Chapter 45: The echo of a kingdom
The dawn air was thick with promise and ash. Thalen stood at the Citadel’s highest balcony, the Blade That Breaks resting across his forearm. Below, the gathering fractured and shifted soldiers with polished armor, refugees with bundles of worn blankets, and scouts returning, bringing grim news of stirrings beyond the outer wall.
Varos joined him, gaze fixed on distant passes.
"Reports?" Thalen asked.
"Scouts saw movement in the Ashen Canyons cavalry regiments, product of the Tyrant Council," Varos replied. "They ride under the flag of the Black Crown. No envoy. No warning."
Thalen inhaled.
The Blade at his side pulsed faintly.
"We must respond," he said.
Varos nodded. "Yes. Tonight the Ascendant stands. But tonight also your first act as leader. We ride at dusk. Until then, you must speak to the people."
Thalen squared his shoulders. "Then we speak."
At midday, the Great Hall overflowed. A massive chamber of stone and vaulted ceilings, it gathered representatives from every corner of Reuven. Farmers with bruised arms. Hunters with camouflage cloaks. Scholars with charcoal-stained sleeves. No longer villagers they were the bones of a kingdom being born.
Thalen stood at the dais, flanked by the Nine. Varos at his right, Lady Miraline at his left. The Blade That Breaks hummed.