over, Aeron left standing stunned in the aftermath.

Deron dropped to one knee before the shaken boy. "My life for yours, unending emperor. We, the Noble Protectors of the 47th House, stand ready to serve."

As the other armored men knelt too, Aeron swayed on his feet. This had to be a dream. Assassins and dragons and...emperor? Him? Madness surely.

Yet the bodies and wreckage surrounding him were undeniably real. Aeron's head swam. If this was true, he was utterly unprepared. He was just a farmer's boy!

As Deron ushered him back into the castle for protection, Aeron glanced around wildly for his parents but saw no sign of them. He prayed they were safe. Because somehow, for reasons no one had yet explained, dangerous forces sought Aeron himself. He shuddered. Was he losing his mind or waking into a nightmare? Aeron no longer knew.