Lord Richard of the First sat in his chambers, the room bathed in the soft light of the setting sun. In his hands, a brush glided over a canvas. His white garment was now stained with streaks of paint as he worked, intent on capturing the essence of a beautiful woman lying gracefully on a couch. Draped in a flowing pink garment, her body rested in serene beauty, while a fierce tiger and a cheetah lay at her side, their eyes watchful and calm.

"So, this is how you’d rather spend your time?" Lord Timbody of the Fifth's voice broke the stillness, his voice light with amusement. He sat across the room, swirling a glass of wine, his golden robes shimmering with the weight of his wealth. Jewels adorned his fingers and neck, catching the light with every movement. "I wonder what you painters find so entertaining in casting colourful ink on a whiteboard and calling it some kind of spectacle."

Richard said nothing, his focus unwavering on the woman before him. He paused, then dropped his brush with a soft clink. Turning, his gaze met Timbody's as the latter took another sip of his drink, his eyes still fixed on the canvas.

"Okay, that is a spectacle indeed," Timbody admitted, sipping from his drink.

"Thank you," Richard said, wiping the paint from his hands with a cloth.

Timbody stretched and stood, scratching his stomach. "A meeting is to be held soon between the lords," he said. "I see the peace movement has begun."

A maid stepped forward, carefully removing Richard's flowing white attire to reveal his muscular frame, even in his older years. "The Falcrest family is done for," Richard whispered, slipping into a new set of clothes. "This so-called peace meeting... Kabi may be a chaotic man, but his strategies are unmatched. Murdering those scholars 'first kin'? How dubious."

Timbody chuckled. "The despair on their faces was quite a show to behold. They couldn't even speak after the declaration of peace using their beloved daughter as leverage."

Richard called for the tiger, who obediently padded over to him. He ran his hand along the beast’s fur, the animal accepting the affection with a sense of reverence. "Let’s not be hasty, though," he said, his eyes narrowing with a calculating glare. "We mustn’t forget the reason we feared the union between the Seventh and Second. Bloodborne’s domain lies in the Seventh, and the Second possesses both skills, equipment, and knowledge we lack."

Timbody sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "Yeah, I see what you mean. But Bloodborne is impartial. Also, we can’t even work together on common ground to stop them if war breaks out. It will turn into a full battle for supremacy."

He lowered his head, his voice softening. "Kabal is a feared Lord, with countless warriors under his command and a trail of death in his wake. He is, after all, the Lord of the Land of War. But even he understands the damage a union between those two would cause."

Timbody poured himself another glass. "Our relationship is no different," he added, raising his glass in a mock toast. "If there's ever a chance, even as little as passing through the eye of a needle. I’ll take that chance and kill you on the battlefield."

Richard didn't say a word, his focus still on the tiger as he stroked its neck. "The Falcrests are holding another meeting with some of the lords as we speak," he said, his voice soft. "The family is being broken down, more and more... beyond recognition."

He twisted the tiger's neck, his grip firm but gentle, before turning back to Timbody. "A peace meeting may never hold, Timbody. It all depends on now, in the present"

*

Father Missui sat at the head of the grand table, his eyes closed as the chaos of raised voices and heated arguments echoed through the vast hall. His long, flowing white hair framed his aged face, as he remained silent.

Nathan lowered his head. He had just sent his wife out of the room; the tension was too much for her to bear. Zyrion leaned back in his seat, arms crossed.

Kabal slammed his fist against the table with a resounding crack. "Are you all really against peace?!" he roared. "This is for the future of the Nine Realms! For all of us, for our people!"

Mikah, seated to the side with his eyes shut, barely tilted his head. “You speaking of peace only ruins the taste of my tea,” he murmured. “What kind of peace do you expect to arise from forcing a child to sacrifice herself to your vile desires?”

Ansan of the Third cleared his throat, his voice gravelly but firm. “Kabal speaks the truth. We cannot let this pass. Either the demands are met, or there will be war. And none of us want that. There’s also the issue of the hunters.”

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Mikah’s fist struck the table, the force rattling the goblets. “She’s just a child! Damn it, a girl who hasn’t even learned to write! What is wrong with you all!”

Lex, the youthful Lord of the Sixth, chuckled, slapping his knee as he leaned forward. “Oh, so the usually composed Mikah is all fired up,” he said, his voice lowering to a menacing whisper. “If you’re so eager for war, just say the word. Stop dancing around it.”

Dvalin, Lord of the Fourth, tapped his finger on the table. “Even I find this abhorrent. Why is this even a suggestion? Their first daughter was killed by wolves—creatures that don’t even belong to this realm. And now their second daughter? A child? To be turned into an enforcer and a bride to bind all Nine Realms? She’ll be nothing more than a puppet.”

Zyrion glanced over at Nathan, who kept his head lowered and his fists clenched. This was his life, his daughter they were speaking of. Yet he dared not speak, knowing his words against the Lords would only spark a war. Slowly, he turned his head toward his only hope.

Father Missui," he whispered.

The elder Lord opened his eyes, his presence silencing the room. Revered as the most aged, knowledgeable, and prominent figure among the Lords of the Nine Realms, his feats in the world of science are even known across the vast oceans.

“You wish to use my great-granddaughter to absorb the Nine Realms’ energy,” Missui said, his tone calm yet cutting. “To manipulate her into becoming the vessel for your corrupt cores? There is no need for debate. If it’s a war you seek. Oh, Heavens bless my soul, war is what you shall have. Zyrion!”

“Yes, Master,” Zyrion replied, unsheathing his sword with a sharp click.

Three dragons descended from the stormy skies, their roars shaking the palace walls of the Second. The guards of every Lord sprang into action, but the Lords themselves remained seated, eyeing Missui.

Nathan lifted his gaze to Missui, his voice trembling. “Father…?”

Missui’s glare pinned him in place. “How dare you think I would tolerate the notion of my daughter—my blood—being wed to seven men at her tender age. I may be a protector of my people, but I will not allow such disrespect within my realm!”

The storm above intensified, lightning streaking across the sky as the ground beneath them trembled with his power. The air was thick with his rage, but before it could boil over, the doors to the chamber burst open, letting through a woman.

“Father,” a woman said, her tone pleading as she knelt by his side, clutching his hand. It was Mother Missui, the formidable second-in-command of the Second Realm.

“There’s a better way,” she said, her gaze imploring. “A way to secure peace and protect Emilia… even if only a little.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Mother Missui adjusted her spectacles, her measured gaze scanning the assembly. “An enforcer must be created for peace, correct?” she said, her voice steady. “One with even the faintest connection to every Lord's family energy, which, traditionally, could only be achieved through marriage. But what if I told you there was another way?”

“Speak,” Mikah said sharply, his attention briefly flicking to Kabal. “We’re listening.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Research has shown that one’s lifeforce is influenced by their experiences—the trials they endure, the knowledge they gain. Yes, marriage intertwines life forces, but it’s not the bond itself that alters them. It’s the shared knowledge and experiences.”

“Get to the point,” Lex whispered, leaning back.

Mother Missui didn’t flinch. “The Falcrest family has always been devoted to intellectual pursuits. If Emilia were to master the arts, knowledge, and traditions of every realm, she could forge a symbolic connection to each of you. This would grant her the qualities of an enforcer without subjecting her to manipulation. She would become the perfect candidate.”

Kabal’s fist tightened against the table. “Teach her our arts?” he growled. “You mean reveal the secrets of our realms to a Falcrest?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re already doing that by asking for her hand in marriage. Do you believe the Falcrests are weak? She would eventually turn against us all. Yes, your proposal might solve this situation for now, but it will sow the seeds for a far greater war in the future.”

The room grew heavy with silence, until Lex snorted and broke it. “Honestly, I don’t care if she learns my arts. It’s not like we have much to hide. And frankly,” he smirked, leaning forward with a dark chuckle, “the idea of marrying a child? Not really my cup of tea, I don’t like tea.”

Kabal glowered but said nothing, and the other Lords remained silent. Mother Missui adjusted her glasses and turned to Nathan, who still sat quietly. “Though this alternative spares her some indignities, she’ll still be a representative—an enforcer. She won’t have her free will.”

Kabal leaned back. “The child’s will doesn’t matter,” he said. “As long as she performs her duties, it’s irrelevant.”

Mikah’s icy glare silenced him, but Kabal pressed on. “Fine. I agree with the plan. An enforcer who knows nothing about us is as ridiculous as it sounds. Let’s conclude this meeting here and continue in the next.”

“Wait,” Father Missui said, his piercing gaze turning to Nathan. “Tell me, son. Do you wish for your daughter to be used for peace? Choose your words carefully. I won’t hesitate to kill these men and declare war right now.”

Kabal growled, his chair scraping against the floor. “You old fool—”

The dragons outside roared as Zyrion’s hand rested on his blade, silencing Kabal.

“So, Nathan,” Father Missui pressed. “What is your choice?”

Nathan rose to his feet, bowing deeply. “Thank you for allowing me to speak, Father.” He straightened, his voice resolute. “If it is for peace, and if my daughter retains even the smallest semblance of freedom, I will allow it. As Mother Missui said, we Falcrests do not falter easily. Whether as scientists, musicians, or warriors, we overcome every obstacle in our path. I believe in my daughter wholeheartedly. She is the precious gift my loving wife gave me. I trust she can handle this challenge with grace.”

He returned to his seat, his back straight. Father Missui raised a hand, and Zyrion sheathed his sword, the dragons outside dissipating in place.

Father Missui turned his gaze back to the other Lords, his presence as unyielding as stone. “Now, gentlemen,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “We can now call this meeting to a close.”