THE THIRD ESTATE: Voyager

The inn slowly returned to normal, but Dante’s face had shifted from anger to utter confusion. His mother had never mentioned her father before. Dante had always assumed he was either dead or no longer relevant in her life. To a degree, he was correct.

Their separation was complicated. Talos had stopped being an important figure in Julia’s life, but Dante had never been given a reason why.

“My grandfather?” Dante asked. “My mother never mentioned you.”

Talos chuckled. “Not surprising.”

He continued looking at Dante’s face, almost admiring it, as if he could see Julia in him. It made Dante uncomfortable, and Talos noticed. He continued drinking his coffee, which was almost empty, then raised his cup for more. The lady filled it with urgency, not wanting to cause any more problems with the stranger.

“She fell in love with a man who had already belonged to someone else,” Talos said.

He was speaking about Brock, but Dante didn’t fully understand what he meant. Darren had told him his mother died early in his life, so none of it made sense to him.

“My father wasn’t married,” Dante said, calming down a little.

He noticed some resemblance in the old man’s face now, and in his heart, he knew there may have been some truth to what Talos was saying.

“Maybe not by then,” Talos replied. “But he had been. Darren’s mother, I suppose. Your father was a busy man, it seemed.”

Dante wanted to hear more about his family’s past, but he knew there was something more important. Talos had not traveled all the way from Ma’sayla just to talk about old wounds. “You didn’t come here to reminisce about my mother,” Dante said. “So tell me why you’re here.”

Talos smiled. “I want you to come with me south. To the Pria lands. I came because I had to, not because I wanted to.”

Dante kept examining his face, but that aura still made him uncomfortable. Even though he had calmed down, there was still a tension there he couldn’t explain.

“You and Darren strayed from the agreement I made with Brock,” Talos said.

Dante froze for a moment. “So it was you?” he asked. “You’re the reason my father wanted me to go south?”

“Yes.”

“So it wasn’t because of the exodus?”

“The exodus was part of it.” Talos noted.

Talos continued sipping his coffee. His slow demeanor irritated Dante, who wanted direct answers. “So then?” Dante asked, more annoyed than before.

“Darren and his friends are going to get themselves killed trying to reach Jeshua. None of them stand a chance against his magic.” Talos studied Dante before continuing.

“I fear for their safety. I wanted you to come south so I could better your magic abilities.”

He held Dante’s eyes.

“To teach you dark magic.”

Dante stared at Talos, more intrigued than before. He had no idea that school of magic even existed, but then again, he didn’t know light magic was possible either.

“Why?” Dante asked. “Why me?”

“Because you and your mother were the only two who could access it aside from myself. Your mother chose to let go of it. You simply haven’t been taught.”Dante listened carefully. “How do you know I can use it?”

His curiosity began to overwhelm him. The anger he felt toward Talos slowly began to fade, as if it were becoming a distant memory.

“I can sense it,” Talos said. “I can sense many things.”

Dante put it together. The dark cloud from earlier had not been some trick. It was dark magic. Talos could use it.

Dante could feel the man’s power now. He knew Talos was someone to be feared. He was not some ordinary Pria using simple magic. The darkness had to be part of why the air in the inn felt so heavy, why everyone seemed to be breathing wrong around him. Perhaps it was because Talos radiated tension.

“Jeshua is a threat to the entire world, not just the three kingdoms,” Talos said. “He fears the Pria because he fears one of them learning dark magic. It is the only magic capable of destroying the light. No amount of false godhood can save him from it, and he knows it.”

“So I have to go south with you to learn how to use it?” Dante asked.

“Yes. The aether here is too stale. It has been perverted to levels that cannot sustain dark magic. That is Jeshua’s doing, but it can be undone.”

Dante thought about the proposal. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested.

Talos had asked Brock to take Dante south, but Brock had taken him to Darren instead. Then Darren had been tasked with taking Dante south, but the two of them had ultimately given up on that idea. Their decision had caused Talos to come to the three kingdoms himself. At least, that’s what Dante was able to put together.

“Why didn’t you listen to your father?” Talos asked, his voice carrying some annoyance. “You would be in Ma’sayla by now.”

“We decided not to,” Dante answered. “We thought it was impossible because of the blockades set up by Sifia and Oredae.”

Talos laughed. “You could have passed through.”

Talos pointed out that the blockades had weakened after Isthia lost control of Isledon to Oredae. Isthia could barely sail anywhere now, and even when they could, finding a boat willing to take them to Ma’sayla had become almost impossible. He also mentioned ships had already started sailing back to Ma’sayla, and trade had resumed.

“I can’t go,” Dante said. “I need to wait for my brother to come back.” He made it clear that Darren’s safety came before anything else.

“I doubt any of them are coming back,” Talos said. “What they’re doing is stupid, but alas, sometimes we learn through stupidity.”

“Why do you think that?” Dante asked. “They’re strong warriors. Probably the strongest ones in the realm.”

“That may be true,” Talos replied. “But Jeshua will laugh as they strike him. The Paladins are strong, yes, but they are only a pinch of Jeshua’s power.”

Dante sat with that for a moment.

“Even if I learn dark magic, what makes you think I’d be willing to fight Jeshua in the first place?” It was a fair question.

As much as Dante hated Jeshua for claiming to be the Son of God, he understood why others believed him. Jeshua had convinced hundreds of thousands that he was the Son, the Lamb, the Savior. He performed seemingly impossible feats. He healed the sick, the crippled, and the old. Some even said he restored a child’s eyesight.

Talos grinned. “You probably won’t,” he said. “But it would keep you safe from him if the time came when you needed to defend yourself. Especially against Paladins.”

“From what I understand, Aiko has now killed two Paladins,” Dante said proudly.

“Yes, but there will be more now. Stronger and faster.” Dante thought about the offer again, though it remained fleeting in the moment.

“Come with me south,” Talos said. “That pearl of yours can keep you connected with your brother if you get homesick.”

Talos seemed insistent, but Dante only looked at him, confused. “You come here, knowing the names of my friends, then claim to be my grandfather. You knew my mother’s name, and you think that’s enough to convince me to leave with you?”

Dante no longer sounded like a timid boy. He sounded like someone who had learned to defend himself. “I understand your hesitation,” Talos said. “I anticipated it before I came here.” Talos stood.

“I’ll be on my way now, but before I go.” He reached into his cloak. Dante tensed as he saw him fidget with his cloak. Talos placed something small and metal on the table.

“What is this?” Dante asked.

“Open it.” Dante stared at him, dumbfounded, then did as instructed. Inside was the face of a woman. Dante’s breath caught. “Is this my mother?” he asked. “A painting?”

He looked closer, but he noticed there were no brush strokes. The image was too perfect. The young lady seemed like she was real. He thought that maybe it was some sort of magic that capture a painting of someone in real time.

Dante turned it toward the light and felt his stomach twist. “How is this possible?”

He looked at the other side and saw numbers arranged in a circle. Little hands sat over them, unmoving except for one that twitched forward with tiny, steady clicks. The thing ticked in his hand. Dante almost dropped it.

“What are these numbers?”

“It’s called a pocket watch,” Talos said, smiling, realizing that Dante was perplexed by the technology. “And that is a photograph of me and your mother.”

“A photograph?” Dante looked at the image again, then back at Talos. “What is a photograph? How can her face be inside this?” Talos simply laughed as he stood.

“A way of capturing a moment.”

“That doesn’t answer anything,” Dante said, still staring at it. “Is this thing telling time? How?”

“Of some sort. It’s not very accurate anymore. Whoever gave it to me didn’t know what he had either.” Dante kept turning it over in his hand.

“But how? What kind of magic is this?”

“It isn’t magic.” That answer bothered Dante more than if Talos had said it was. Talos adjusted his cloak. “A memento for you. I loved my daughter. She was taken from us too soon.” Dante was still trying to understand what he was holding. A tiny metal object telling time on its own was already impossible. The image of his mother made it worse.

He had never seen her so clearly. “I’ll tell your father you’re doing well,” Talos said. “Growing strong. A fighter. Your tenacity is admirable.”

“You know where my father is?” Dante asked, now fully focused on Talos and not so much the gift he was given. Talos put his hood back over his head, then walked to the counter and gave the lady more sol than she had probably seen in a long time.

“For the trouble.” Then he turned back toward Dante, “you’ll see your father soon.” He continued, “if you change your mind, you are always welcome in Dul’seeah. I pray you take me up on my offer..” He continued toward the door, but stopped before leaving. He looked at Dante one last time and smiled.

“Your mother would be damn proud of you.”

Voyager 'The King's Road' 26

✍📕The Third Estate — Fri, 26 Jun 2026 00:37:32 GMT

AI generated images act as placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

Eastern Vales, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 (Occupied)

The rains had reached Eastern Vales with an unusual ferocity, though the sudden surge of water was much needed. It washed over the wounds left behind from the battle between House Forsyth and the Sifian Sultanate, making the plains look as if they had never heard the screams of men begging for mercy.

Rain had a way of doing that. It made the world look clean, even when it wasn’t. It washed away the blood, softened the dirt, and gave people the illusion that something new could grow where violence had just taken place.

Dante slept later than he usually did, but that was probably because of the darkness the rain brought with it. It made the morning feel like it hadn’t fully arrived yet. When he finally woke, he noticed Darren was already gone.

Probably eating breakfast, Dante thought.

Before starting his day, he picked up his book and began reading from the text of the Old Religion. “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” Dante sat with the words for a while.

He thought of his father. He thought of Darren. Then he prayed for his mother’s soul. He had never forgotten her. Her absence still lived somewhere deep in him, even when he didn’t speak of it.

Dante had learned a lot during his travels. He had become much better with a bow, much to Darren’s amusement. He had also started learning crossbows, much to Gamble’s approval. He still had a long way to go, but he was no longer the same boy who had first left home. I should go get some food, Dante thought.

He made his way downstairs, looking around for Darren, but he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Gamble. None of his new friends were there either. Dante thought that was strange, but hunger took priority.

As he sat, a young serving girl around his age came over and asked what he wanted to eat. “Whatever is available,” Dante said with a smile. “I’m not picky.”

“Now that’s a rare attribute in a man,” she said. Then she looked at him more closely. “I love your eyes. So blue. Are you Pria?” Dante hesitated, but he couldn’t stop himself from blushing.

“Umm, yes. Yes, I am.”

“Well, you’re safe here,” she assured him. “We don’t judge you. I’m Mara, and you are?” Dante fumbled his words, and his nerves were getting the best of him. “I’m Dante.” Dante nodded, though he didn’t know what else to say.

He looked out the window, but the rain obscured most of his view. There was almost no one outside, and the tavern across the way looked empty. His curiosity started to bother him again, but then Mara returned with water and a hot drink Dante had never seen before. He took one sip and immediately pulled the cup away from his mouth.

“Eww,” he said. “What is this?” She laughed. “Never heard of coffee?” Dante stared at the cup like it had insulted him. “People actually drink this?”

“You have to put sugar in it, darling,” she explained. “I like mine with a bit of milk too.” She poured sugar into the drink and stirred it before sliding it back toward him.

“Now try it.” Dante hesitated. He still didn’t trust the drink, but he also didn’t want to look like a coward in front of her. Her beauty wasn’t lost on him, and for reasons he didn’t fully understand, that made him want to try it again. He took another sip.

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “That’s actually not bad.”

Mara laughed at his expense. “Enjoy, darling.”

She walked away, though she looked back at him with a smile before disappearing toward the kitchen.

Dante had never really thought about women in any serious way before. Not beyond friendship, at least… but he couldn’t ignore that she was pretty, and he definitely couldn’t ignore the strange feeling that came with being noticed by her. After finishing the coffee, Dante felt unusually awake. Energized, even. He liked it.

He still hadn’t spotted Darren anywhere. Then he remembered the linkpearl. Dante went back upstairs to his room and started searching for it.

“Oh come on,” he muttered. “I know I have one somewhere.” He looked under the bed and finally found one. After placing it in his ear, he stood there for a moment, still unsure how to use it properly. “Hey, Darren?” he said.

Nothing. Dante frowned. Then he remembered the small button on the side of the pearl. He pressed it and spoke again. “Darren?”

After a short silence, Darren’s voice finally came through. “Hey, little brother. Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Where are you?” Dante asked. “It’s raining like crazy. I figured you’d be here to avoid getting wet.” There was silence on the other side of the pearl. “Darren?”

Darren finally answered, though his voice had changed. “Dante, this is something you can’t be part of.” Dante’s face hardened. “What?”

“We talked it over.”

“No,” Dante said immediately. “No, I wanted to go. Why did you leave without me?” He felt anger rising fast, faster than usual, but underneath the anger was something worse. He was hurt. They had left him behind again.

“Dante,” Darren said carefully, “do you fully understand the gravity of what we’re doing?”

“Of course I do,” Dante snapped. “I wanted to face him, Darren. He is not the Son of God.” Darren went silent again. Then Gamble’s voice came through the pearl.

“Dante,” Gamble said, softer than usual. “You know I see you as my brother too. Darren and I went over it, and as strong as you’ve become, you’re still young. We’ll be back soon. We promise.” Dante pulled the linkpearl from his ear and threw it across the room.

It struck the wall and broke. For a moment, Dante just stood there, breathing hard. Then the regret came. “Damn it,” he said to himself. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He stared at the broken pieces on the floor. “I’m sure there’s another one around here somewhere…”

Dante knew why Darren had done it, but that didn’t help him feel any better. Darren couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him, and neither could Gamble. Dante had grown stronger, but he still struggled in combat. If Jeshua was truly as powerful as people claimed, Darren would never forgive himself if Dante died because he brought him along.

Their father had trusted Darren to keep him safe. Dante understood that, but understanding it did not make it hurt less.

He had gotten better with his bow. He had trained and survived. He had prayed. He had watched men die and kept moving forward. He wasn’t some helpless child anymore, yet everyone still treated him like one when it mattered most.

He had been looking forward to traveling into Isthia with them. He wanted to stand beside Darren, not behind him. He wanted to prove he belonged there.

While Dante sat there stewing over Darren’s “betrayal”, he heard a knock on his door.

“Hey,” the serving girl from earlier called gently. “Are you alright? I heard something loud and yelling.” Dante took a breath, then opened the door.

“Oh,” he said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I think that drink you gave me did something to me.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell me that really was the first time you’ve had coffee.”

Dante looked away, blushing again. “It was.”

She smiled. “Looks like I changed your life.”

“Yeah,” Dante said, awkwardly. “I guess you have.” She reached up and placed her hand lightly against his cheek. “Well, if you need anything, don’t be shy to ask.”

That sent Dante somewhere he wasn’t expecting. He quickly thanked her, then shut the door a little too fast. He stood there for a moment, staring at the wood in front of him.

God damn you, Darren.

The King’s Road, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

The party had traveled through the night from Eastern Vales, facing few dangers along the way. Most of them were dealt with quickly. When you had the combined arms of six gifted warriors, there wasn’t much that could stand in your way. Or so they hoped.

They rode on horseback, accompanied by two Sifian soldiers who proudly held the banners of the Sultanate. Black and red, with the eagle of Sifia displayed for all to see. Once more, the party was alarmed by the lack of soldiers within a kingdom that was at war.

“Aside from House Forsyth, you’d expect us to encounter more enemies on the way to the actual city,” Gamble said. “This road is too quiet.”

“To be quite honest with you, this entire thing seems crazy,” Darren said.

He wasn’t wrong, to an extent. Six people had come together and decided they were heading to Isthia to assassinate the king. The decision had been made so easily, with little protest. In fact, Darren had only agreed to come because Dante volunteered them, not out of some realm-saving mission. Cade, however, was determined. He was willing to go alone and face his brother, but he appreciated the company, especially against monsters.

Zayyan looked ahead, his expression changing. “What is it?” Penelope asked. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Something feels wrong.”

“Halt!”

An Isthian garrison emerged from the road ahead. Cade counted about ten soldiers, heavily armed, with another few stepping out from the trees with spears and crossbows. They had been waiting for them.

Cade dismounted and drew his blade. “If you stand in our way, you will be considered to have committed treason against the crown.” The men laughed.

“The exiled prince who turned his back against his own House dares lecture us on treason?” one of them asked. “King Jeshua will be delighted when we bring him your head.” With this, the rest of them dismounted their horses and drew their weapons.

“Oh, so you’ve recruited quite the diverse crowd of would-be conspirators,” the soldier continued, looking past Cade toward the others. “I have no interest in fighting you.” The soldiers laughed along. “But he does.”

Suddenly, a Paladin struck the ground in front of Cade, knocking him back toward the party. The road cracked beneath the force of it, sending dirt, stone, and dust into the air. Aiko knew immediately.

“It’s a Paladin.” She turned to Darren. “Shall we?”

Darren looked at their current situation and didn’t think fighting was a good idea, but it seemed as if their choice was made for them. Cade charged at the Paladin with no fear, while the Isthian soldiers moved forward to cut off the rest of the party.

“We’ll take care of this trash,” one of the soldiers shouted, “while Sir Lavitz kills the traitor prince.” Darren and Aiko moved first.

Two soldiers rushed them, shields raised, swords drawn. Darren didn’t wait for them to close the gap. He bent his knees and launched himself forward. For a moment, he was above them, his spear twisting in his hands as the soldiers looked up too late.

He came down hard.

The first soldier’s shield shattered beneath the weight of the strike, and the man collapsed under him. Darren rolled off his back and kicked himself upward, flipping over the second soldier’s blade before driving the blunt end of his spear into the man’s throat. The soldier stumbled back, choking, and Aiko finished him before he hit the ground.

Her knives were already in her hands.

There was no hesitation this time. No weakness in her stance. No reminder of the injuries that had nearly killed her. She moved like she had before Greyhaven. Fast, precise, and cold. A soldier swung at her, but she slipped beneath the blade and dragged one knife across the inside of his wrist. His sword fell from his hand. Her second knife followed, cutting across the side of his neck.

He dropped to his knees, trying to hold the wound closed. Aiko was already gone and Darren landed beside her. “You’re moving better,” he said.

“I know. It feels good to be back to normal.” Aiko replied.

Another soldier lunged at her from behind, but Darren saw him first. He jumped again, higher this time, using the broken shield on the ground as a step. He kicked off it, spun over Aiko, and drove his spear straight through the man’s chest. The soldier flew backward and crashed into another, taking them both to the ground.

Meanwhile, Gamble laughed from behind Zayyan. “I’m starting to think you’ve been holding out on us.”

“I have not,” Darren answered, ripping his spear free. “You absolutely have.”

Zayyan did not laugh. His eyes were already glowing. Three soldiers advanced on him, but they slowed before they could reach him. Their steps became heavy, their arms shaking as if the air had thickened around them. One of them tried to raise his sword, but his hand locked in place. “What is this?” the soldier asked.

Zayyan tilted his head. “Pressure.” The man’s armor began to groan. Then bend.

The soldier screamed as the metal around his body tightened. His knees buckled, and he collapsed face-first into the dirt. The others tried to retreat, but Zayyan raised his hand, and the two men froze where they stood, as if they had stopped in time entirely. Their bodies were suspended inches above the ground, their boots kicking at nothing.

Gamble stared at him. “That’s new.”

“No,” Zayyan said. “I just usually try not to do it.” The two soldiers began to shake violently. Their weapons slipped from their hands as Zayyan slowly closed his fist. The sound that followed was not loud, but loud enough for everyone to hear it.

Metal cracked, and bones followed. Their cries grew quieter until they stopped entirely. Zayyan released them. They dropped to the road and did not move, with their flesh liquifying through their visors from the sheer force. One of the Sifian soldiers looked at him, then quickly looked away. Gamble swallowed. “Right. Remind me not to annoy you.”

“You already do.” Zayyan chuckled, smiling at Gamble.

The remaining Isthian soldiers realized too late that this was not the fight they thought it would be. They had expected travelers, maybe traitors, maybe a disgraced prince with a few fools at his back. They had not expected this.

Two soldiers turned toward Penelope, believing she would be the easiest target, but that would be the mistake that would lead to their end.

Penelope stepped forward, her blue dress moving softly in the wind as if the battlefield had no right to touch her. Her long black hair blew across her face, and her eyes fixed on the men approaching her. One raised his spear.

She lifted one hand, and the air itself around them changed.

The road went still. Even the horses pulled back, sensing something wrong. A low heat rose from the dirt, not like fire at first, but like the world itself had opened its mouth beneath them. Then the flames came.

They did not burst outward wildly. They curled around the soldiers in a circle, forming a wall of fire that spun faster and faster until it became a tower. The men inside screamed as the fire rose above them, twisting into the sky like a living thing. Their shadows appeared inside the flames for a moment, dark shapes clawing at nothing.

Then they were gone. The fire collapsed inward, leaving only blackened armor and ash scattered across the King’s Road. Gamble stared in horror. He looked over at Penelope, completely flabbergasted. “I thought you were the nice one.”

Penelope lowered her hand. “I am, most of the time anyway.”

Another soldier came running from the side, panic in his eyes as he tried to flee toward the woods. Penelope turned her head slightly, and the fire followed him. It crossed the road like a hunting animal. The soldier made it three steps into the grass before the flames swallowed him whole.

Darren stopped moving for a moment, but Aiko picked up his slack. She had found her rhythm and did not want to lose it.

She ran toward the last group of soldiers, knives spinning once in her hands. One tried to thrust a spear into her stomach, but she stepped onto the shaft, used it to lift herself, and kicked him across the face. Darren appeared beside her in the next breath, leaping over a fallen body and bringing his spear down into the soldier’s shoulder.

Aiko caught another by the arm, twisted beneath him, and buried one knife under his ribs. She pulled it free and threw the second knife across the road. It struck a soldier in the eye before he could fire his crossbow at Gamble.

“Thank you!” Gamble shouted. “You’re welcome,” Aiko said, without looking back. Gamble raised his crossbow at the final soldier trying to crawl away. The man looked young, maybe younger than Gamble. For a moment, Gamble hesitated.

The soldier reached for a dagger hidden in his boot, which motivated Gamble to fire. The bolt struck him in the back of the neck, and the soldier fell forward into the dirt. No one spoke for a moment.

The King’s Road was quiet again, except for the breathing of the horses and the distant clash of Cade’s blade against Sir Lavitz’s. The Isthian garrison was gone, with the Sifian soldiers simply staring in awe while holding the banners. “I guess… they didn’t need our help, huh?” The other soldier glanced over and slowly nodded his head.

Every soldier who had stood in their way now lay dead across the road, burned, broken, cut down, or crushed by powers they had not understood until it was too late. Penelope looked at the bodies, then toward Cade and the Paladin.

“Now that makes things fair, I think,” she said, completely calm, as if what she had done required little effort. Aiko charged forward toward Cade and the Paladin. They seemed evenly matched. Behind Aiko were Darren, Gamble, Zayyan, and Penelope, ready to help Cade, but the prince noticed them.

“No! Let me kill the bastard. This abomination dies by Garuda.”

Penelope staggered as she was about to use a spell on the Paladin, but stopped. She could get involved if she felt Cade was in danger. For now, she let him have this. That was when Zayyan looked toward the trees.

His eyes narrowed. “Wait.”

A thin line of light cut through the rain of ash before anyone could move. It struck the ground between them and split into several smaller bolts, each one snapping outward with violent speed. The volley hit all of them except Aiko.

Penelope was thrown backward, rolling hard across the road. Gamble hit the dirt not far from her, his crossbow slipping from his hand. “Damn,” Gamble groaned. “What was that?” Penelope struggled to get herself back up, one hand pressed against her side.

“Whatever that was… it’s taken the wind out of me.” Zayyan had taken the hit better than the others, but not cleanly. Blood ran from his mouth. He wiped it away, but his hand shook when he lowered it.

“That was not Lavitz,” he said. “No,” a woman’s voice answered. They all turned.

Lady Seraphine, the Dawn Blade, stepped from the trees, her white armor stained by shadow and rain. Her light was not wild like Lavitz’s. It was controlled, showing her prowess outclassed him.

The Dawn Blade had been there the entire time, biding her time. Zayyan tried to raise his hand, but his body moved slower than it should have. Seraphine noticed immediately. “Immortal,” she said. “You bleed like everyone else.”

She moved for the kill. Darren launched himself between them, crashing into the road hard enough to send dust and broken stone in every direction. His spear caught her blade before it could reach Zayyan’s throat.

The force sent both of them sliding apart. Aiko appeared behind Zayyan and caught him before he could fall.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

“Turns out light magic is as strong as they say.” He responded. Seraphine did not wait.

She charged toward Darren with speed that made the air snap around her. Darren broke his spear in half, gripping both pieces as she came at him. Their weapons clashed once, then again, and each impact pushed him back. She was stronger than she looked.

Darren tried to use his movement to keep away from her blade, but Seraphine stayed with him. Every time he jumped back, she was already there. Every time he twisted aside, her sword found the space he meant to escape into. She saw an opening and raised her hand.

A bolt of light formed in her palm. Darren jumped before she released it, throwing himself high into the air. For a moment, he was above her, above the road, above the dead soldiers scattered beneath them.

Then Seraphine smiled. She threw her sword as if it were a boomerang. It cut upward through the air, spinning toward him faster than Darren could move. Aiko reacted first.

Phantom blades rained from above, striking Seraphine’s sword in midair. The force knocked it off course just before it could reach Darren. He twisted, barely avoiding the blade, but the movement ruined his landing. He hit the ground hard.

“Darren!” Aiko ran toward him before Seraphine could strike again. She launched her knives, one after another, but Seraphine moved through them as if they were rain. One blade cut across her cheek. She stopped.

For the first time since the battle began, Seraphine looked annoyed. Aiko placed herself between Darren and the Dawn Blade. Seraphine touched the cut on her face, then looked at the blood on her fingers. She laughed.

“Is this the best a Battle Dancer can do?”

While the others had their hands tied with Seraphine, Cade was gaining the upper hand against Lavitz.

Garuda moved with him as if the blade had been waiting for this moment. Wind gathered around the sword with every swing, sharp enough to cut through the dust and ash still drifting over the King’s Road. Lavitz tried to press forward, but Cade anticipated him each time. Every strike was met and every opening was punished.

For a moment, the exiled prince looked like the man Isthia should have had. Lavitz stepped back, his grip tightening around his sword. “You fight well for a traitor.”

Cade raised Garuda. “You must be confused, for the only traitors I see are clad in white.” Lavitz answered by filling his blade with light. The change was immediate.

Cade felt it before the first strike even landed. The air around Lavitz became heavier, hotter, as if the light itself wanted to burn through everything it touched. Lavitz attacked again, faster than before, and Cade raised his shield.

The first hit cracked it, but the second shattered it. Cade stumbled back, pieces of his shield falling across the road. Lavitz did not waste the opportunity. He lifted his blade and drove it into the ground, sending a wave of light tearing toward Cade.

Cade tried to move, but his body would not listen fast enough. Before the light reached him, one of the Sifian soldiers slammed into Cade and shoved him out of the way. The wave passed between them and split the road where Cade had been standing.

The soldier barely had time to turn. Lavitz was already there. His sword flashed once. The Sifian soldier’s head fell from his shoulders, and his body dropped beside the banner he had carried from Eastern Vales. For a moment, Cade forgot the pain and the exhaustion. He forgot everything except the man dead at his feet.

“You bastard.” Cade’s anger could be felt in his voice. Lavitz turned toward him. “He chose poorly. My blade hungered for a soul, and his was deemed sufficient.”

Cade charged.

The wind around Garuda exploded outward as he closed the distance. His first strike forced Lavitz back. The second nearly took the Paladin’s head. Lavitz raised his sword in time, and the collision sent wind and light bleeding across the battlefield. Dust tore from the road. The horses screamed behind them. Even Seraphine glanced over for half a breath before turning back toward Aiko.

Cade did not stop. He attacked again and again, forcing Lavitz to defend. Garuda howled through the air, and for the first time, Lavitz looked uncertain, but only for a moment.

The Paladin let the next strike slide off his blade, then drove his shoulder into Cade’s chest. Cade staggered. Lavitz followed with a slash of light across his side. Cade blocked most of it with Garuda, but not enough. Pain burned through him, and his knees almost gave.

Lavitz pressed harder. Parry after parry sent wind and light tearing into the road around them. Cade tried to regain control, but Lavitz’s magic kept eating away at him. Every clash stole something. Whether it was strength, breath, or balance, every hit began to collect on it’s debt. The wind around Garuda began to weaken.

Cade swung again. Lavitz caught the blade and smiled. “You were never meant to be king, boy.” Cade tried to answer, but Lavitz struck him across the chest with a burst of light that sent him crashing to the ground.

Garuda remained in his hand, but barely. Lavitz stood over him and raised his sword. He was so focused on Cade that he did not notice Zayyan behind him.

The Immortal moved slower than usual, injured from Seraphine’s earlier attack, but he still moved quietly. He stepped over the bodies on the road, his blade low, his eyes fixed on the gap in Lavitz’s armor.

Lavitz lifted his sword higher, but his lack of awareness had given Zayyan the perfect moment to strike. His blade pierced through the back of Lavitz’s armor and came out through his chest. The Paladin froze.

Cade looked up from the ground, breathing hard, as blood ran down the front of Lavitz’s white armor. Zayyan leaned close. “You should pay more attention.” He mocked.

Lavitz dropped to one knee, one hand gripping the blade that had pierced him. For a moment, Cade thought it was over. Then light began to gather around the wound. Zayyan’s eyes widened.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he whispered.

Lavitz pulled himself off the blade with a grunt, then placed his hand over the wound. The light under his palm burned bright enough to make Zayyan step back. Flesh closed and the blood stopped flowing. The hole in his chest sealed itself, though not perfectly.

Lavitz stood again, but something had changed. His breathing was heavier now and his stance was not as steady. Whatever healing he had done had cost him something.

Zayyan noticed it. “You can heal,” he said, raising his sword again. “Good. That means I get to kill you twice.” Lavitz charged.

Zayyan met him head-on. As gifted as Cade was, the Immortal’s arsenal outclassed the young prince. Zayyan fought differently. Cade fought with instinct, pride, and training. Zayyan fought like a man who had survived too many battlefields to count. Every movement had a reason and every parry placed Lavitz exactly where he wanted him.

The two clashed near Cade, who tried to stand but could not get his legs under him. Garuda’s wind flickered weakly around the blade, then faded. Penelope reached him moments later and dropped beside him. “Stay still,” she said.

“I had him,” Cade said through clenched teeth. “For what it’s worth,” Penelope answered, pressing her hand against the wound in his side, “you did. Until he used his magic.”

Cade gave a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a cough. Penelope focused what healing magic she could muster. It was not clean, and it was not painless, but it was enough to stop the bleeding from getting worse. Cade watched Zayyan and Lavitz fight through blurred vision.

Zayyan was faster than Lavitz now, and it was clear he had the advantage.

Lavitz swung wide, trying to force Zayyan back with strength, but Zayyan slipped beneath the blade and cut across the Paladin’s side. Lavitz grunted and stumbled. He tried to answer with light, but the glow around his sword flickered. Healing the wound in his chest had cost him more than he wanted to admit.

Zayyan noticed. “There it is,” he said. Lavitz attacked again, but his movements were slower now. Still dangerous, but slower. Zayyan parried the first strike, stepped around the second, then drove his shoulder into Lavitz’s chest, forcing him back toward Cade.

Lady Seraphine felt him losing. She turned from Aiko and raised her hand toward Zayyan. A wave of light tore across the battlefield. Darren saw it first.

He had recovered enough to move, though not cleanly. His body screamed against him, but he ignored it. He launched himself forward with the full force of Breakspear, using the same kind of opening Zayyan had used against Lavitz.

Seraphine was focused on Zayyan, and that was her mistake. Darren crashed into her from the side, driving Breakspear into her armor and sending them both across the road. Her blast still struck Zayyan, but not with its full force. Even weakened, it was enough.

Zayyan was knocked hard to the ground. He tried to rise, but his arm gave out beneath him. His whole body felt like it was betraying him. “How can one blast weaken me so?” he muttered. Lavitz saw him fall.

Weak from healing his earlier wound, the Paladin could not move as fast as before, but he was still formidable. He raised his sword and stepped toward Zayyan, determined to finish him before the Immortal could recover, while Cade watched helplessly from the ground.

He pushed Penelope’s hand away and forced himself up. “Cade, no,” Penelope said. “You can’t engage. You’re too weak.”

“I am not letting that man die in my stead.” Cade adjusted his grip on Garuda. His legs shook beneath him, and every breath hurt, but he kept his eyes on Lavitz. Then he remembered Seraphine.

The way she had thrown her sword through the air, trusting the light to guide it. Cade did not have light, but he had wind. He pulled back and threw Garuda.

The blade spun through the air, carried by a violent current that wrapped around it as if it was sentient. Lavitz turned too late. The wind changed direction mid-flight, bending the sword’s path around his raised guard. Garuda cut through his neck.

Lavitz’s head left his shoulders, and his body stood for one impossible moment before collapsing beside Zayyan. The road went still. Cade dropped to one knee, breathing hard, his hand now lowered. Garuda had accurately hit it’s target, settling next to Zayyan.

Zayyan looked at the dead Paladin, then back at Cade. “I had him,” he said weakly. Cade coughed. “You did, until you got hit by light magic.” Both laughed, but not for long. Their pain was too great.

Not far from them, Seraphine forced herself back to her feet. Darren had wounded her, but not enough. Blood ran down the side of her armor where Breakspear had pierced through, yet the light around her blade still burned.

Darren tried to stand, but his body gave out. Seraphine looked down at him. “You fool,” she said. “That won’t kill me.”

“No,” Darren said, breathing hard.

Aiko appeared behind her, “but this will.” Seraphine turned, but not fast enough.

Aiko drove one knife into the gap beneath Seraphine’s arm, then pulled her close before the Paladin could use her light. Seraphine tried to break free, but Aiko moved with the same cold precision she had shown before Greyhaven. Her second blade flashed once across Seraphine’s throat.

Seraphine staggered back, one hand reaching for the wound. Aiko did not give her time. She stepped in and finished it. Lady Seraphine’s head rolled across the King’s Road and came to rest near the bodies of the soldiers she had hidden behind. Aiko stood over her, breathing hard, knives dripping in her hands.

For a moment, no one spoke. The Paladins were dead and so were the Isthian soldiers. The King’s Road belonged to them again. Gamble ran to Zayyan to make sure he was okay. “Hey slow, slowly, or you might not live up to your name, Immortal.”

Zayyan noticed Gamble come to his aid, “I thought you a jester.” Zayyan chuckled. “But now, I see you as a friend.”

Check out our 3rdestate Podcast, where we do deep dive companion podcasts for the novels featured on our publication.

The Technate

Joshua Haldeman’s dreams of a technocracy are finally realized through his grandson, who mercilessly strives to complete his goal: a Technate. Based on Malthusian principles of population control, the upper echelons of technology have decided that not everyone is meant to inherit the Earth. Read “The Technate”, a fictional telling of the world falling apart through the eyes of your everyday American family.

See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

What happens when someone with borderline personality disorder meets someone with narcissistic personality disorder? At first, serenity, but eventually, chaos. When Ben meets Christine, his life is at rock bottom. Having to give up his apartment due to not making enough money to sustain himself, Ben sees Christine as heaven sent, as she falls in “love” with Ben and shows him, for the first time, what love is and should be. Ben becomes attached immediately, because he believes he met the love of his life. She loved him when he had nothing. One fears abandonment, while the other one holds control. Eventually, boundaries collide, leading Ben down a depressive cycle that lasts for years.

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

The Three Kingdoms are at peace due to the efforts of both Isthia and Sifia to ensure peace and trade prosper. The old king of Isthia, King Leonardo, is due to pass away soon due to illness, and his eldest son, Jeshua, is set to take the throne. The Sultan doesn’t trust him, and fears he may destroy the peace that has existed for almost a century. Believing to be the true son of God and the prophecy foretold within the texts of the Old Religion due to his ability to use light magic: a power that only God himself is said to wield. Join Darren and his friends as they travel through an ever changing world where nothing is not as it seems.

Voyager 'King of Kings' 25

✍📕The Third Estate — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 15:35:46 GMT

AI generated images act as placeholders and will not, or will they EVER, be included in the final product. This is simply for algorithmic purposes.

Isthia City, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

The sun had begun to set on the horizon as dusk fell upon Isthia. The city streets were empty now, with most stalls closed due to major trade arteries being severed. Men sat together and reminisced about the days when the streets were bustling with life. Humans and Pria co-existed with little issue, but now it seemed like a distant memory.

Everyone knew what was causing this. No one dared speak against the King.

Outside the city gates, a line of people stretched as far as the eye could see. They had come from every corner of Isthia, Sifia, and even Oredae. Word of Jeshua’s healing abilities had spread across the realm, and many had traveled for weeks in hopes of receiving a miracle.

The gates never opened for them, but they still prayed and waited. The still believed. Lady Seraphine rode toward the city from Isledon, her blade dull from those she had slain. As she approached the gates, desperate voices cried out for help.

“My lady!”

“Please!” They would cry out, begging for acceptance.

“My daughter is dying!” An Isthian shouted from the crowd, holding his sickly daughter. “Please…”

“Let us in! We pray for the Son of God to restore us!”

Seraphine never acknowledged them. She continued forward, following the orders of her King. The gates were becoming increasingly chaotic. Soldiers struggled to keep order while repeating the same answer over and over. “The King cannot see anyone at this time.”

“Lady Seraphine,” one of the guards said as he bowed and opened the gate. “You ride with much grace, my lady.” Seraphine smiled. “You flatter me.”

Her eyes drifted toward the masses gathered outside the walls. “What are we to do with these vermin?” The guard exchanged a glance with another soldier.

“We do not know, my lady. We have attempted to send them home, but they refuse to leave.” That much was obvious.

Makeshift shelters had begun to appear outside the city walls. What was once empty land was slowly becoming a settlement of its own. A ghetto, much like the one the Pria once occupied. “They are becoming a burden,” Seraphine said. “Something must be done.”

She lowered her visor and continued riding into the city. People immediately moved aside as she passed. Some bowed, but most kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact. They wanted to remain invisible.

Everyone knew who she was. The Dawnblade. The woman who could kill them before they ever realized she had drawn her sword. King Jeshua I sat upon his throne, hearing grievances from his people and passing judgment where he saw fit.

“Your Grace,” a man said as he stepped forward. “We are starving. There are no imports coming from Sifia or Ored-”

“Do you believe I do not know that?” Jeshua interrupted. The man immediately lowered his head. “Oredae and Sifia march against us because of rumors. They accuse us of destroying their cities without evidence. They threaten war over lies.”

The crowd shifted uneasily. Everyone was hungry and afraid. Jeshua stood from his throne. “This will be corrected.”

His voice echoed throughout the chamber. “I shall provide what my people need. As we speak, enemies gather at our borders. The Crown’s first responsibility is protecting the faithful.” The people nodded. They had little choice but to trust him. The man bowed and stepped away.

At that moment, Lady Seraphine entered the chamber. She walked directly toward the throne and knelt. “My King. I am at your service.”

Jeshua smiled. “Ah. The Dawnblade.” He motioned for her to rise. “My Father has assured me that after this storm passes, my people shall prosper.”

The chamber fell silent. Jeshua turned toward the crowd. “I was not sent here merely to rule.” His voice softened. “I was sent to unite this realm beneath the one true faith.”

The silence deepened. “Those who kneel shall know His mercy.” His eyes swept across the chamber. “… and those who refuse shall know His wrath.” Several people lowered their heads while others whispered prayers. Lady Seraphine turned toward the crowd and bowed. Unlike the King, she brought proof.

Behind her rode a caravan loaded with grain, livestock, medicine, and supplies. The people erupted into cheers. Jeshua raised his hands toward the heavens. “Have faith,” he declared. “And my Father shall provide.”

The crowd cheered louder. Not one of them realized that no miracle had occurred. Only a caravan. That was exactly how Jeshua preferred it. The caravan traveled while people began to rush out of their houses. The city began bustling with life once more, with people acting accordingly.

No one took more than they needed, and some helped others get their food first. The soldier kept order as they also handed out rations. “Hail, King Jeshua! The King of Kings!” The people erupted in cheers believing that their king had provided sustenance. The chamber fell empty once more, with just the king’s guard accompanying Jeshua and Seraphine.

“Your grace,” Seraphine said. “I’ve learned troubling news. I pray they are not true. Jeshua smiled, “what news troubles you?”

Seraphine hesitated before speaking. “Oredae and Sifia have allied and plan to march to the city. They are very well armed.” King Jeshua walked toward a statue while lifting its hand towards. “Do you know who this is, Seraphine?” He asked.

Seraphine stared at the statue and answered, “Queen Bryn, the warrior queen.”

“Yes. My grandmother was able to bring the entire realm to bend the knee with a garrison of a thousand men. She slaughtered those who rebelled and made her reign clear.” King Jeshua admired her. He lifted the Tempest toward the statue.

“She used this blade to do it. Truly one of our greatest queens of my blood.”

Lady Seraphine walked toward Jeshua, but said nothing and stared at the statue. “Worry not, Dawn Blade. They will march. They will reach our gates, and when they do, I will kill them all.”

This caused Seraphine to smile and nod her head. “I am not doubting you, your grace. I know you’re prepared.”

“You serve me will, but if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my chambers.” Jeshua spoke as Seraphinie knelt once more. He was truly going to see his mother. They spoke little, with Casadine regretting putting the Crown on Jeshua. She also worries the most about her son, Cade, who she hadn’t heard from ever since the exile.

“Mother.” Jeshua spoke, but Casadine simply stared out of the window. She didn’t acknowledge her son.

“Sifia and Oredae march toward the city. We may be under siege within a fortnight.” Jeshua sensed the tension in the room. This caused him to walk towards her. He put his hand on her shoulder, which immediately got her attention.

“Do not touch me!” She screamed. Jeshua was taken a back, surprised by her reaction.

“Mother this is unexpected.” He responded, shocked.

“You are a demon. You have destroyed your father’s legacy with your delusions of grandeur. The Mistral name has been stained by YOUR madness.” She shouted, visible anger in her face.

“Your father never had to kill, to heal, to destroy to earn the love of his people.” Casadine lowered her voice, with Jeshua slowly stepping back. He’s never seen his mother this way, but he was noticing she had reached her limit.

“My true Father commands me to unite the realm. By any means.” He said.

“Your true father died of illness and was buried in the Mausoleum of Kings.” She stepped closer to him, “you are not the son of God. You’re a monster.”

Jeshua put his hand on his blade, instinctively. “… you want to raise your weapon toward me? Then do it!” Casadine pushed her son. She continued to do so.

“Do it. Do it! Do it!” She kept pushing and her anger was beginning to be felt by Jeshua, who would never dare to hurt his mother. “I don’t know who cursed me to spit you out of my body. You are no king. You are a tyrant.”

Casadine walked toward her bed and began to weep. Jeshua simply looked at her with shame. He loved his mother and believed she would support his reign. When he was a boy, he would talk to her about his destiny, his reign, and what his purpose was. She would indulge him believing these to just be fantasies of a young boy who would be king one day. She thought he was merely coming up with stories, but now… she sees him for the monster he truly is.

“Get out of my chambers. Let me be.” Jeshua looked at his mother and for the first time since becoming king, he felt guilt for disappointing her.

“Shame on you, mother.” He walked out of her chambers. He looked at the guards and said, “whatever she needs, you ensure she gets it. You do not leave this post otherwise. I want a report of her condition every hour.”

“We serve you, your majesty.” The guards bowed.

He retired to his chambers, having those who serve him take off his regalia. The armor of purple and white, a symbol of Mistral heritage. He excused his servants and stared out his window. He saw his city and his people. The caravan had done its job, but he stared at the people outside of the gates in disdain.

“Call for Seraphine.” He ordered a soldier to go and get the Dawn Blade. “At once.”

He looked at his desk with the book of the Old Religion. He sat and looked at the pages, putting his hand within the texts of His father and its holy power. “Speak to me, Father.” Casadine had cut something deep within him. Even now, as King of Isthia, he still felt shame for making her feel like he had wronged her.

He believed he was doing this because of his destiny, but to see his mother in such disarray caused him to seethe in anger.

“You called, your Grace.” Seraphine entered his chambers.

“Those people outside the gates.” He took a small breath, and commanded Seraphine, “I want you to bring all Isthians into the city, and anyone else who isn’t must leave or die. We will not allow these parasites to receive my grace.”

“At once, my King.”

She thought for a moment before asking, “and those who refuse to leave?” The King smiled, “they will feel the full wrath of Isthia.”

Lady Seraphine marched out of the palace to retrieve her mount. The gardens were unusually quiet, but they tend to get that way when the King is planning to do something questionable. The soldiers standing guard watched her ride out of the castle as they bowed. Then they looked at one another, speaking of rumors they heard about the pilgrims outside.

As Seraphine rode, soldiers marched behind her after she commanded them. She rode in the front with her small garrison following close behind. The caravan had cleared, and the people paid their respects to the Crown for providing them sustenance. Many bowed and jeered in celebration.

“Long live King Jeshua!”

“All hail the one true king!”

Seraphine would wave to them, but she cared little about the people. She was Jeshua’s to serve, and the people were simply variables that she wanted to make sure pledged allegiance to the Crown.

“Open the gates.” She ordered, and the guards complied.

With her soldiers following close behind, she gave them their tasks. “All Isthians and followers of the old religion. Separate them at once, and only those.”

The soldiers looked at each other in confusion until one asked, “how will we know if they’re Isthians, my lady?”

“Sifians have darker, brown skin. Ordanians have accents. If they follow Jeshua, separate them as well.” She smiled before saying, “any Pria, kill them on sight.”

“Yes, my lady. Let’s go!”

The soldiers ordered all of those who were making their homes in the ghetto to come out at once. They created several lines, examining the people as they came out. Lady Seraphine dismounted and placed her hand on the handle of her blade and adjusted her visor. She sat on a rock and began to sharpen her blade with a whetstone, which intimidated those who were watching her.

They had heard rumors about what she had done in the Sultanate, but no one was ever able to discern truth from fiction. Regardless, her presence was always felt and always respected.

“You, what is your name?” A soldier spoke to a young lady, who was visibly shaken. “I am Alysha.”

“Give me your bag.” He took the bag she was holding which caused the lady to shriek, but she soon apologized, “I’m sorry, sir. I am dying of a terrible malady and I was hoping King Jeshua would heal me.”

The soldier ignored her and poured the contents of her bag on the ground, disregarding anything that may have been valuable. “Are you Sifian?” He continued to look through her belongings, but before the lady could answer, he found the sacred texts of the Old Religion. “Pick this up, and go over there where the soldier is standing.” He ordered.

She picked ups her belongings with haste, and almost ran to the soldier. Others slowly began following her as the soldiers made their way through the lines.

“You!” He called for more soldiers to come to his position. He had found someone who may not belong. The family of four stared, nervous for what may come.

“You’re Pria.” The father of the family looked at his son. “My lord, we are followers of the Old Religion. It is why we came here. We are not Pria.” The soldier smirked.

“Your son’s eyes glowed, and you’re a terrible liar.” One of the guards seized the man, and the family began trembling in fear. Another grabbed the mother, and another grabbed their son and their daughter.

“On your knees.” The soldier commanded the father, who was stared at his family. “It’s going to be okay.” As he slowly fell to his knees. Everyone began watching in horror. When the soldier unsheathed his blade, people were beginning to feel the weight of what was about to come. The other soldiers commanded his son, daughter, and his wife to get on their knees as well. The sounds of swords unsheathing caused the young son to stand up and sprint. This caused Seraphine to laugh.

“Stupid boy.” She looked up toward the city walls and stared at one the archers positioned there. Without saying a word, he simply aimed and fired toward the boy, the arrow landing right through his back and piercing his heart.

“Noooo!!!” The father stood to run to his son. As he ran, the soldiers executed the mother and his daughter, causing people to scream in horror. Several people began to disperse from the line and began to run. Seraphine stood, sheathing her blade. She mounted her horse, and began riding toward those running away. She pointed her hand, with her palm ready, and began firing a barrage of light, chasing every single one without discrimination. Many in the line began to panic, with those who followed the Old Religion remaining, shaken as to what they had just witnessed.

One after another fell at the hands of Seraphine. Her magic was too strong. Some of the Pria tried to fight back with their magic, but it was no use. They were weak, hungry, and used all the energy they could to try to run, but there was no running. Their fate had already been decided.

The screaming spread through the camp.

Those who had remained in line no longer stood still. Some fell to their knees and prayed. Others gathered their belongings and attempted to flee. The soldiers moved quickly, forcing people back into place with spear shafts and threats.

“No one leaves!” The command echoed throughout the ghetto. A woman rushed toward the body of the young boy who had been struck by the arrow. A soldier intercepted her and struck her across the face with the pommel of his sword.

“Get back!” The woman collapsed into the dirt.

Lady Seraphine watched from horseback. “Continue.” The soldiers obeyed. More people were separated as more prayers echoed amongst them, with tears abundant. An old man clutched the symbol of the Old Religion against his chest.

“Please,” he begged. “My wife is dying. We only came for healing.” A soldier tore the symbol from his hand and threw it into the mud. “I saw your eyes, you demon. How dare you transgress against God himself.” The old man dropped to his knees and reached for it. The sword struck before he could touch it. Several children began crying. One mother covered her daughter’s eyes.

Another attempted to shield her son from the sight, but none of it mattered. The sorting continued. The soldiers had stopped seeing people, because to them, they were just enemies of the state.

The pile of bodies slowly grew. Lady Seraphine glanced toward the castle high above the city. She knew the King was watching.

King Jeshua up toward the upper terrace of the castle, high in the sky. He walked toward the edge, and raised his hand into the sky. “Bahamut. I call upon you to pass judgment on the unworthy.” Jeshua conjured a massive dragon out of the sky, clad in light, ferocious, and unforgiving. It flew straight toward the pilgrims who were running.

Suddenly the pilgrims hear a shriek. “Dragon!” One yelled, with even the soldiers trembling with fear. “What in the heavens..?” They had never seen anything like it before. Bahamut looked majestic, light magic exuding from his wings. Each movement, sparks of light came from him, as if he himself ruled the heavens. Those who had been separated were guided toward the gates, which remained closed. The soldiers unsheathed their blades, expecting pilgrims to try and run toward the gates.

Bahamut opened its mouth and without a second’s notice, he blasted beams of light out of his mouth. The blasts were too strong for anyone to comprehend. Anyone who was hit by his spell would become instant dust with their existence vanishing with no one left to remember them.

Lady Seraphine finished her quest and she, herself, stared in awe at the light dragon. “This is the King’s true power?” The screaming continued as Bahamut destroyed the very ground he blasted his magic toward. Before long, there was no one left to scream. The dragon examined the graveyard created by its magic, and flew back toward the King.

The people of the city below saw the dragon and stared in absolute awe. “Is this manifestation created by the king?” They heard screams outside of the gates, but they figured that maybe the invading armies had arrived. None guessed that the king killed innocents using his magic, but they would find out soon. If anyone doubted Jeshua’s power, from that moment on, they never dared question the king again.

King Jeshua, pleased with what he had done, smiled and walked back down to the castle. His guards who witnessed what he had just done trembled in fear. Some were even afraid to think in his presence, because they believed he could read their minds. None dared to question his motives, but whispers in the gardens began to spread rumors like wildfire. Out of fear, none dared speak the truth. The son of God had just massacred those who travelled across the realm to beg for his miracles.

Instead, they were met with fire and brimstone.

The few who were spared were lead into the city and toward the palace. No one spoke. They did not know what awaited them, and many began to pray for mercy.

“Stand at attention, for your King graces us with his presence!” The pilgrims who could remain standing, stood, but many were too weak, too ill, or too injured to do so. King Jeshua walked toward the top of the stairs leading to the city. No one made eye contact as he glanced across the crowd, the city, and the soldiers. Lady Seraphine stood next to him, smiling, as she relished in her massacre.

“Do not fear. The Kingdom has enemies, and their armies march upon us as we speak. These would be interlopes were dealt with, and received the King’s justice. But my Father is merciful, and he forgives.” King Jeshua spoke with authority. Those below hand continued to tremble in fear. “You have come for healing.” This caused many pilgrims to look up toward the King. “Healing you shall receive.”

He unsheathed Tempest and pointed it toward the sky. Soon after, rays of light shone on the crowd, but not of death, but mercy. Those who were too sick to stand, stood. Those who were ill, were ill no more, and those who were injured stood upright for the first time in years. The mood changed from solemn to one of joy. Once more, the people cheered.

“Long live the King!”

“Jeshua, the true son of God, has healed us once more!”

The rays of light continued to do their work, and those who witnessed the miracle knelt in gratitude, proclaiming Jeshua as their true king. The people in the city who bore witness simply stared in awe once again. The church bells began to chime in celebration, as the city erupted into cheer of jubilation.

The fear that had once engulfed the city had faded, and only joy was left in its wake. Soon, people hard forgotten the massacre that took place outside of the gates, and trusted the King’s guidance. Isthia had enemies from all corners of the realm, and they believed that he had culled those would be enemies as a necessity to protect them and their kingdom.

“Now go. Give thanks to my Father, for he is fair and just. Those who stand against him will face divine punishment.” Jeshua sheathed his blade, and returned to his throne. He sat, smiling, pleased with what he had just done. Casadine peered from the darkness of the chamber, seeing his son surrounded by the Paladins he had created and his king’s guard. Lady Seraphine stood proudly aside her King, satisfied that they had dealt a heavy blow to their enemies.

The reality was that King Jeshua slaughtered innocent people in the name of his Father, but that was soon forgotten as the pilgrims within the city were welcomed by the people.

The King of Kings had once more shone the light on the realm, with many people now bowing without question.

Check out our 3rdestate Podcast, where we do deep dive companion podcasts for the novels featured on our publication.

The Technate

See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

Voyager 'Interlude' 24

✍📕The Third Estate — Sat, 20 Jun 2026 16:13:59 GMT

AI generated images act as placeholders and will not be included the final product.

Eastern Vales, The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

The air within Eastern Vales felt lighter than it usually did.

The people were optimistic, despite the recent barrage of arrows and stone. Sultan Malik was preparing to leave back to Dar al-Saltana, as the Sultanate had gone long enough without its ruler, though he had spent the last fortnight waiting for President Voss of Oredae. Those injured were slowly recovering, while others prayed for those who had died. They created crosses to honor the fallen, even though their bodies had been burned.

Dante found himself sitting by a tree, close to the graveyard, reading from the book of the Old Religion. He stayed silent, praying psalms over the fallen. He reflected on just how far he had journeyed, only to end up going back to where it had started for him. He knew the mission that lay ahead, and he also thought about his father.

“I hope you’re well, father.” He whispered, “thank you for allowing me to meet my brother. He’s turned out to be a great man.”

While Dante prayed, Darren trained. He had spent the last few days sparring with Zayyan. The Immortal was impressed with Darren’s prowess, though his technique and magic were hard to beat with just a spear. Still, Darren never relented.

“I see why you became an Immortal.” Darren said, exasperated.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Breakspear. Your power comes from your brawn, but sometimes, having a sharp mind gives you the advantage.” Zayyan smiled.

“Is that your way of saying I’m stupid?” Darren laughed. “Hah! No, but sometimes you attack without thinking, and that is your weakness.” Zayyan teased. Darren wasn’t offended in the slightest, as he and Zayyan were becoming fast friends.

“Alright then. Once more!” With that, the two charged at one another and began another clash of steel. Darren knew Zayyan was stronger, so he intended to learn as much as he could.

As they sparred, Cade walked over to Dante. “God is good.” Cade said, as he approached the young man. Dante immediately got up.

“Oh, my Prince!” He said as he stood. Cade smiled. “There’s no need for that.” Dante nodded.

“Oh, I just… didn’t want to be rude.”

“I find you interesting, Dante.” Cade sat next to him, staring at the book. “You follow a religion that hates people like you.”

Dante sighed. “I get that a lot. My mother would always pray over me. She told me that the words within this book apply to everyone, including the Pria.” Cade listened intently, not wanting to interrupt him.

“So then, why use magic?” Cade asked, a question that everyone asked when they found out he was a believer.

“Magic is a gift, not a curse.” Dante answered. “If God truly hated magic, then why would He use it Himself?” Cade tilted his head, a sign that he found what he heard interesting, but also that it made no sense to him.

“Do not turn to mediums or seek out spiritists,” Cade started speaking, but Dante finished his sentence. “…for you will be defiled by them. Leviticus 19:31.” Dante said.

Cade chuckled. “Don’t think I’m judging you, friend. It is nice to have a fellow believer by my side.” Dante couldn’t help himself. “So then why are you with Penelope?”

This time, Cade laughed. “I guess we’re both sinners, friend.” Dante closed his book and began to laugh himself.

Gamble was making sure everyone’s linkpearls were working properly, and had handed many of them to the townsfolk, who couldn’t believe what he had invented.

“You have so many of these, how?” A townsman asked. Gamble kept it simple. “If I revealed my secrets, then I’d have to kill you.” Gamble had a young dame by his side, hoping Darren and Dante didn’t find out and potentially ruin the moment.

He noticed a lady struggling with her pearl. “You have to take your earring off!” He said as if it were common sense, considering the pearls acted as earrings. She ended up throwing it back at him. “To hell with you and this pearl then!”

Gamble sighed, whispering, “why are they so stupid sometimes...” As everyone seemed to be outside, mingling and bonding, Penelope found herself at the library. She was a seeker of knowledge, and any moment she had was spent learning from books.

“My lady, your eyes need a break every now and then.” Cade snuck up on Penelope, using a different voice she didn’t recognize, which startled her.

“You know I hate when you sneak up on me.” She smiled as Cade placed his head on her shoulder. “I know. It’s why I do it.” Cade smiled. “I could leave you to it if you wish. I don’t want to interrupt.”

Penelope looked at him and closed her book. “I’ll always have time for you.”

Cade pulled out a chair and sat next to her. She always smiled when she was around him, and Cade did as well. He wanted to capture these small moments in a bottle that he could relive again and again. He knew the coming journey was not going to be easy, but he understood it needed to be done.

Penelope put her hand on Cade’s.

“Why must you do this? Why can’t someone else?”

He stared down at the table. These were questions he had been asking himself for the past two weeks.

“Because there’s no one else who can do it. I need to be the solution to restore the realm.”

“Why does he think he’s the true Son of God? I don’t understand your religion, sorry.” She said, not wanting to offend him.

“He can use light magic. That’s really about it. He’s a bad person, and his heart has been darkened by something I do not recognize.” Cade let out a small breath. “Even from the moment we could speak to one another, he was obsessed with his abilities.”

Penelope listened, though she had a question.

“You told me he looks different than anyone else, like his white hair.”

Cade knew where she was going with this. His father had doubts as well, but didn’t want others to stir controversy among the nobles.

“I don’t think he’s my brother, or at least not fully.” Cade admitted. “Whenever the topic would come up, my mother always changed the subject.”

“You believe she stepped out on your father?” Penelope said, with a bit of concern.

Cade stood and walked toward a nearby window. He saw the Sultan riding toward the east gate. “I thought he was leaving today.” Penelope joined Cade.

“Well, it wouldn’t make sense for him to leave before Voss arrived.”

Cade continued to wonder why Jeshua wanted them to attack him. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about Jeshua’s strategies. Allowing two armies to march right up to your gates didn’t make any sense to him, but it also made him worry.

Worry enough to advise them not to attack. “I’ll be back.” He told Penelope.

“I’ll come with you.” She said as she stood and closed her book, causing Cade to smile.

As they both left the library, he saw the two leaders standing in front of one another. It was the joining of two nations who seldom agreed on much when it came to diplomacy.

With a handshake, the two titans came together, recognizing that a greater evil took precedence over petty differences.

Cade approached the two men, with President Voss welcoming him like an old friend. “I loved your father, and I shall love his son.” Cade nodded as he shook his hand.

“I tend to restore the realm to what it was before Jeshua took the throne.” President Voss stared at Cade as he spoke. “Sultan, I’d love for Cade to join us at the war council.”

Mailk chuckled, “of course! I’d have it no other way. Shall we?” Cade looked at Penelope, who understood her position. She kissed Cade on the cheek, while smiling. “I’ll return to you, promise.” Cade laughed.

“You better.” Penelope bid farewell as the men walked back into the inn within the room Cade had been held prisoner.

The three men sit in the room, with Cade observing the President. A younger looking man, perhaps a few years older than him, who represented a nation who elected him to represent them. It was a way of ruling that made no sense to men like Malik and Cade, who were use to kings and queens deciding the fate of the realm. The map of the Known World before them, they begin to strategize.

“The thing that concerns me the most,” Voss spoke. “Why hasn’t Jeshua marched his army anywhere? He’s nowhere to be seen.” It was something that the Sultan himself questioned. It was obvious provocation, but why leave the rest of the realm vulnerable to invasion? It was because of this that when the President marched, similar to Malik, he chose peace, not destruction.

“He wants us to come to him.” Cade said, “my guess is that he believes his magic makes him invincible.”

“Well does it?” Malik asked with visible curiosity.

Cade sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. He knew his brother, and he knew how he thought. “If I’m correct, then Jeshua has an ace up his sleeve. He wants your armies to attack. So we can’t give him what he wants.”

The Sultan looked at the map, observing how Isthia is protected by the mountains that surround the kingdom. He knew how strategic this was and made an invasion of Isthia hard.

“We can’t attack by sea, which in itself is already a handicap.” Malik said.

“Whatever navy they do have, we couldn’t find any evidence of.’ President Voss said, referring to how the Paladin that attacked Greyhaven was rumored to have come from the sea. “We thought they had ships off our coast, but none were found.” Voss said.

“I suggest limiting the initial siege. Not sending your armies in full force.” Cade suggested. “Until we know what we’re dealing with, we shouldn’t attack in full force.

“We mimic a siege.” The Sultan spoke, “we make him think we’re there to lay siege on Isthia City.”

President Voss examined the map. “I believe that may be the smartest strategy we have. Until we know exactly why the king is provoking us, we shouldn’t use full force.”

Cade spoke, “we just need a distraction for me to sneak in, and kill him. We don’t need a siege. Once he’s gone, this entire nightmare can end.”

Voss and Malik stared at him. “If this succeeds, you will be the new king.” Cade frowned at that. “I don’t want it.” He said.

Voss laughed, “would you like for us to turn your kingdom into a republic then?” This caused the Sultan to chuckle, but he said nothing. Simply stared at Cade.

“There is no one else that can hold the throne, Cade.” Voss told him, and Cade continued to think to himself that being a king was not anything he ever wanted, but at this point, it was the only solution to this equation.

“Speaking of, how’s your mother?” Voss asked. Cade hadn’t thought about his mother much. This was mostly because he didn’t want to think the worst, and knew Jeshua couldn’t hurt her. Or at least he hoped.

“I’m sure she’s fine. Jeshua is crazy, but he loves our mother.” Cade smiled, but deep down, he actually didn’t know what Jeshua was capable of.

“Cade. This mission rests on your success. With his magic, how do you plan on overcoming his abilities? One of our battledancers was able to kill a Paladin, but she almost died in doing so.”

“I won’t be by myself.” Cade smiled, “I have a strong group of people on my side.”

“Do you trust them?” Malik asked. This caused Cade to show a bit of doubt on his face. “Aside from Penelope, I don’t really know them… but I know their heart.”

“Zayyan will make a perfect cohort. His strength will be crucial to your assault.” The Sultan spoke. Cade nodded and stood.

“Then it is decided. I’ll let you two come up with strategy for your armies. I will leave in the morning.” President Voss remained seated.

“I think it’s best for you to go before we march our armies.” Voss recommended, “you are our ace, not the siege.”

“I trust you, Cade. It’s been an honor leading by your side.” Sultan Malik compliments Cade, seemingly restoring whatever fractured relationship existed between the two nations.

The leaders continued to strategize, while some of President Voss’s troops began to enter Eastern Vales. At first, the people were nervous, but once they learned that Sifia and Oredae had allied with one another, those fears began to fade. The Oredanian army bore the sigil of a nation, not a house. Their sigil represented a feminine figure leading a people, with their colors red and white prominently displayed. When the townsfolk learned how Oredae governed, many found the concept of several branches of power strange, and prone to corruption.

Darren and Zayyan were taking a break, sitting under a shade tree and trading tales of personal conquests.

“That sandworm you three killed. Rather impressive, and you’re a brave man for allowing that worm to sink you below the sand.” Zayyan said, followed by a small chuckle.

“I couldn’t have done it without help.” Darren admitted, while using a whetstone to sharpen the Breakspear.

As they spoke, a familiar figure in red made her way toward them.

“Did you tell him about the griffon?”

Darren looked immediately to where the sound came from, because he’d recognize that voice from miles away.

“Aiko!” He shouted. Darren excused himself from Zayyan and walked toward her. Aiko, however, ran toward him. The two embraced, though Aiko winced in pain.

“What happened?” Darren asked. “It’s good to see you too, love.” Aiko smiled.

Darren examined Aiko’s wounds and grew concerned. “Your thigh.” He placed his hand near the bandages and said they needed to be replaced. He then volunteered to take her to the infirmary.

“Don’t be silly. It was but a small conflict.” She smiled. “But you should see the other guy.” Darren shook his head, but tried to ease his concern.

“I’m happy to see you.” He finally relented.

“I am, too. I umm…” She stared over his shoulder and noticed Zayyan standing up, adjusting himself. “Is that an Immortal?” She hadn’t noticed him before, but once he stood, she recognized his attire immediately.

“Turns out, I have friends in high places.” Darren smirked, confidently.

“Odd, considering when it comes to social graces, you’re not exactly the best.” She teased. “Darren, I came here for you.” Darren looked at her, surprised.

“Don’t tell me you have another bounty you need help with. I’d help you, but we don’t have much time.”

“No.” She smiled. “Though a bounty would be a good distraction.” Darren looked at her, confused. “Distraction from what?” Darren then lowered his voice. “Are you pregnant?”

This made Aiko’s face change from pleasant to annoyed. “You fool, we haven’t seen each other in well over a year!” She punched him on the shoulder, while Darren started to burst out laughing.

“Okay, so then… I have a child?”

This time, Aiko completely gave up. “No, because being near death made me realize a few things.” Darren stopped teasing.

“Near death?”

“You haven’t heard?” She said smugly. “I killed a Paladin.” Darren looked at her, surprised and impressed. “By yourself?”

“What, do you doubt me?” She asked. This caused Darren to chuckle once more.

“I mean, I almost killed a dragon. Did you hear about that?” That lifted her spirits. “That is not what I heard. I heard you conveniently hid from the dragonfire.”

“Yeah… yeah, no. You heard correctly. If I ever meet someone who can kill a dragon, I’d buy that man wine for the rest of his life.” Darren said. He was unable to take his eyes off her. Even after so long, he couldn’t help how he felt about her.

“I came here… to be with you.” She finally said. Darren stared at her, and he could tell something in her had changed.

“As I lay there after the battle, I thought I was dead. It isn’t the worst thing to die in service of your country, you know?” She said. “But it made me realize what was important in my life. Not combat, dancing, or even drinking the finest wine the realm has to offer.” Darren continued to stare at her, unable to speak as he listened.

Aiko looked at him, smiled, and leaned in for a kiss. “You think I’d do well domesticated?” He laughed.

“Imagine that with twelve babies running around our home.”

Darren looked at her, laughing once more. “You’d be willing to pop out twelve babies?”

“Gods no! You’d be lucky to get one out of me.” The two held each other, but the happiness waned.

“I have to go to Isthia. My brother volunteered us for what I think is a suicide mission.” He said. “Isthia? Why?” She asked.

Aiko knew how Darren felt about Isthia. Though the kingdom was his home, he’d never liked it there. He compared the people to those in Bayt al-Sahra and couldn’t hide the fact that the sense of community there was much stronger, while the politics of Isthia seemed never-ending. It had exhausted him to no end, and he wanted no part of it.

Until now.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m going to kill the king?” He asked, in a hushed tone, not wanting anyone to overhear their conversation. “You’re not serious.” She said, as she stared at Darren. “Gods, you’re serious.”

Darren hesitated for a moment, finally realizing the gravity of what he was going to do. He had heard how powerful King Jeshua was, but regicide was never something he wanted to be part of. It also felt like an impossible mission. Sneaking into Isthia, potentially running into Paladins, who from what he heard felt unstoppable.

“I’m not entirely sure I feel attached to this. Dante said he wanted to go, and instead of stopping him, or making him see reason, I simply went along with it.” He explained. Aiko looked at him in disbelief.

“I forgot you have a brother.” She admitted. “But Darren. A king?”

“Would you believe me… if I told you I’m going with the Prince of Isthia?” Aiko laughed, thinking that at this point, Darren was clearly being a jester. She noticed Darren did not laugh, and in fact, she could tell he was being serious. She hadn’t realized how much Darren had changed since she last saw him.

“Is the prince… here?” She asked. Darren simply nodded. “The blond-haired man? Looks like he’s always brooding?”

“Oh shut up. Was he with that lovely Pria woman?” She asked. “To be honest, I know nothing about her, but I do believe that’s his lady.” He admitted.

“Lady, huh?” She smiled. “He must be really lucky, then.”

Darren stared at her, saying nothing else. He smiled, a genuine smile, with Aiko responding in kind. He noticed how much she had changed as well. She didn’t seem like the same woman who would sneak off in the morning anymore. She came straight here after having almost experienced death.

She had come to him, and she’d do anything for Darren.

“Do you have room for one more?”

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The Technate

See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

Voyager 'A Prince's Burden' 23

✍📕The Third Estate — Thu, 18 Jun 2026 16:44:21 GMT

AI images act as placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

Eastern Vales, The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

A fortnight had passed since House Forsyth attacked Eastern Vales. The townsfolk, along with Sifian and Isthian soldiers who would have killed each other a month ago, now worked side by side to repair the damage caused by the attack.

Penelope and Cade had ridden to Castle Forsyth together, only to find it heavily fortified by another one of Jeshua’s bannermen, House Calloway. Penelope had hoped to free the Pria still being held there, but to her disappointment, they remained captive. Cade promised her they would be freed one way or another.

Dante helped tend to the injured, but he had also taken on the unfortunate responsibility of burning the dead. He prayed over each body, tears rolling down his cheeks each time. Darren tried to comfort him when he could, but mostly remained silent, knowing this was something Dante had chosen to do. As much as it affected him, Dante continued doing the work others could not bring themselves to face.

Gamble had given the Sultan his own linkshell, and the device had quickly spread through the Sifian army. Malik could hardly believe it. To him, something like this was more powerful than magic.

Zayyan continued watching the perimeter to ensure there were no more surprise attacks. He found it odd that only House Forsyth had attacked, and he was grateful for it. Had more houses joined them, Eastern Vales might not have survived. Monsters remained rare in the area, which was normal for the Valians, but the men still kept watch.

Malik had not left. He wanted to remain with his army, regardless of the outcome. He loved his men, and his gratitude showed in more than words. Seeing the Sultan himself help fix a house was a sight many in Eastern Vales would never forget. Soon, it almost seemed as if the town belonged to the Sultanate.

Though Eastern Vales had suffered heavy losses, spirits were higher than expected. The people had survived. For now, that was enough. “To see a king help rebuild a town that belongs to the enemy,” Cade said as he approached Malik.

The Sultan had removed much of his royal attire for comfort. He looked less like a ruler and more like any other man trying to fix what war had broken. “And I’ve never seen a prince kill his own countrymen for the sake of his people,” Malik said, hammering a plank into place.

“Those people were not my countrymen,” Cade answered. “The moment they decided to rain arrows down on this town, they became terrorists.” Malik looked at him for a moment, then smiled. Cade helped him lift a heavy pile of wood.

“Now this is a sight,” Gamble said as he walked by. Cade glanced at him. “Sometimes it’s better to work together than against each other, don’t you think?”

“Those linkpearls are otherworldly, Sir Gamble,” Malik said. Gamble froze for a moment. The Sultan had called him sir. It was a mistake, but to Malik’s credit, he did not know Gamble. Gamble looked over at Darren, who was working nearby.

“Did you hear that, Breakspear? I’m a knight now.” Darren stared at him. Penelope walked past Gamble without stopping. “Knights don’t usually whine as much as you do.” Darren and Cade laughed, though neither laughed too hard.

Dante was with those clearing the bodies. It was the despicable part of war, the part no one sang about. If people spoke too much of it, it would strip the glory from victory, and the sycophants who ruled the realm would never allow that. “It’s okay,” Dante said to one of the Pria helping him. She was struggling to hold herself together. “I can do this one.”

He placed a hand on her back. She thanked him, and Dante told her to take a break. “You’re a strong man, Dante,” Zayyan said. He had come to help while still keeping an eye on the perimeter. “Someone has to do this,” Dante said. “Might as well keep myself busy.” Zayyan noticed the book in Dante’s hands. It was a book of the Old Religion. Dante had been praying from it over the dead.

“You follow a religion that wants people like you dead?” Zayyan asked. Dante paused before answering. “I’m sorry if it offends you. I can stop.”

“No,” Zayyan said quickly. “Don’t be a fool. I would never judge a man for his faith. I only found it interesting.” Dante nodded. “Besides,” Zayyan added, “your bravery is admirable.” Dante gave him a slight smile.

Back inside the town, Malik addressed the matter hanging between him and Cade. “Have you thought more about what I said?” Malik asked. Cade looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear. “Every minute of every day, Malik.”

The Sultan did not press him. He simply nodded. Before either man could say more, a rider came from the west. “Who holds this town?” the rider called. He looked around and saw Sifian banners hanging over Eastern Vales. That answered his question before anyone spoke. “I bring news from the west.”

Cade and Malik both stopped what they were doing. “I am the Sultan of Sifia,” Malik said. “I hold this town.” The rider looked him over and laughed. “I have no time for jokes. This is urgent.” Cade turned to the rider.

“That was rather rude. This is the Sultan, and you should tread lightly.” The rider quickly dismounted. “Please excuse me. I did not intend to be rude. I expected more from a Sultan.” Malik looked down at his plain work clothes, then chuckled.

“Can’t a man take one day to dress comfortably without being judged? No offense taken. What news?” The rider handed him a sealed parchment. “The President of Oredae sends his regards. I wish you all well.”

He mounted again and rode north. “The President?” Cade asked. Malik broke the seal and opened the parchment. He read aloud.

“The President, leader and protector of the Republic, seeks an alliance with the Sultanate as his army marches west. The King of Isthia has attacked the Republic, and the people of Greyhaven have suffered greatly. We consider the Kingdom a tumor, slowly rotting away the realm. Signed, President Aurelian Voss.”

Cade stared at him in disbelief. “Unbelievable. He attacked Oredae as well?” Malik stared at the document for a moment. Then something struck him. “Jeshua used his Paladins to destroy two towns from opposing nations.”

Cade listened closely. “But he has not sent his army,” Malik said. “I find that odd as well,” Cade replied. “The Isthian military is powerful, especially with him at the helm.” Cade had realized it after hearing about Dar al-Qamar. Sifia held the ports, and their navy expected an attack. Yet nothing had come.

“He wants us to attack him,” Cade finally said. Malik looked at him. “He’s provoking you and the Republic. Fighting a two-front war is foolish, and he knows that.” Cade tried to think of a reason for it, but he was left dumbfounded.

Did Jeshua truly want them to march on Isthia? Cade thought. Malik stood. “I should make myself presentable.” He looked at Cade. “I trust you will still be here?”

Cade nodded. Malik and his guard walked away. Penelope had gone to Dante to help him with his work. She noticed how much it affected him. Then she noticed the book in his hands. He was praying from the Old Religion.

“You follow that disgusting religion?” she asked. Dante looked up at her. “My religion is my business. Please respect that.”

Penelope said nothing at first. The words had come out sharper than she intended, but the sight of that book pulled old wounds open. The Exodus of the Pria was still fresh in her mind. To her, the Old Religion was tied to every home burned, every family broken, and every person forced to run. She stepped away for a moment, then returned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was out of line.” Dante did not answer. He simply continued praying. Penelope began to walk away. “You have your reasons to hate the religion,” Dante said. She stopped.

“I would too, given your story.”

“My story?” Penelope asked.

“What you went through during the Exodus.”

Penelope nodded.

“That still isn’t an excuse to be disrespectful.” Dante looked at her and smiled faintly.“Your magic is really strong.” He changed the topic to something more light. Penelope paused, then gave him a small smile.

“Thank you. I’ve used magic my entire life, so I’ve been fortunate with my mana.” She looked him over. “But you are strong yourself, especially for your age.”

“I’d be stronger if I wasn’t a hybrid,” Dante admitted. Penelope smiled. “I think, in a way, we are all hybrids.” She thought of Darren and how high he had jumped during battle. “What your brother does when he jumps so high. I believe magic supports it.”

Dante nodded. He remembered Darren once saying it was magic, even though he probably did not know how true that was, because it was simply a jest.

“Darren is a strong warrior,” Penelope said. “His combat skills impressed me.”

“Darren is a great warrior,” Dante replied. “And an even better brother.”

Back in town, Cade and Darren worked together clearing debris and repairing what they could. “One day, I’d love to know why an Isthian prince mutinied against his house,” Darren said.

Cade chuckled. “If you ever meet Jeshua, you’ll understand.”

Darren laughed and kept working. “So you and Penelope,” Darren said. “How long have you traveled together?” Cade thought for a moment.

“A while now. Perhaps a few months, maybe a year. We came here on foot until, ironically, House Forsyth gave us a horse.” Darren stopped.

“Did you tell them you were riding to Eastern Vales?” Darren asked. “Yes. We told them we were heading here to rest.” Darren began to think and concluded, “then he knew you were here and attacked anyway.”

Cade had thought the same thing. He assumed Jeshua had learned of his exile and wanted him dead or captured. “Forsyth wouldn’t have attacked unless they were ordered to,” Darren said.

“No,” Cade said. “They wouldn’t have.”

“His soldiers still stopped when I commanded them,” Cade added. “Plenty laid down their arms, though many didn’t.”

“Could be something as simple as Jeshua ordering Forsyth to take back the town,” Darren said. “Could be,” Cade replied. “For now, theories are all we have.”

“Prince Cade.” A member of the Sultan’s guard approached. “The Sultan requests your presence.”

Cade looked to Darren. “Thank you for the help. Especially with Forsyth.” Darren bowed slightly. “Of course. Mind if I walk with you?” Cade nodded, “not at all.”

Dante had finished his work and was now walking with Penelope. Darren watched them for a moment. The two seemed to be getting along, which made sense. They were both Pria, and both understood magic in ways Darren did not.

“Can you activate your rage state?” Penelope asked. “My rage state?” Dante asked. “Is that when I get so angry I can’t control myself?”

“Yes,” Penelope said. “But it is possible to master it. You can use it at will. You can control it.” Dante immediately became interested. “Can you do it?” Penelope nodded.

“So… does that mean you can do it right now? I want to see!” For the first time that day, excitement returned to his face. He remembered entering that state against Zayyan. Even with his mana low, he had still launched massive attacks against the Immortal.

Penelope stopped walking. “Would you like to see?” Dante nodded. She closed her eyes. The ground around them trembled slightly. Red lightning began to gather around her body. Dante felt a heavy wave of aether come from her, thick and intense enough to make him step back. Several soldiers stopped working. One reached for his sword before realizing no attack was coming.

Penelope opened her eyes. They no longer glowed blue. They glowed red. A red aura surrounded her. Some people stared in awe, while others backed away in fear. Zayyan looked over from the perimeter but did not move. Penelope looked at Dante.

Zayyan was surprisingly dumbfounded. What in the gods’ name did she just do?

“See? At will.” Then, just as quickly as she had entered the state, she returned to normal. “That was amazing!” Dante said. Cade looked over, then looked at Darren.

“Looks like your brother and Penelope are becoming good friends.” Darren stared at Penelope. “Did you not see what she just did?” Cade laughed. “I’ve seen her do that several times. It makes her incredibly powerful. It saved us against a behemoth once.”

Darren looked back at Penelope. “Wish we had that during the dragon attack.” Cade turned to him. “How big was the dragon?”

“Too damn big,” Darren said, causing both men to laugh.

“I hate dragons,” Cade said.

“Good thing they aren’t common.” Darren continued working. “It’s said there are Pria dragonriders in Dul’seah.” Cade stared at him. “Really?”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Darren said.

“That’s unbelievable.” They had walked together until Cade reached the inn where Malik waited for him. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” Cade said.

Darren nodded.

The two shook hands, and Cade went inside.

The inn had been cleared for the Sultan. His guard stood outside the door, while two more remained inside near the stairs. Malik had washed the dirt from his hands and changed into more fitting clothes, though nothing too extravagant. He still looked tired.

Cade entered and found him standing near a table, looking over several maps. “You asked for me?” Cade said. “I did.” Malik motioned toward the table. “Come.”

Cade walked over. The map showed the Valians, the Crownlands, the Southmarch, and the roads leading west toward Isthia. Several small markers had been placed across the map. Some were Sifian and others were Oredanian. Most of Isthia remained unmarked.

Malik stared down at the map. “President Voss is marching west,” Malik said. “My army holds Eastern Vales. Sifia controls the ports, and Jeshua has attacked both our nations, yet he has not sent his army to meet either of us.”

“He’s waiting,” Cade said. “That is what I fear.” Cade looked at the road leading toward the capital. “He wants us angry. He wants us to march without thinking.”

Malik nodded and smiled, “we?” Cade looked at him, but said nothing.

“A man who attacks two nations at once either believes himself invincible, or he is trying to pull his enemies where he wants them.”

“Jeshua is not stupid,” Cade said. “Cruel, yes. Arrogant, absolutely, but not stupid.”

Malik looked at him. “Then tell me, Cade Mistral. What is he doing?”

Cade did not answer immediately. He stared at the map and followed the road with his eyes. Eastern Vales to the Crownlands and the Crownlands to the capital. The walls of Isthia had never fallen to a foreign army. Even during civil wars, the city had held.

“He’s anticipating an attack,” Cade said. “The city will be heavily guarded. More than usual. If he wants us to come, then he has prepared for it.”

“Prepared how?”

“We aren’t sure how many Paladins he created, and he still has loyal houses. For all we know, he has an army of Paladins. There’s also the city watch and the Crown Guard. Every road leading into the capital will be watched and he may even pull soldiers from other provinces, leaving the borders weak.”

Malik crossed his arms. “To protect himself.”

“To protect the throne,” Cade said. “There is a difference.” Malik watched him carefully.

“You still speak like a prince.” The Sultan told him. “I am one.” Cade quickly responded. “Are you?”

Cade looked at him. Malik did not look away. “You wear no crown, and your own brother exiled you. Your own kingdom hunts you down like a dog, and yet when you spoke, House Forsyth soldiers lowered their weapons. They obeyed their prince.”

“Not all of them.” Cade corrected bluntly. “Enough to make a difference.” Malik pointed out something Cade had ignored, nor paid much attention to. Cade said nothing. Malik stepped away from the table and poured himself water from a pitcher. He offered some to Cade, but Cade refused.

“I have met kings,” Malik said. “Some are born with crowns, and some had the audacity to steal them. Some inherit them and spend their lives proving they deserve them. The most powerful fight a civil war, outnumbered, and still winning.” The Sultan was referring to Cade’s grandmother, the warrior queen, Bryn.

He took a drink. “… and some men stand in the mud beside common soldiers and still make people remember what royalty is supposed to be.” Cade looked uncomfortable.

“If this is flattery, Malik, you are wasting your time.” He said, with slight annoyance. The Sultan looked at Cade, who was visibly worn down. He appeared as if he hadn’t slept in days, which may have been true. Cade cared about the future of the realm, and he also recognized the threat Jeshua poses. He then looked at the map.

“I am not king, nor do I want it.”

“No, but,” Malik said. “you may be the only man alive who can become one without turning Isthia into ash.” Cade gave a humorless laugh. “You are asking me to take my brother’s throne.”

This time, Malik’s tone turned serious. “I am asking you to save your people from him.” He looked at the hardened expression on Cade’s face, and continued, “the best leaders are those who don’t want to be.”

Cade’s remained stoic as he remembered what Malik had asked. “Committing fratricide is an unforgivable sin.”

“Even the God you follow committed some of the most violent atrocities to those who simply did not worship him.” Malik said.

The room went quiet. Outside, Cade could hear the distant sounds of repair work. Hammers striking wood, men shouting orders, and wagons being moved through muddy streets. A town trying to live after nearly being destroyed.

Cade thought of Jeshua as a boy. Before the crown. He remembered his brother laughing in halls that now probably echoed with prayers for war. He remembered thinking Jeshua would make a strong king one day. He had been right, in a way, but he has always wondered what had influenced his brother.

“Do you know the gravity of what you are asking of me?” Cade said.

Sultan Malik nodded.

“No, you don’t.” Cade looked at him. “You are asking me to kill my brother.” Malik set the cup down, remaining serious.

“And what is Jeshua asking of you? Of Isthia? Of Sifia? Of Oredae? How many brothers has he already killed by giving orders from a throne?” Cade clenched his jaw. The Sultan’s demeanor had changed, and the politeness faded. “The realm prospered under your father. Trade caused economies to boom from Dar al-Saltana to Provenance. The people were happy for one hundred years, a peace created by your grandmother’s tenacity.” He spoke, then sipped from his cup once more.

“Your father would be ashamed of you both.” He stared at Cade who met his gaze. “You are speaking out of turn, Sultan.”

Malik walked closer to Cade with his face unchanged. “Your father did not rule only for his son to ruin his legacy. How’s your mother, Cade?” Now Cade was starting to get angry, almost as if he was going to hit the Sultan.

“You are threading dangerous ground, Malik. Sultan or not, I have no allegiance to you.” Whatever happiness existed in the room faded quickly, as tension took its place. “I speak as a Sultan who wants to save as many lives as possible, regardless of how you feel. Deep down, you agree with me.”

Cade looked at him then.

Malik continued. “A man eager to kill his own blood will be met with God’s fury in the next life. Your hesitation is not weakness. It may be the reason I trust you.”

Cade walked away from the table and stood near the window. Through it, he could see Eastern Vales. Sifian soldiers worked beside Isthians. Pria helped carry the wounded. Darren stood in the street, speaking with Dante and Penelope. Gamble appeared to be arguing with someone over a cartwheel.

For a brief moment, it looked impossible that these people had been enemies. Then Cade remembered the bodies.

Dar al-Qamar. Greyhaven. Eastern Vales. The Pria still held at Castle Forsyth. The Paladins. The exile… but most importantly, what awaits in the horizon. Jeshua would not stop and Cade already knew that.

“I will do it,” Cade said. Malik remained still. Cade turned back toward him. “I will kill Jeshua.” The words felt wrong coming out of his mouth. They tasted like betrayal, even though he knew they were not.

Malik nodded slowly. “Then we have an understanding.”

“Not an alliance?” Cade said. “Unofficially, of course.” The Sultan smiled. Cade walked back to the table. “I cannot speak for Isthia.”

“You can speak for a kingdom built on the tenacity of your ancestors.” He reminded the exiled prince. Cade pointed to the capital on the map. “If Jeshua expects an attack, then marching straight there would be foolish. Even with Sifia and Oredae, we could bleed ourselves dry before reaching the walls.”

“I agree,” Malik said. “Then we need information. We need to know who still supports him, who is afraid of him, and who would turn if given the chance.”

“Your name could still be powerful do that if the people knew that you still stood for Mistral.” Cade hesitated for a moment, and then spoke.

“My name could also get them killed,” Cade said. “If the wrong house declares too early, Jeshua will burn them out before we reach the Crownlands.”

Malik studied him. “Then what do you suggest?” Cade leaned over the map. “We do not give him the attack he wants. We make him wait.” He continued staring at the map. “We send a small army to the gates of Isthia to see what he’s planning.”

Malik looked at the map and relented. “What if we are just sending men to their death?” Cade stared at the map and said, “we might be.” Malik smiled faintly.

“You may be hesitant, but you speak like a king.” This caused Cade to let out a long sigh. “Once this is over, I will ensure someone in my line will still sit the throne.”

Cade continued. “If Voss marches west, he should not rush. He should secure Greyhaven and the roads first. Sifia should hold the ports and Eastern Vales. Do not push too deep unless you have to.”

Malik nodded. “And you?”

Cade looked at the capital again.

“I need to reach people inside Isthia. Anyone who still hates what Jeshua has become but has been too afraid to move.”

Malik thought for a moment. “If you’re seen, you may be killed.” Cade nodded slowly. He had to be realistic about his current situation, especially if Forsyth had been given the order to do just the.

“Everything about this is dangerous.” He said. Malik placed both hands on the table.

“Then I will send word to President Voss. The Sultanate recognizes Cade Mistral as the rightful leader of Isthia.” Cade looked up sharply, “you don’t listen, do you?”

Malik stepped closer. “Cade, listen to me. Jeshua wants a war and he wants Sifian banners at his gates. He wants Oredanian soldiers in the fields, but most importantly, he wants to point to the horizon and tell Isthia that foreign nations have come to destroy them.”

Cade did not answer. Malik’s voice softened, “your people need you. It matters not how you feel about leadership if people will look to you for hope.”

Cade looked down at the griffon on his armor. “They love Jeshua. He healed them. He restored them back to what they use to be. That earned him support and loyalty. Isthia may not want me.”

Malik smiled, “fair point, but it sounds like you don’t want them either.” Cade laughed. If I am to do this, I can’t go alone. “I’ll ensure you have the best soldiers within our ranks to accompany you.” Cade nodded slightly.

“Penelope is going to hate me.”

The sun’s light faded in the horizon, with the dark creeping in slowly as people went to their homes to rest for the day. Darren sat around a camp fire with Dante, who was eating a bowl of soup. Gamble joined them shortly, flicking the linkpearl in his ear, causing Darren to do the same.

“Mind if I join you?” Zayyan had approached the three, with all of them nodding their heads. "Quite an eventful month.” He said.

Dante laughed, “it’s only been a month?”

“Feels like it’s been five years.” Darren said. As Zayyan continued to banter, Penelope approached the campfire, looking for warmth. “May I sit here?” Gamble looked at her, “I don’t know. Are you going to make fun of me still?” Gamble asked, chuckling.

“I can’t promise I won’t.” Penelope smiled with Gamble motioning her to sit down. “Looks like this is turning into quite the party, huh?” He said.

“I will admit. I didn’t expect a lot that has happened thus far.” Darren said. Dante looked at his brother, who looked more than just exhausted, but rather completely burned out. From dodging dragon fire, arrows, and fighting Isthian soldiers, it had been quite a rough month for the three.

Cade approached the camp fire. “May I join you?” Penelope stood, “of course!” He smiled and sat down. “Perfect night for a fire.” He said.

“Hard to believe you’re cold wearing all that armor.” Dante joked. Cade looked at Penelope, hesitating to say what he’s doing. She’d want to know, but not just that, she’d want to go. He didn’t know if he wanted that.

“Tomorrow I head to Isthia.” Cade said, with Penelope looking at him. Zayyan did as well, stating the obvious, “your brother will kill you, prince.”

Darren and Dante listened and said nothing, and so did Gamble. “That could be a possibility.”

“So then why are you going?” Gamble said, “if you wanted to die, there were quite a few opportunities you missed.” This caused Cade to chuckle. “I feel like we’ve bled together, and fought together, so I can trust you.” He said, pausing for a moment while everyone waited in anticipation, guessing he was about to reveal something.

“I’m going to kill the king.”

Everyone took this by surprise, stunned at what Cade had just said. They all knew how impossible this task would be now that Cade is practically an enemy of Isthia. He couldn’t just walk in without being identified, and more than likely, he would be imprisoned. He was also recognizable by everyone within the kingdom, considering how much he was loved. Now potentially hated.

“If you’re going to Isthia, I am coming with you, Cade.” Penelope spoke, something Cade was anticipated.

“I cannot guarantee your safety, Pen.” He replied. She answered without hesitation, “I told you not to treat me like a child. I will come.”

“You are not a child, nor a stranger. You have become the most important person in my life, and your safety is the only thing I care about.”

“Then I’ll come as well.” Dante said. Both Gamble and Darren looked at him, with Darren visibly annoyed. “Can you stop volunteering us to do things, brother?” Darren said.

“I didn’t ask you to. I said I wanted to go. I want to kill Jeshua, too.” Dante stated, with both Darren and Gamble shaking their heads. “Where you go, I go, Dante.” Darren said.

“Actually,” Gamble spoke. “Think about how many people I can give pearls to!”

“Oh, brother…” Dante exasperated, “so you’re coming?” Gamble laughed before saying, “of course I am. Wherever Darren goes, I go!”

“That’s not entirely true. I have to pay you.” Darren laughed, which earned a chuckle from everyone else. Zayyan walked toward the fire, putting his hands above it, cooling his hands. “I shall go as well. The prince should not do this alone.”

Cade looked around the fire at the faces staring back at him. By morning, they would no longer be travelers or acquaintances. They would be conspirators.

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The Technate

See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

Voyager 'Tenacity' 22

✍📕The Third Estate — Wed, 17 Jun 2026 17:07:54 GMT

AI generated images act as placeholders, and will not be included in the final product.

Eastern Vales, The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia
1108 AG

“What you’re asking of me. You want me to commit fratricide.”

Cade stood from his chair when the Sultan asked him to do something God would never forgive. “In the history of House Mistral, that has never happened, and I will not be the first.” Cade answered him while staring out the window.

Then he stopped. “I see something over the horizon.” Cade walked closer to the window. Malik stood as well, already noticing the change on Cade’s face. “We need to prepare. Get your men ready,” Cade said. Malik moved to the window beside him. In the distance, past the roofs and stone walls of Eastern Vales, an army was marching toward the town.

“It looks like Jeshua has finally decided to retaliate,” Cade said. The Sultan did not waste time. “Prepare for a siege. There’s an army approaching,” Malik told his guards.

The room changed instantly. Men who had been standing still a moment ago moved just as the Sultan commanded. The sound of boots running down the hall, while orders were shouted through the inn. Cade ran down the stairs looking for Penelope. She was still at the table, talking with Darren, Dante, Gamble, and a few others.

“Cade!” Penelope stood, but her expression changed when she saw him. He looked like he had seen someone die in front of him. “Penelope. I need you to go with the Sultan. He will take you to safety in Sifia.” He didn’t have time for formalities because his immediate concern was Penelope’s safety. Her worry turned into anger. “What about you? I’m not leaving you, Cade.”

“What’s going on?” Darren asked. Cade looked at him, not hiding the contempt on his face. “Who are you?” Darren was taken aback by that, but this time he grabbed Breakspear and looked at Dante. “It’s time to go.”

Outside, the bells began to ring. “Close the gates! Close the gates! We are being attacked! Prepare your positions!” Gamble looked toward the window. “Well I guess that’s the problem. They’re closing the gates, Darren.” Dante swallowed. “That means we can’t leave?” Zayyan ran past them and went straight to Malik.

“You need not worry about me, Zayyan,” the Sultan said. “Get your men ready.”

“At once, my Sultan.” Zayyan obeyed without hesitation. Cade turned back to Penelope. “Let’s at least put you somewhere safe.” Penelope glared at him. “I’m not a child, Cade. I’ll be okay.” He stared at her for a moment, then held her hands.

“I’m sorry… that’s not my intention, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” While placing a hand on her cheek, with Penelope reacting in kind, holding his hand. Outside, the gates closed as Sifian cavalry and infantry moved to meet the enemy before they reached the walls. Archers on the walkways loosed the first volley, but most of their arrows struck shields or fell short.

“Archers! Hold your fire! Save your arrows!” a commander shouted as he rode out with his men. More Sifian soldiers entered the inn. “Sultan, we must get you to the valley quickly. Come, please.” Cade grabbed Garuda and his shield. “I’ll go with the Sultan.”

“We’ll watch Penelope,” Dante said. That got everyone’s attention, especially Darren’s. “Dante,” Darren warned. Dante realized what he had said, but he couldn’t take it back without looking like a coward. Darren looked at Cade. “Go do what you gotta do.”Cade’s hesitation was obvious. “Penelope, will you be safe with them?”

“We need to go! Come, Prince!” For a moment, Cade looked as if he did not know what to do. Then he looked at Penelope, gave her a small smile, and followed the soldiers outside. The bloodbath beyond the gates had already begun.

The Sifian front line met Forsyth’s men before they reached the walls, but it was not clean. Horses slammed into shields and the sound of spears snapping echoed in the wind. Men fell and were trampled before anyone could drag them away. The first battle of the war had begun in the Valians, and it was already turning into a mess.

The banners were those of House Forsyth, the closest castle to Eastern Vales. “Darren, we need to make a decision now,” Gamble said.

Darren looked out toward the street. Townsfolk were running toward the back of the city, away from the gates. Some were carrying children. Others were carrying whatever they could grab. “We should get further back. This inn is too close to the gates.” Darren looked at Penelope. “You’ll be okay with us. Come.”

Penelope looked toward the door Cade had gone through, then nodded. She grabbed her book and followed them outside. The streets were already filled with panicked townsfolk, running between Sifian soldiers, believing they were safe.

Soldiers were trying to move one way while civilians ran the other. Carts blocked the roads, and a horse with no rider dragged broken reins through the crowd, screaming as people tried to get away from it. Somewhere near the gate, someone yelled that their home had caught fire, while someone else begged for a healer.

Then the trebuchets fired. The first stone went over the wall and smashed into a roof near the front of the town. The building split apart, with dust and wood bursting into the street. Dante froze, causing Darren to push him by the shoulder. “Keep moving.”

Outside the walls, Forsyth’s archers began firing into the town. They were not aiming carefully, confusing the townsfolk. “We’re not Sifians!” Echoed through the streets. They were firing over their own soldiers, over the wall, into the streets. Some arrows hit Sifian shields, but most hit civilians who had nowhere to go, and no way to defend against the arrows.

The Pria outside the inn raised blue shields where they could, but there were not enough of them. The arrows came down too fast. As arrows fell, people fell with them.

“Protect the Sultan!”

A phalanx formed around Malik as the soldiers moved him toward the back gates. Shields locked together around him, but the formation had to push through civilians and wounded men as fast as they could. “Why are they firing into the town?” Malik asked, looking at Cade.

Cade’s face twisted with anger. “Seems House Forsyth doesn’t give a damn. They supported Queen Bryn. What a shame their House was inherited by a madman.”

“Nock!” came the call from beyond the walls. Cade heard it and lifted his shield.“Loose!” The arrows blotted the sun as they rained down on Eastern Vale. For a moment, Cade could not hear anything but arrows cutting through the wind. They came down in sheets, hitting rooftops, carts, shields, horses, and anyone too slow to run. “Down!” Cade shouted.

The first arrows slammed into his shield with enough force to push his arm back. One arrowhead punched through the wood and stopped inches from his face. He stared at it for half a second, then shoved forward.

“Move!” Cade yelled. “Get him to the back gates! Into the valley!” Malik did not move.

The Sultan stood there, looking toward the gate. His men were dying in the streets of Eastern Vales. Men who had followed him across the sea, across the Valley, and into Isthia were being cut down under the banners of a lord who was supposed to be defending his own people.

“Malik!” Cade shouted. The Sultan blinked, almost offended by Cade using his name.“They’re not trying to capture you anymore,” Cade said. “They’re trying to kill you.”

“Nonsense,” Malik said, but there was doubt in his voice. “How would they know I’m here?”

Cade grew annoyed. “These men died for you. If you want their deaths to mean nothing, be my guest.” Two Sifian guards grabbed the Sultan and pulled him back. Zayyan moved ahead of them, blade drawn, his eyes fixed on the street. His expression did not change, but Cade could see it in how he moved.

The Immortal was prepared to die if needed.

Another volley came. “Shields!” Zayyan ordered. The Sifian soldiers closed around Malik, creating a moving wall of shields. Arrows struck them in a constant rhythm. Some bounced off. Others pierced through and found legs, arms, necks, and faces.

A soldier beside Malik screamed as an arrow buried itself into his neck. He dropped, choking, one hand grabbing at the shaft. Malik reached toward him.

“My Sultan, keep moving!” Zayyan shouted as he used his magic to erect a barrier that didn’t seem to hold long. “No!” Malik shouted. “Help him!”

“He’s gone!” Cade yelled. Malik looked at Cade, and for the first time Cade saw true fear in the Sultan’s eyes. Not fear for himself, but fear that he had led his men into a grave. He remembered what Cade said earlier and came back to reality.

Another stone from the trebuchets flew over the walls and hit a building near the gate. The top floor collapsed inward. People ran out screaming before the rest of it folded in on itself. A woman fell with a child in her arms. A man tried to help her, only to be struck in the back by an arrow. Cade clenched his jaw.

“What the fuck are they doing?” His anger visible in his face. “God forgive them,” he whispered. “God?” Malik said, almost laughing despite the horror around them. “Your God watches this?”

Cade looked at him. “My God is true, and He will judge.”

“Then He will be busy today.” Malik angrily said to Cade which was something out of character for him.

The phalanx moved down the street, shields raised and spears pointed outward. Cade stayed on the left side, blocking anything that came too close. His shield took arrow after arrow until the griffon painted on it was almost buried beneath broken shafts and splintered wood. Ahead of them, townsfolk tried to push through the soldiers.

“Please!” an older man cried. “Let us through!”

“Move aside!” one of the Sifian guards shouted. “They’re killing everyone!” the man yelled. “They’re firing into the city!” A young girl clung to his leg, crying into his tunic. Cade looked at Malik.

For a moment, the Sultan said nothing, then he raised his hand. “Let them in the formation.”

“My Sultan, we cannot protect everyone.” Another stone struck nearby. It hit the upper half of a house and tore it open. Splintered wood flew across the street. One piece struck the little girl before anyone could move. She dropped instantly, cause the old man screamed. Cade stared, trying to remain focused on getting the Sultan to safety. For a second, everything in him went quiet.

Then he drew Garuda. “No,” Malik said. Cade did not look at him. “Get the Sultan to safety,” Cade ordered. The Sifian guards hesitated and Zayyan looked at him. Cade pointed toward the back gates. “Go.”

Malik stepped toward him. “Prince Cade.”

“They are killing your men, my people, and their own people. If you die here, Sifia loses its Sultan, and everyone died for nothing.”

“You will be killed.” He said. “Maybe.” Cade turned toward the main gate. “Open it.” The soldiers guarding the gate stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Prince, Forsyth’s line is still outside.”

“I know.” Cade said. “They’ll cut you down.”

“Open the damn gate.” The prince was losing his patience. It was not lost on him that the prince of the nation that was attacking them was giving them orders. The soldiers then looked to Zayyan.

Zayyan looked at the dead child, then at the wall shaking under another stone impact. “I’m going with him,” Zayyan said. Malik turned sharply. “Your service is to me.”

“My service is to Sifia,” Zayyan answered. “My Sultan, if I have disrespected you, I-” Malik cut him off, “foolish. You have served Sifia honorably.” Zayyan nodded, and bowed. Darren saw Cade moving toward the gate from the other street. “Is he serious?” Gamble asked.

Penelope pushed past a group of civilians. “Cade!” Darren cursed under his breath. Dante looked at him. “We have to help.”

“You are not coming,” Darren said. “Darren...”

“That’s my only condition, but you help the people inside. You hear me? You stay with the wounded, you help them move, you do whatever you can. But you do not follow us through that gate.” Dante looked like he wanted to argue. Then another arrow struck the street nearby.

He nodded. Gamble ran past them with his crossbow. “Don’t forget your linkpearl!” Darren grabbed Breakspear and followed. The gate opened just enough for Cade to pass. Outside was much worse than he realized.

The field before Eastern Vales was torn open by hooves, boots, blood, and stone. Sifian soldiers had pulled back toward the walls, but some were still trapped between Forsyth’s line and the gate. Forsyth’s men were regrouping around their trebuchets on the low hill, while archers kept firing whenever they found an opening. The dead were everywhere. Some wore red and black, while Isthians peppered the field with white and blue. Cade walked forward with his shield raised. “Lay down your arms!” he shouted. “In the name of House Mistral!”

Some of the Forsyth soldiers turned. Others did not hear him through the noise. Cade kept walking, guarded. “Lay down your arms!” This time, more men heard him.

The line began to waver. Lord Forsyth rode near the hill, surrounded by his household guard. At first, he did not seem to understand what he was seeing. Then his face changed. “Prince Cade?” he called out. Cade stopped just outside arrow range, though he wasn’t sure of the archers loyalty. “Pull your men back,” Cade shouted. “Now.”

Lord Forsyth stared at him. “Why are you here?”

“Don’t question me, you fool. Your stones are killing Isthians. Your arrows are killing Isthians. You fired into a city under the banners of your own kingdom.” Forsyth laughed, but it was not a confident laugh. “You are in no position to command me, boy.”

“I am a son of King Leonardo Mistral, and you will obey my command.” For a moment, Cade sounded like a king. Lord Forsyth laughed, “you are an exile. You turned your back on the crown. You are prince of nothing but the dirt beneath my boot.” A few soldiers looked at one another.

Forsyth noticed. “Do not listen to him!” he shouted. “He stands with the invaders!” Cade raised his sword. “In the name of my father, King Leonardo, I order you to stand down. Any man who continues firing on Eastern Vales will answer to House Mistral.”

The field became uncertain. That was worse than silence, but in the backdrop, men still bled and the horses crying heard in echoes. Trebuchet crews still dragged ropes and loaded stones, but slower now. Archers held arrows against strings, waiting for orders they no longer wanted. One young soldier lowered his sword.

“My lord,” he said, “he’s the prince.” Forsyth drew his blade and cut the man down before he finished speaking.

That broke something within the morale of Forsyth’s purpose. The men closest to him stepped back. Forsyth pointed his sword at Cade.

“I gave you a direct order! Kill the traitor!” A few soldiers charged because they were afraid not to, while others stayed where they were. Some lowered their weapons entirely. Cade braced himself.

The first man came in too fast. Cade caught the strike on his shield and drove Garuda into the man’s side. He pulled the blade free and turned as another soldier came at him with a spear. Zayyan reached the spear first. He cut the shaft in half and drove his shoulder into the soldier’s chest, knocking him to the ground. Darren came through the gate next with Breakspear in hand.

“You pick terrible fights,” Darren said. Cade did not look at him. “You came? Who are you?”

“You’re welcome.” Darren had simply responded. Gamble fired from behind them. His bolt struck an archer in the shoulder, sending him off the firing line. “Don’t worry,” Gamble called. “He’s Darren, hardheaded and stubborn.” Penelope came through last, her book open, eyes glowing blue. Cade turned on her. “Penelope!”

“Do not start with me.” An arrow flew toward her. She lifted her hand and stopped it in the air. The shaft snapped in half and fell. “I said do not start with me.” The fight became ugly.

It wasn’t grand. Just men slipping in mud and blood, screaming as they tried not to die. Darren fought near Cade, using Breakspear to keep men away from his flank. He stabbed one soldier through the chest, pulled back, split the spear, and cut another across the throat before the man could get close.

Zayyan moved toward the trebuchets with Penelope. They could not destroy all of them, but they did not need to. They needed to stop the crews. Penelope raised one hand, and blue light shoved a group of men away from the nearest machine. Zayyan charged into the gap and cut through the ropes. The arm of the trebuchet lurched and snapped sideways, with the wood cracking, something everyone could hear. Men shouted and ran before the whole machine buckled.

Another trebuchet fired before anyone could stop it. The stone flew over the wall and disappeared into Eastern Vales. A moment later, the sound came Cade heard the impact and almost lost focus. A Forsyth soldier nearly took his head off. Darren blocked the strike with the shaft of his spear.

“Pay attention!” Darren shouted. Cade growled and slammed his shield into the soldier, knocking him backward. Forsyth saw the hesitation in his own men. He saw the trebuchet crews scattering. He saw Penelope’s magic, Zayyan cutting through his guards, and Cade still standing.

He turned his horse. “He’s running!” Gamble shouted. Cade saw him. “No!” Cade ran, wanting to get to him before he could get away. Forsyth’s remaining guards moved to stop him. Cade hit the first with his shield, and beside him Darren took the second. Zayyan turned from the broken trebuchet and threw out his hand. The ground beneath Forsyth’s horse shifted.

Forsyth fell hard into the mud, ending his trivial attempts at running. Cade reached him before he could stand. Forsyth swung from the ground and struck Cade’s shield hard enough to knock it aside. Cade stumbled, and Forsyth kicked his injured leg out from under him. Cade hit the mud, losing Garuda as he fell.

Forsyth crawled on top of him with a dagger in hand. “The King should have killed you,” Forsyth hissed. Cade grabbed his wrist with both hands. The dagger shook inches above his face. Darren tried to move toward him, but two soldiers cut him off. Zayyan was too far and couldn’t help. Penelope shouted Cade’s name, but an arrow forced her to shield herself. Cade headbutted Forsyth.

This caused Forsyth to reel back. Cade punched him in the throat, rolled, and reached for Garuda. His fingers closed around the hilt just as Forsyth lunged again. The blade came up, which had forced Forsyth to stop. Garuda was pressed against his neck. The soldiers around them stopped moving. Cade was on one knee, breathing hard, mud and blood on his face.

“Drop your weapons,” Cade said. No one moved, which made him push the blade closer. “Drop them.” One sword fell, soon five more, followed by ten. The sound of steel hitting the ground was satisfying to the prince as he decided Forsyth’s fate.

Lord Forsyth stared at his men as they lowered their weapons around him. “You cowards,” he spat. “You would follow an exile?” One of the older soldiers looked at Cade.

“He’s still a Mistral.” That was all it took. The fight began to die around them, not all at once, but in pieces. Men backed away, though some dragged the wounded. Some ran away completely. The archers on the hill lowered their bows. The remaining trebuchet crews abandoned their machines when Penelope turned toward them.

The siege had not ended with honor. It had simply broken. Cade stood, keeping Garuda against Forsyth’s neck. Zayyan came beside him and held his hand over Forsyth. Dark hands formed from the soil and wrapped around the lord’s ankles and wrists, pinning him in place. “He cannot move,” Zayyan said as he cast the spell that bound the Lord. Gamble stumbled toward them, then dropped to one knee.

“Small problem,” he said. An arrow was stuck in his back, wincing in pain. Penelope rushed to him, but Gamble winced in pain, “damn you, woman! Be a bit more careful, please.”

“Oh, stop being a child,” she said, though her voice shook. “I’m doing you a favor.” She pulled the arrow free. That caused Gamble to yell loud enough for everyone to hear. Darren walked toward Cade, breathing hard, Breakspear slick with blood. He looked at Forsyth, then at the bodies around them. “Kill him,” Darren said. Cade simply looked at him. Darren was not angry in the way Cade expected.

“He fired into his own town,” Darren said. “He’ll do it again if you let him live.” Forsyth laughed from the mud. “Listen to the foreign rat, Cade. That is what you are now. A prince taking orders from a stranger. Once your brother hears of this, he will strike you down!” Cade looked down at him.

“In the name of House Mistral, of King Leonardo, my father, and God, I sentence you to die, Lord Forsyth.” Forsyth smiled through bloody teeth. “You’re a traitor to the crown.”

“No,” Cade said. “You are.” Then, no longer wasting any time, he swung Garuda. The cut was clean and swift. Forsyth’s head fell into the mud, and for a moment no one spoke.

“Euugh…” Penelope winced, but she wasn’t alone. Gamble had closed his eyes. Darren, however, stared down at his corpse, disgusted by his betrayal. There was no cheering, or a grand victory. Just men breathing, wounded crying, and the sound of Eastern Vales burning behind them. Cade stood there, staring at what he had done.

He had killed a lord of Isthia, and he had done it in front of Isthian soldiers. News would reach Jeshua, and he knew that his status as prince won’t hold much water soon. Penelope ran to him. “Cade.”

He turned, and she threw her arms around him. He held her tightly, but his eyes stayed on Forsyth’s body. “I thought I was going to lose you,” she said. “I thought the same.”

“You’re so stubborn.” He almost smiled. “So are you.” Zayyan walked toward them. His clothes were covered in mud and blood, though little of it looked like his. “Cade,” he said. “You are either the bravest man I have ever met, or the most foolish.”

Cade looked back toward Eastern Vales. “When Forsyth fired into the town, he made his position clear. He chose his fate.” Penelope held his hand. Darren wiped blood from his face and looked at Gamble, who was still complaining while Penelope’s healing magic closed the wound. Gamble looked over at Darren. “See? Why can’t I have that?”

Darren stared at him and chuckled, at least for a while. “Nows not the time for that, Gamble.”

Zayyan looked around the field. Sifians and Isthians lay together in the mud. Some were still alive, calling for water, mothers, God, or no one in particular. “What a useless battle,” Zayyan said. Penelope looked toward the walls. “We should go back.”

Cade nodded. “Yes, my lady.” She blushed, but only for a moment. The screams from inside the town took it from her face. The gate opened slowly when they approached.

Cade, Darren, Penelope, Gamble, and Zayyan walked back into Eastern Vales. There were cheers, but they were not clean cheers. Some people shouted Cade’s name. Some wept. Some stared at him like they did not know whether to thank him or fear him.

“Prince Cade!”

“The prince saved us!”

“House Forsyth betrayed us!”

“The true king of Isthia!”

Cade heard that last one and stopped for half a second, but then he kept walking. Dante came running and embraced Darren. “I’m glad you’re safe!” Darren put one arm around him. “Have you not heard about me? I’m the Breakspear, remember?” Dante laughed, but he was crying too.

Gamble leaned on his crossbow. “I need a drink.”

“I need a bath,” Darren said. Cade approached them. “Thank you,” he said. Darren looked at his hand for a moment before taking it. “It was no big deal.” Cade glanced toward the gate, then at the wounded being carried through the street.

Darren nodded once. Zayyan broke from the group. “I must report to the Sultan.” Cade turned back to Penelope. “Let’s get you cleaned up, my prince,” she said. He looked down at the blood on his armor.

“Uhh… yeah though be glad this isn’t mostly my blood, anyway.”

“I know.” She said, smiling. The news of the siege spread faster than any army could march.

By nightfall, riders carried the story across the Valians. By morning, nearby villages had heard that House Forsyth fired into Eastern Vales and killed Isthian civilians. They heard that Prince Cade Mistral stepped outside the gate and ordered Forsyth’s men to stand down. Rumors had spread that Prince Cade was the executioner who delivered justice to Lord Forsyth.

No one knew if King Jeshua had ordered the attack, but it did not matter. People had already started asking the question. Trade had stalled. Coin had stopped moving. Families were divided. Pria were being hunted. Sifian soldiers now stood inside Isthian walls, and a prince once thought irrelevant had been cheered in the streets as the true king.

The drums of war echoed through the realm, and soon King Jeshua would learn that his first blow had not broken the Valians.

It had given Cade Mistral a crown in everything but name.

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See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

Voyager 'Duskward' 21

✍📕The Third Estate — Tue, 16 Jun 2026 14:51:29 GMT

Eastern Vales, The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

The Sultan rode through the west gate on horseback, surrounded by Sifian soldiers. There were no horns, no cheering, and no grand announcement. The men guarding him kept their formation tight, but their weapons remained lowered. They were alert, not aggressive. Their restraint did not make the townsfolk comfortable, but it kept them from panicking.

Gamble stopped where he stood, unsure if he should keep walking or disappear into the nearest alley.

The Sultan’s horse moved slowly through the street. Townsfolk watched from windows and doorways, confused by the sight of him. Some lowered their heads, while others simply stared. This was not how kings and rulers entered captured towns. There was no smile of victory on his face, no declaration to the people, no demand for praise. He simply rode in as if he, himself, were a traveller.

As he entered the city, Sifians kneeled. “My Sultan.” They would say.

He looked over the city as he entered, his expression difficult to read. Sifian banners had already been raised over the walls, but the Sultan did not seem pleased by it. If anything, he looked tired.

He stopped for a moment, and spoke, “the loss has already been great.” The Sultan spoke. “Today is a day of mourning.” He continued to ride.

Sifian soldiers kneeled as he passed, while townsfolk simply bowed their heads, but he barely acknowledged them. His eyes moved across the streets, the emptied houses, the makeshift prisons, and the Isthian soldiers placed under guard.

Amir al-Jaysh Rashid al-Karam approached with several officers behind him. “My Sultan,” Rashid said, bowing his head. The Sultan pulled the reins and stopped his horse. For a moment, he said nothing. He looked past Rashid toward the inn at the center of town.

Then he dismounted. His boots touched the mud, and the soldiers around him shifted slightly, waiting for his command. The Sultan handed the reins to one of his guards.

“Take me to the prince,” he said. Rashid looked up at him. “At once, my Sultan.” Gamble felt his stomach tighten. The Sultan was not here for the town or even to celebrate the conquest of a town that merely gave up. Sultan Malik made this journey for one reason, and one reason alone.

His retinue acted with swiftness to ensure the Sultan was safe and taken care of. “You have been marvelous. I will enter the inn myself.” His guards stood by and ensured the inn became a fortress.

Penelope looked up when she heard the door open. Well isn’t that curious. She recognized who he was. His popularity was known throughout the Three Kingdoms, and his friendship with King Leonardo had ensured prosperity for the people who benefited most under his reign. Now, things seemed bleak, and the storm had yet to stir.

The inn was silent. “Greetings,” he said. “Please. Do not be intimidated. I am simply a guest to your beautiful town.” Zayyan entered behind Malik, as his role changed the moment he rode into the town.

“Sultan,” Zayyan began to speak. “The prince is in the floor above.”

“Thank you, Zayyan. You can stay here. I shall return.” Upon hearing that, the Immortal hesitated, “he is not disarmed, Sultan.” Malik stared at Zayyan and thanked him. “I have nothing to fear from him. He’s a good man.”

Penelope smiled when she heard that. Yes he is. Though her curiosity was piqued, she didn’t want to be intrusive. Zayyan approached her, “may I sit?” She was startled, but welcoming. “Of course.”

“You rode in with the prince. May I ask who you are?” Zayyan was curious as to why a Pria and a prince were wandering through the realm by themselves. “My name is Penelope. I am from Isthia. Well, the city rather.” She smiled, with her book opened on the table.

Zayyan relented as sadness settled in, visible on his face. “I am sorry for what your king-”

“He is not my king.” Penelope interrupted, immediately denouncing Jeshua. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to be rude. The Pria did not deserve what he has done.”

“They had Pria slaves in Castle Forsyth. Perhaps your army should march there next.” Penelope replied, maintaining a smile on her face. Zayyan had fought bravely against the dragon, or so she heard, but most importantly, he was a Pria. “Hmph. They’ll be dealt with, rest assured.”

“Why is the Sultan interested in the prin-…” she stopped, but continued. “In Cade?”

Zayyan could tell Cade was important to her, so he continued being delicate. “Cade being a prince is a major variable that may work in our favor.”

“So he’s your prisoner then?” She closed her book, and stared at the floor. I told him we should have kept going! That fool! Penelope’s sadness was quickly overtaken by anger. This is exactly what she had warned against, but then Zayyan continued to speak.

“That is a decision that only the Sultan can decide, but he is a good man.” Zayyan assured Penelope. Darren and Dante came from downstairs, and noticed Zayyan. Darren went to shake his hand, while Dante hung back. Shy or anger, his mood wasn’t easily discerned. Penelope noticed him, though, but Dante did not look back.

“The brave Immortal who felled a dragon. Let me buy you a drink at the tavern at least.” Darren offered, with a welcoming smile. He looked over at Penelope, and recognized her as the woman who travelled with the prince. “Hey there,” he introduced himself. “I’m Darren, and uh.” He looked over at Dante who raised his head and smiled. “Dante. I guess my brother forgot my name for a moment.” Dante laughed.

“I’m Penelope. It’s an honor.” She was getting to the point where she was getting tired of introducing herself. She pondered on whether or not she should make herself a name tag.

“Your mana is quite strong.” Penelope said to Dante, who looked surprised. “Oh are my eyes glowing?” He was sure they weren’t, but regardless, Penelope was able to tell he was a Pria. “It’s hard to ignore your strength. Were you part of the exile?” She asked.

“N-no. I wasn’t.” Dante put his head down again, now knowing that what his father was protecting him from was the exodus. His father ensured he wouldn’t end up a slave to be treated like cattle. “Oh sorry. I’m not trying to offend.” Penelope rose, apologizing to Dante.

“It’s fine. We have been traveling from Sifia. The military was kind enough to escort us.” He joked. Darren noticed his brother’s shyness was slowly going away. He smiled at him and gave him a slight nod. “We were almost burned by that dragon, I’ll tell you what.” Darren said.

“That must have been an experience. Truly am sorry for your losses.” Zayyan bowed his head, thinking of the Immortal who perished. “Worry not. Our concern is simply Jeshua.”

“That was the Sultan we passed by on the stairs?” Darren asked. “Yes. He rode from Dar al-Saltana the moment he heard about the dragon attack.” Dante looked at Zayyan, and tried warming up to him, but didn’t have any words to offer.

“How long will the Sultan speak to Cade for? Do you know what it’s about?” Penelope asked, but Zayyan simply shook his head. “He didn’t even tell me, which isn’t unusual. He enjoys his privacy.”

“Someone should tell Gamble the Sultan is here for those linkpearls.” Dante said, suddenly, with Zayyan showing him a bag of pearls. “He’s already got it covered. He’s a good man, smart, sharp.” Darren burst out laughing upon hearing that, knowing that if Gamble were there, he would never get off his ivory tower. “First time I’ve heard anyone call him smart.” Darren laughed.

“These linkpearls are an amazing invention. He has changed the world with these.” Zayyan explained.

Cade had been sitting, thinking, anything to get his mind about what his fate could be. He heard a knock, and instructed whoever it was to come in. The Sultan opened the door, and Cade immediately recognized him. He stood, not being able to believe what he was seeing.

“Do not be startled, prince.” He said, “I am Malik, Sultan of Sifia.”

“I know who you are.” Cade replied, sternness in his voice. The Sultan approached, and motioned to a chair, implying that he was seeking permission to sit. Cade lifted his eyebrows, “I mean this is your city now. Do what you will.”

“My city,” he said. “Think of us as guests. Truthfully we only want one thing.” The Sultan’s demeanor was intimidating, even though he spoke softly and coherent. He smiled most of the time, though not that day. His heart was heavy from the men who died fighting in the Valley.

Cade did not sit. He didn’t know what to think. He stared at Malik, in awe. The Sultan would never travel this far, especially into Isthia. He wondered what his objective was coming here.

After a while, Cade sat down in front of him. The table was sturdy, but worn. It had a hard time staying steady, which was a small annoyance.

“I heard you renounced your loyalty to your kingdom.” Malik spoke, as Cade was sitting. “I come here to ask you to reconsider.”

Cade was confused. He had already claimed that Jeshua was not his king, or the Son of God as he claimed. “What is there to reconsider? The king is a madman.”

“Your father,” Malik continued. “He was an amazing king, but most importantly, he was an amazing friend.” Cade remained silent, observing the Sultan, and listening intently. “I wept when I heard of his passing. I think of your mother often.” That made Cade stagger a bit. He hated that he left his mother behind.

“I’m sure my mother’s fine. Jeshua is a monster, but not stupid.” Cade replied. The Sultan placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “We find ourselves in a precarious position. Both of our kingdoms have known peace for almost a hundred years.” The Sultan paused, “where is the water?” He stood, and opened the door. “Please fetch us some water.” The guard immediately complied, “at once, my Sultan.”

“Sorry I drank it all a few hours.” Cade said.

“Do not concern yourself with trivial things.” He walked toward Cade, but did not sit down. He examined the his blade, the Garuda.

“That is a powerful blade. I believe your grandmother saved Isthia wielding Tempest.” He picked it up as Cade stared. He didn’t know whether to be concerned, or disrespected. “The Warrior Queen.” Cade whispered.

“Queen Bryn was a true warrior. A true leader. She understood the importance of peace, even though her reign started with turmoil.” He noticed Cade staring at him in a disapproving glance, but before he could say anything, the knock at the door came. “Thank you.” The Sultan thanked the guard, and closed the door once more.

He sat down in front of Cade once more. He poured two glasses, without asking.

“I want you to be crowned king.” Cade burst out laughing, thinking how foolish this man was. He had no desire to rule and wanted to settle into an easy life. He was hoping to get to Sifia, but it seems that the Sultanate came to him first.

“I have no desire to be a king.” He replied, “I’d rather be a shepherd. A flock of sheep.”

Malik smiled, “don’t we all? Fate seldom asks for permission before intervening.”

“You have to kill Jeshua first,” Cade drank some of his water, feeling the thirst now. “He’s crazy, but he’s also powerful.”

“What is concerning is that King Jeshua has not retaliated. By now, he should know we crossed the Valley. Certainly, the herald would have reached Isthia by now.” He poured himself a second glass. “Yet. He does not attack.”

Cade shook his head, smiling, “that’s because he wants you to attack him.” The Sultan smiled, acknowledging Cade. He thought for a moment before speaking, as if he had something heavy to tell the exiled prince. “You know your way around Isthia, I’m sure.”

Cade laughed once more, “what is this, Malik?” He addressed him as his first name, which earned a stare from the Sultan, though he did not take offense, and continued, “what I mean… secret passage ways, perhaps. A way to sneak into your castle.”

“Why are you asking me this?” The Sultan stood once more, and walked to the window. He noticed his men patrolling the streets, and the mood was a bit jovial, something everyone could use a bit of. He cleared his throat.

“Because I want you to kill him.”

Greyhaven, Republic of Oredae 1108 AG

The aftermath of the battle left buildings damaged, trading carts destroyed, monuments broken, and even part of the bridge in the harbor ruined. People came together, Pria and human, to fix their home once more. The mood was not gloom, but something warmer. Neighbors helped neighbors, and friends helped friends. Isthians and Oredanians worked alongside one another, with apologies being heard throughout the city. By the afternoon, Greyhaven felt alive again, with people seemingly forgetting their burdens, even if it was just for a while.

General Oscar sat next to Aiko, waiting for her to wake up. She was breathing, and the Pria had been able to stop the bleeding. If only we had the light magic, Oscar whispered to himself.

“You… and me both,” Aiko grunted, waking up as she tried to sit up. “Aiko!” Oscar quickly came to her aid, helping her slowly. “Easy now. You sustained major injuries.”

“No kidding.” She managed to sit up. “I’m okay, Oscar. Thank you.” Oscar looked annoyed. “Aiko, with respect, you are not okay. You need rest.”

While they were speaking, the nurses came to her aid. “Lady Aiko, it’s good to finally see you awake.” Aiko laughed. “Lady? You flatter me.”

“What you did saved the city,” the nurse said, smiling as she examined Aiko’s bandages. “You saved us.” She began removing some of the bandages, though the wound on Aiko’s thigh remained their biggest concern.

“We should leave this one on for now.” Aiko looked down at the bandage around her thigh and felt the pain almost immediately, so she didn’t argue. “Thank you. You’re too kind.” Aiko smiled and bowed her head to the nurses.

“We’ll let you two have some privacy. Lady Aiko, if you need anything, please let us know.” Aiko smiled as the nurses left, still thinking about being called a lady. “I can stand, Oscar,” she said, trying to move herself out of the bed. Oscar stood with her.“You almost died. Being stubborn won’t help you.”

“That Paladin came from the west,” Aiko said. “There must be ships off the coast of Oredae. Did they find them?”

“They’ve sent scouts to inform Promenade,” Oscar replied. “I haven’t received word yet.”

“Good. Good…” She looked around the room. “Where are my knives?” Oscar looked at her, puzzled. “Why do you need your knives? You’re not going anywhere in this condition.” Aiko grew annoyed. “If you want to help me, Oscar, get me a horse.”

“Why do you have to be so hard-headed?” Oscar asked. “We can’t lose you.”

Oscar pleaded for Aiko to rest, and to a degree, he had a point. Something had changed in her, and even Oscar could tell. She had sustained massive injuries, and being near death was something she had not expected. Though she had killed the Paladin, it cost her almost everything. Had she been alone, she would be dead, but because of the people of Greyhaven, she was alive.

“I don’t know how many of these Paladins there are,” Aiko said, while looking for her knives. She opened a few drawers until she found them. One of the blades was special to her because it was a weapon Darren had gifted her.

Darren…

“I need to go to Isthia,” Aiko said. “So I’ll need a horse.” Oscar grew angry. “You’re going to die. Please rest.”

“I can’t. I need to go.” Aiko held her knives close for a moment. “Oscar, thank you for looking after me. There are more of these Paladins. I’m sure of it.” Aiko retrieved her knives and noticed the nurses had done a good job keeping her clean, something she was grateful for.

Oscar stared at her for a moment, then relented. “I’ll go to the stables and get a horse ready for you.” Aiko looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

Once Aiko was prepared, Oscar helped her out of the infirmary. She could stand, but barely. Every step hurt, and she tried hard not to show it. When she stepped outside, the street slowly went quiet. Then one person clapped, followed by more claps.

Before long, the applause spread through the street. Upon seeing Aiko alive, the people cheered and hailed her as a savior. Aiko herself was surprised by it. The whistles, the clapping, and the shouting grew louder.

“Lady Aiko!”

“Savior of Greyhaven!”

Aiko looked around, unsure what to do with the attention. “Please, everyone,” she said. “I was just doing my job as a Battledancer. My oath is to protect you, so it is an honor to do so.” She blushed at the praise, and it helped to receive it. It reinvigorated something within her. Oscar brought the horse forward.

“See?” he said. “They love you. It may be a sign for you to stay.”

“This is a beautiful horse,” Aiko said. Oscar helped her mount, though she tried to do most of it herself. The pain in her thigh nearly made her curse, but she held it back.

She looked over the people of Greyhaven.

“For the Republic!”

The people cheered again as the horse began moving. Oscar watched her leave, confused as to why she was going to Isthia when Oredae needed help. She had not told anyone the real reason. The truth was that she wanted to be with Darren.

When Aiko realized she could die without seeing him again, she could not bear the thought of being apart any longer. She did not know where Darren was, but Isledon would be her first stop.

The cheers faded behind her as she passed through the west gate.

Eastern Vales, The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

The Sifian soldiers were ready for whatever may come their way. Though they had taken Eastern Vales without much effort, they expected a retaliatory strike from Jeshua, though none had come. The townsfolk continued their duties, though no one mistook the silence for peace. The Isthian soldiers who had been imprisoned were let go, disarmed, a mercy they did not expect.

The tavern was lively, with Gamble being the center of attention.

“Then the dragon came and burned everything in its path.”

The cheers continued as he embellished some of the story. He spoke about how he shot his crossbow straight into the dragon’s mouth. “I hit the beast straight in the eye.”

Darren would have noticed the contradiction immediately, but the crowd did not seem to care. “Gamble! Gamble! Gamble!”

A woman approached him, blonde hair, short in stature. “So you’re the dragon slayer then?” she asked. “I sure am!” Gamble said, introducing himself to her.

“I’m Cynthia. I came here from Isledon hoping to get to Sifia, but clearly, there’s a change of plans.”

“What kind of plans? It’s never too late. Get you a horse, or zaruuk.”

“I’d… rather not run into dragons.” She smiled. “But…” She put her hand on Gamble’s, which made him blush. “Come and show me how you slayed that dragon.”

“Oh? Well now I have to oblige!” Gamble laughed as people continued to cheer, and he took the young woman toward the inn. “Lucky for you, I have a great room.” They passed the soldiers on the road to get to the inn, but immediately upon entering, Gamble saw Darren and Dante.

“Hey! What are you guys doing?” He whispered something to Cynthia that neither Darren nor Dante could make out.

Darren smiled. “How was your excursion at the tavern?”

Gamble smiled. “It felt great. The atmosphere was jovial!” Cynthia smiled as well. “He is the notorious dragon slayer. Quite the man he is.” Dante laughed.

“Dragon slayer?” Gamble looked at Dante. “Hey!” Cynthia looked at Gamble. “Are you not a dragon slayer?” Gamble began to grow nervous. “Well, I gave them linkpearls and…” The young lady sighed, then slapped him.

“You are such a bad man, Gamble!” She left in a hurry, with everyone at the table laughing “Why… do you always do this to me?” Gamble complained as he sat down, staring at Penelope. “So who’s this beautiful lady?” “You move on fast, huh?” Penelope replied, with a bit of a chuckle.

Zayyan smiled. “No one can guarantee tomorrow. It’s best to enjoy the moments as they present themselves.”

“What he said,” Gamble answered. There was a slight bit of annoyance on his face, but then Darren tossed him a bag of sol. “That’s your share.” Gamble looked at the bag, smiling.

“Well thank you, sir.” As they made small talk, Penelope couldn’t help but think of Cade. She thought the Sultan would treat him with malice, but so far, the Sifians had been cordial. Whatever they were discussing in that room, she hoped Cade would walk out a free man.

She hoped that the man she was falling in love with was safe.

Check out our 3rdestate Podcast, where we do deep dive companion podcasts for the novels featured on our publication.

The Technate

See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

Voyager 'Sanctuary' 20

✍📕The Third Estate — Sun, 14 Jun 2026 18:18:28 GMT

Eastern Vales, The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

There was no fanfare, nor cheers. There were no shouts of glory, no celebrations of the Sultanate. The invasion came silent and unopposed. Sifia had come for Isthia.

Even after suffering heavy losses, the Sultanate marched forward. Darren, Dante, and Gamble walked among them, exhausted and defeated.

“Open these gates.” Amir al-Jaysh Rashid al-Karam, Supreme General of the Sifian military, stood tall as he demanded the gates be opened.

The Isthian archers did not bother aiming their bows. The soldiers did not unsheathe their blades. They simply complied and opened the gates. “That was… easy,” Dante said, looking at Darren. “Well, they saw Sifia and decided surrender was the only option.”

“We will comply and await your mercy,” one of the Isthian soldiers said as the gates opened.

The defenders laid down their weapons. They were welcomed as friends, not enemies. Then again, they had no choice. The trebuchets would have made quick work of the town, and everyone within the walls knew it. People kept their doors shut and windows closed. A few townsfolk watched from behind curtains, saying nothing as the Sifian army entered.

The Sifians marched quickly into the city. They did not hesitate. The Isthian soldiers were arrested, along with those who represented the government within the city and anyone else deemed a threat. Houses were emptied and turned into makeshift jails.

For now, there were no executions, no long marches, no piles of bodies in the streets. The invasion, if that was what anyone wanted to call it, had arrived as a whisper, not a scream.

From a hill above the town, Cade and Penelope watched the Sifians march through the streets. There was no violence, only surrender. They were close enough where they could hear officers shouting orders and demands of compliance.

“There will be mercy if you comply,” one of the Sifian officers shouted. “We are not here as conquerors. Obey, and there will be no retaliation.”

“Is that necessary?” Gamble asked, looking over at Darren. “Why not just kill them?” Dante looked at him, shocked. “That’s something I didn’t expect you to say, Gamble.”

“Ehh… well.” Gamble shrugged. “They are part of the Isthian military.” Darren did not answer right away. He only looked at Gamble for a moment before turning back toward the city.

“Let’s find some food, some beds, some sort of comfort,” Darren said.

Everyone nodded, visibly exhausted. Once the town was secured, the Sifians turned Eastern Vales into a garrison for their army, though a messenger had left the town immediately upon seeing them. Word would eventually reach the King, and when it did, Jeshua would certainly retaliate.

Back on the hill, Penelope looked toward Cade. “Cade,” she said. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.” Cade watched the Sifian banners rise over the town. A part of him grew angry. He had exiled himself from the castle, but he still cared for his country and its citizens. Isthia was still his home, even if its king no longer was.

“We’d have to take the road south,” Cade said. “We could try getting to Oredae, but it’s far.” Before Penelope could answer, two soldiers on horseback approached them. They were Sifian scouts. “The commander has ordered all citizens within the perimeter to present themselves immediately,” one of the scouts said.

They were not there for a friendly conversation. One of them dismounted and unsheathed his sword. Cade reached for Garuda, but did not draw it.

“That is ill advised,” the scout warned. “Hand over your weapons.” To them, Penelope was unarmed. They did not realize her book was her weapon.

“And if I refuse?” Cade asked. “Then you shall die where you stand.” The scout’s tone did not change. He was not bluffing. “Cade…” Penelope whispered. “We can fight them if we must, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Cade drew his weapon. The other scout dismounted at once and drew his sword. Before either of them could attack, Cade dropped to one knee and struck the earth with Garuda.

A violent windstorm erupted around them. The grass bent flat. Dust lifted from the road. The horses screamed and stepped back as the wind twisted around Cade, circling him without touching Penelope. He did not attack, because he was not foolish. He only showed them what he could do if pushed too far.

Then, as quickly as the storm had risen, it faded. Cade stood, staring at the Sifian scouts. “My name is Cade Mistral, and I am the Prince of Isthia. I will not be disarmed.”

Penelope stared at him, stunned. “Cade!” she shouted. The scouts looked at one another, panic clear in their faces. The man before them had just conjured wind with a Mistral blade. “Only a Mistral can control the wind,” one of the scouts said. “Yet you travel alone, with a woman. Why?”

“I have denounced my house,” Cade answered. “Jeshua is no king. He is not the Son of God.” The scouts exchanged another look. “Let’s go,” one of them said. “You can keep your sword. Follow us.” Cade and Penelope stared at one another.

“You realize you’re giving them massive leverage, Cade,” Penelope said. “A prince is the best hostage Sifia could ever hope for.”

“We don’t have a choice, Pen.” Cade took her hand and kissed it. “I will return to you.”

They were led into town, where Sifian guards were already stationed at the eastern gate. Sifia’s eagle banners draped over the walls, while the Isthian banners burned in the streets.

“The Prince?” someone whispered. The townsfolk began speaking among themselves. Many recognized Cade. He had traveled through every town in the kingdom before his exile. “My Prince!” another man shouted. Cade smiled faintly and waved, trying to be friendly despite the circumstances.

“They captured Cade Mistral!” someone else shouted. Penelope looked around, surprised by how many people knew him. “You’re a popular man,” one of the scouts said. “It seems like it,” Cade replied.

He remained somber. He had hoped Sifia might provide shelter for him and Penelope. Now he did not know what to expect, and that made him nervous. Penelope worried as well. Her feelings for the prince were obvious at this point, and she did not want him hurt.

Within the town, they took Cade into an inn and led him into one of the rooms. He had been captured, though it felt more like he was a guest. They allowed him to keep Garuda, and he knew he could escape the room if he chose to.

A Sifian soldier knocked on his door. “Are you hungry, Prince?”

“Yes, actually,” Cade said. “It’s been a long journey. The woman who was with me, where is she?”

“Downstairs. She beat you to the kitchen, it seems.” Cade laughed and thanked him.

He felt more like a guest than a prisoner, but regardless, he was a hostage of the Sultanate, even without the label. The silent implication was enough.

The soldier went downstairs to procure food, but the inn was busier than usual. Darren and Dante sat in one of the corners, eating and planning to rent a room the moment one became available.

Penelope had been left downstairs as well, though she was not being treated harshly. She sat a few feet away from them. Dante would occasionally look up at her, and she would glance back. “What if there are no rooms left?” Dante asked.

“Honestly, little brother, I’d sleep on the floor at this point.” Darren smiled. “Though my back would not appreciate it.” Dante laughed. “Anyway… it seems like, once again, Gamble is missing.”

“Gamble never knows when to stop when it comes to those linkpearls,” Darren said.

“Speaking of which, I still have this thing in my ear.” Dante had almost forgotten that both he and Darren had pearls to communicate with Gamble. He put his finger to the pearl. “Gamble. Can you hear me?” Within a few seconds, Gamble answered.

“Haha! So you are using the pearl, I see.” He sounded jovial, almost euphoric “I forgot I even had it on, if I’m being honest,” Dante said. His voice drifted toward Gamble through the aether. “Where are you?”

“At the tavern. Giving out more shells and pearls while enjoying some wine,” Gamble replied. “You and Darren need to come enjoy yourselves. It’s been a rough journey!”

As Gamble spoke, jeers and shouts of joy overwhelmed his voice. The noise made him almost impossible to hear through the pearl. “Wine can wait for tomorrow,” Darren said. “My feet will punish me if we don’t rest.”

They finished their food and went upstairs to the room Darren had secured for them. He wanted to get a room for Gamble, but none were available. “Looks like us three will be sharing a room.” Darren told Dante.

The Sifian soldier who had gotten food for Cade walked behind them. Darren noticed another soldier standing by a door, guarding it. “I wonder who’s in that room,” Dante said. The soldier knocked. Cade opened the door and immediately made eye contact with Darren.

Darren recognized him at once. “They captured the Prince,” he whispered. “How?”

“The Prince of Isthia?” Dante asked. “Jeshua’s brother?”

“Seems like it. Let’s get inside and keep our noses out of this.”

Gamble finished his excursion at the tavern and made his way toward the inn to join the others. He walked down a road near the west gate when he saw something he could not believe.

He stopped.

“Is that the Sultan himself?” Gamble muttered.

Greyhaven, Republic of Oredae 1108 AG

A wounded Aiko lay in the infirmary, her injuries severe enough to leave her incapacitated. A team of Pria healers and traditional doctors worked to save her as she barely held on to life.

“You put up a hell of a fight saving us,” one of the doctors said. “Now we save you.”

Aiko did not respond.

They washed the blood from her body. The Paladin had done her the favor of bleeding on her as well, so not all of it was hers. Still, one injury on her upper thigh, a gash caused by the warrior’s blade, would not stop bleeding. It concerned the doctors more than anything else. They had covered it as best they could while waiting for a chance to close the wound by traditional means.

“She may have sustained head injuries as well,” one of the Pria healers said. “We need to check for those.”

The doctor had already checked her for other injuries of concern, but he did not dismiss the warning.

“Aside from the cuts and bruises across her body, and the damage to her head, she may survive,” the doctor said. “She has lost a lot of blood. If we can stop the bleeding and keep her stable through the day, she has a chance.”

The Pria healer nodded and continued working.

Outside the infirmary, a regiment of Oredanian troops had arrived. Word had reached the President who had already been warned about the destructive Paladins weeks prior. The troops looked over the devastation caused by the battle between Aiko and the Paladin. His body had been added to the rest of the dead Oredanians.

The general of the regiment was named Oscar, and he had had enough of Isthia and their obvious provocation.

“It’s as if that king of theirs wants us to attack them,” Oscar said. He began questioning the townsfolk who still wandered through the streets.

“A woman?” Oscar asked. “What was her name?” A young lady told the general that a woman named Aiko, a battledancer, had fought the Paladin.

“We all thought she was outclassed by that monster,” the young lady said. “But she fought. She fought hard.”

“Aiko Kisarai?” Oscar asked.

He knew immediately who she was and demanded to know where she had been taken. A man who had been listening to the conversation led Oscar to the infirmary, where many of the wounded were being treated.

The smell inside was heavy. Blood, sweat, smoke, and medicine filled the air. Some of the wounded had not survived. Oscar looked around and heard cries from every direction. The sight angered him, and he wanted swift retribution against the King of Isthia.

“She’s this way, sir,” a young Pria nurse said. She escorted Oscar to the room where Aiko had been placed. She had been given her own room because of the respect she had earned defending the town. Oscar stepped inside and stopped when he saw her.

“Aiko,” he said.

The nurses and doctors looked up from their work. One of the Pria healers put a finger to her lips, warning him to keep his voice down. Oscar looked at her, then gave a small nod. He was not there to cause trouble. He was a general in the army that fought for them, and he was grateful Aiko was being treated.

“This woman is one of our strongest assets,” Oscar said to the doctor. “No other battledancer comes close to her grit. She has to survive. Do you hear me?” The doctor looked at him with a blank face.

“We are doing everything we can for her,” he said. “Now please, give us time and space to work.” Oscar stared at Aiko for a moment longer before nodding.

“Make sure she lives.” He left the room.

As he walked through the corridor, he saw more wounded lying wherever space could be found. There was a boy, maybe six years old, motionless on the floor. The doctors had tried to save him anyway, but he had lost too much blood. Oscar stopped near one of the physicians.

“Whatever you need,” he said, “we will provide. Get the attention of one of my soldiers, and they will assist however they can.” The doctor thanked him and hurried away.

Oscar stepped outside and began giving orders. “Keep men posted near the infirmary,” he said. “If the doctors or healers need anything, they get it. Food, water, bandages, clean cloth, anything.”

One of the soldiers saluted. “They’ll need more bandages,” Oscar said. “Once you procure them, run straight back. If they need anything else when you arrive, you obey.”

“Yes, General.” The soldier left at once. “What a fucking mess,” Oscar whispered. He turned to another soldier. “We need to send word to the President immediately. You.”He pointed to a young man in standard Oredaen armor, a sword sheathed at his hip.

“Yes, General. I shall ride back to Promenade.” The young rider mounted his horse and headed toward the capital. “Does this mean war with Isthia?” another soldier asked. “Do we ally with Sifia?” Oscar was not in the mood for gossip.

“We do nothing and assume nothing until we receive word from the President,” he said. “Focus on your patrol.”

“Yes, General.” Oscar removed his vambraces and sat on a chair that could barely stand. He covered his face with one hand and prayed that Aiko would survive what she had endured. To him, and to everyone else, she was too important to lose. Few could match her prowess.

“General.” A scout had finished his rounds and returned with information. Oscar looked up. “Speak. What is it?”

“This Paladin, or so they’re called, came from the west gate,” the scout said. “I canvassed the area. Several townsfolk confirmed it.” Oscar leaned back slightly.

“Why does that matter?”

“We must inform leadership that the seas may be compromised,” the scout said. “There is a chance Isthian ships may be in our waters.” Oscar frowned.

“You think we would not have seen the ships?”

“I am saying it is possible, General,” the scout said carefully. “If he came from the west, then he either passed through the countryside unnoticed, or he arrived from the coast. Either way, we should not ignore it.”

Oscar stared at him for a moment. He did not like being challenged, but the scout was not wrong. “Send riders to the coast,” Oscar said. “Quietly. I doubt Isthia moved ships into our waters without being seen, but I will not dismiss the possibility.”

The scout saluted. “Yes, General.”

“And send word to Promenade with the same warning,” Oscar added. “The President needs to know everything.” The scout nodded and left. Oscar looked back toward the infirmary. “Isthian ships out in the sea,” he whispered to himself. “We would have seen them.”

He sat there for a moment longer, listening to the noise from inside.

“Come on, Aiko,” he said quietly. “I need you to pull through.”

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See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

Voyager 'Aftermath' 19

✍📕The Third Estate — Sat, 13 Jun 2026 17:15:11 GMT

Valley of Death, Contested 1108 AG

By dusk, the harvest had been made apparent.

Eight hundred and forty-three bodies lay beneath white cloth and Sifian red, though every man who counted them knew the number was a lie. There were still soldiers buried beneath stone, riders missing in the smoke, and ash where names should have been. The dragon had come and gone in less than an hour, and in that hour it had done more damage than an enemy invader.

The Pria moved quietly between the pyres, their blue eyes dim in the gloom. They raised no songs, gave no speeches. One by one, they touched trembling hands to the stacked wood, and pale fire bloomed beneath the dead. Around them, Sifian soldiers stood with their weapons lowered. The atmosphere was solemn as the quiet took over. They only watched, as if looking away would be another kind of betrayal.

Darren worked until his arms shook, dragging broken beams from the road and helping lift the wounded into repaired carts. Gamble knelt beside a shattered axle, cursing softly as he forced bent iron back into shape. Dante had tried to help them. For a while, he had carried water, but then he had seen the small body beneath the cloth, no taller than himself, and whatever strength he had borrowed from fear finally left him.

Darren looked at his brother, powerless to explain what had happened. Had they traveled without Sifia, their souls would have joined the ghosts haunting the Valley.“Yea,” Dante whispered again, though the words barely survived the smoke. “I will fear no evil.” A voice came from behind them, quiet enough that it almost belonged to the pyres.

“So we meet again.” Darren turned.

The Immortal from the meadows stood a few paces away, his armor blackened by ash and dragonfire. His turban had been loosened, hanging around his neck, and without it his face looked older than Darren remembered. Not aged by years, but by what he had seen in the sky.

Darren’s hand moved near the Breakspear, then stopped. “You were one of the Immortals who attacked the dragon,” he said. Zayyan nodded. “One of the three,” he answered. The words settled between them. Darren looked past him toward the rows of burning dead. “We heard one of yours fell.” Zayyan’s eyes drifted to the pyres. For the first time, the Immortal did not look untouchable.

“He died holding its attention long enough for the wounded to flee,” Zayyan said. “That is a good death, if such a thing exists.” Darren let out a bitter breath. “Seems I keep hearing about dead Immortals lately. Contradictory to the name, isn’t it?”

A faint smile touched Zayyan’s mouth, but it carried no amusement. “Immortal is not what we are in flesh,” he said. “Our flesh still burns, our bones break, and eventually, our names are forgotten.” He placed a hand over his chest. “The soul is what rises again and again.”

Dante stood. His book closed in his hands with his face wet with tears, but anger had begun to harden behind them. He took a step forward, bow gripped tight at his side.“Why are you here?” Dante asked. Darren turned toward him. “Dante.”

“He tried to kill us,” Dante said, his voice shaking. “Now he comes here and speaks of souls?” Zayyan did not reach for his blades… he understood the boy’s anger. “You are right to be angry,” he said. “What happened in the meadows was my failure. I judged before I understood. I cannot undo it.”

Dante stared at him. The firelight moved across Zayyan’s face, catching in the soot and the bloodless cuts along his cheek. “Today,” Zayyan continued, “I fought because there were people behind me who could not fight.”Dante looked toward the pyres. His grip on the bow loosened. Darren stepped beside him, lowering his voice. “This is not the time, nor the place.”

For a moment, Dante looked as if he wanted to argue. Then his shoulders fell, his face reminding those around him of his youth. “I know,” he whispered. Gamble approached from the wreckage of a shattered cart, wiping ash from his hands. His usual grin was gone. “That technique you used on the dragon,” Gamble said to Zayyan. “The coordinated strike. That was you?”

Zayyan reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small pearl, darkened with soot. “One of our archers found this among the supplies,” he said. “Through it, we heard each other and made coordination much easier.”

Gamble stared at the pearl. “That’s mine,” he said softly. Zayyan looked at him. “I am aware… your invention won us the battle.” For once, Gamble had no boast ready. He only swallowed, his eyes drifting toward the burning rows.

“I made it so people could talk across distance,” he said. “Didn’t think it would be used for something like this.”

“Few tools know what they are made for until the hour arrives,” Zayyan replied. Gamble reached into his coat and pulled out several more linkpearls. He placed them in Zayyan’s palm, one by one. “Take them,” he said. “You’ll put them to good use.”

Zayyan closed his hand around the pearls with care, not wanting to damage them.

“I will place these before the Sultan himself,” he said. “I will tell him about your victory here.” Gamble gave a faint, tired smile. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

The line was small, almost swallowed by the crackle of the pyres, though Darren smiled despite himself, and even Dante’s mouth twitched for half a heartbeat before grief claimed him again. Zayyan bowed his head.

“You will be honored,” he said. “This conquest was yours.” Hooves approached through the ash. Several Sifian riders passed between the pyres, their horses moving slowly. Zayyan turned toward the sound.

“The commander has sent an emissary back to Dar al-Saltana for reinforcements,” he said. “At first light, we march again toward Eastern Vales.” Darren looked down the Valley, where smoke hid the road ahead.

They all simply nodded as the soldier continued riding toward the front. Beside him, Dante opened the book of the Old Religion once more. Darren watched him for a moment, then looked back toward the dead.

“What does that book say about this?” Darren asked, his voice rough. “Your God, so holy and righteous, allowed this too?” Dante did not answer right away. He didn’t even look at Darren, because he understood his anger. He also had come to terms with the fact that religion was a sore topic for Darren.

“Death comes for kings, cowards, saints, soldiers, monsters… the only choice we have is whether it finds us kneeling, running, or standing with fire in our hands.”

Greyhaven, Republic of Oredae 1108 AG

The fog had retreated from the harbor by morning, leaving Greyhaven beneath a clean blue sky, with the sun’s warmth enough to make people forget the chill that usually clung to the Stonecoast. Merchants opened their shutters early, while dockworkers took this as an opportunity to get work done. Children ran barefoot across the stone steps near the fish market while gulls wheeled overhead. The people had earned a good day, or so that’s how they felt.

Even the soldiers seemed lighter, joining in on the festivities within local taverns. They sang songs, praised the republic as it stood, and cursed Isthia for its transgressions.

“Perhaps WE should exile THEM!” “Hear, hear!”

Oredanian patrols moved through the streets with spears resting against their shoulders instead of gripped in their hands. Isthian refugees gathered in small clusters near the wells, faces turned toward the sunlight. For a few precious hours, Greyhaven felt less like a city bracing for war. It felt like an actual town.

Then there was Aiko.

She stood beneath the striped awning of a spice merchant’s stall, one hand resting near the knives hidden beneath her red-and-gold sleeves. Her black hair was tied high, though loose strands moved with the coastal breeze. Around her, people laughed, bargained, drank, argued, and lived. Then the street changed.

It changed the way a room changes when tension became palpable. He came walking through the western avenue without escort, without horse, or without banner.

A tall man with dark brown skin, broad shoulders, and armor so white it seemed untouched by the dust of the road. Sunlight slid across the plates of it, clean and merciless. A soldier who had crossed the world should not have looked so pristine.

He has to be one of those monsters, Aiko thought, which moved through her like one of her knives drawn slowly from its sheath. He walked at an even pace, neither hurried nor cautious. People stepped aside without being asked, some lowered their eyes, others stared too long out of curiosity. The man gave none of them his attention.

He was more focused on the Battledancer who was stalking him from a stall behind him. To Aiko’s credit, she wasn’t trying to hide her intentions. She wanted him to know she was behind him, but then she stepped away from the stall and followed.

She moved through the street as if she had nowhere to be, pausing near fruit sellers, slipping behind carts, letting laughter and sunlight cover her steps. The Paladin did not look back because he didn’t need to.

They moved out of the market district and into one of Greyhaven’s older streets, where the buildings leaned closer together and the stone beneath their feet had started to crack. The warmth remained, but the noise thinned. Fewer people passed this way, and fewer windows stood open. Aiko’s fingers brushed the handle of one knife.

That’s when he stopped. He stood in the center of the narrow street, his back still turned to her. For a moment, he seemed as if he was contemplating, making a decision he knew may start a conflict. He lowered his righthand toward his sword, and now, Aiko knew this would be their stage.

She stopped several paces behind him. The Paladin held his blade low, the white armor on his shoulders burning bright beneath the sun.

“There is no stopping what’s to come,” he said. Aiko let her hand slipped beneath her sleeve, fingers closing around the first hidden knife.

“How exciting,” she said. “A new dance partner.”

The Paladin moved before Aiko finished smiling. There was no warning, no battle cry, nor a holy declaration. One moment he stood with his sword lowered beneath the warm Greyhaven sun, and the next, he crossed the distance between them with terrifying speed. Aiko barely had time to breathe as his blade came for her throat.

She slipped aside, the edge passing close enough to cut a loose strand of black hair from her head. The severed hair drifted through the sunlight as Aiko pivoted behind him, planted both hands against the stone, and threw herself into a clean somersault. Her heel crashed between his shoulders. The impact should have broken something, but instead, it only made him stumble.

The Paladin slid forward several steps, boots grinding against the street. Aiko landed behind him, light on her feet, one hand still near the knives hidden beneath her red-and-gold sleeves. She smiled again, though this time it was thinner.

“Strong,” she said. The Paladin turned, but his face remained determined to kill her.

Around them, the street had begun gathering a small crowd. A merchant stopped weighing fish, while a child was pulled back by his mother. Two dockworkers lowered the crate between them and stared. Someone whispered, “Is that Aiko?”

The Paladin attacked again. His sword came down in a brutal vertical cut that split the air where her skull had been. Aiko twisted away, but he did not relent. He followed with a horizontal slash, but she ducked beneath it. He reversed his grip and stabbed backward with frightening speed. She bent sideways, the point of his blade tearing through the loose fabric at her shoulder. Aiko, seeing an opening, used one of her daggers and stabbed the Paladin in a vulnerable area of his armor.

A light wince, but he remained unfazed. It did nothing to slow him down, or turn the tides in Aiko’s favor. What the fuck? I stabbed him straight in the kidney, Aiko thought.

He continued his assault, with his sword becoming a white flash in his hand, violent and precise. He did not swing like a man trying to impress a crowd, but instead, he had become a butcher determined to cut down his enemy. He swung like a man cutting meat from bone. Each strike was built to end her and each miss broke something else: a barrel, a signpost, a stone trough, the corner of a stall. The fight continued, while the people suffered.

She bent beneath a slash, spun over a low cut, stepped inside his reach, then slipped away before his armored elbow could crush her jaw. The street gasped with every near hit. To them, she looked untouchable, but Aiko knew better. He was learning and every time she dodged, his next strike came closer. With his clenched jaw, he lifted his left hand, and a light burst from his palm.

Aiko saw the glow and moved, but not fast enough. The blast hit her in the chest like a fist from the heavens. With that attack, her body left the ground. She flew backward and crashed through a merchant’s stall, splintering wood beneath her spine. Clay jars shattered around her. Spices burst into the air in red and gold clouds. Her head struck the stone hard and with that, she began to panic slightly.

The merchant screamed. “My stall! My stall!” Then the Paladin took one step toward him, and the man forgot his business and ran. Aiko lay in the wreckage, breath gone, ears ringing, chest burning. For one moment, she could not make her body move.

The crowd began to disperse after they witnessed the Paladin’s magic, some knowing that this battlefield was not safe. There were some who watched from doorways, behind carts, from the mouths of alleys. They watched because terror had nailed their feet to the street. Aiko coughed, with pain stabbing through her ribs. She looked up, noticing the Paladin charging straight toward her, sword held forward, the point aimed at her heart.

The blade punched through the broken stall where she had been lying. Wood exploded and whatever stone was left cracked. She pushed herself up, but his boot caught her in the stomach and drove her back down with sickening force.

Her breath tore out of her as he prepared his sword. “Die.”

Aiko twisted, dodging the blade as it slammed into the stones beside her face. Sparks jumped across her cheek. She kicked at his knee, but his armor took the hit. He stepped through it and struck again.

She rolled, dodged, anything to not get hit. Her garb allowed her to move faster, but provided no protection against close quarters combat with steel.

He gave her no room to stand, because he was determined to win, without giving her a chance to recover.

The Paladin hacked at her like he was chopping down a tree. Aiko crawled, twisted, kicked herself backward, anything to keep the sword from landing clean. One strike caught her dress and ripped it open along her side. Another followed immediately, faster than the first, and this one bit flesh.

Aiko hissed as the blade carved a red line across her ribs. Blood ran down her side and soaked into the gold trim of her dress.

Whatever was left of the crowd went silent, predicting that the end was near for Aiko.

They had heard stories of Aiko, the renowned Battledancer with knives. The woman who moved so fast that those who witnessed it considered her a phantom. The nightmare in red and gold. Now she was bleeding in the street. The Paladin thrust again.

Aiko rolled aside, palm slipping in her own blood. She nearly fell. He stepped on the torn edge of her dress and pinned it beneath his boot.

Once more, panic flickered in her eyes. He raised his sword over her. Aiko tore the fabric free with a snarl and threw herself backward as the blade came down. The steel missed her face by less than a finger’s width. The force of the strike split the stone beneath her. Aiko landed in a crouch, breathing hard.

She kept her eyes fixed on him with cold understanding. This man was not here to fight her-he was here to erase her. The Paladin advanced. Aiko reached beneath both sleeves. The next time he swung, she moved before the strike began. She slipped around the blade, turned into the empty space beneath his arm, and unleashed the first wave of knives.

Silver flashed as the blades hammered into his armor in a vicious storm.

Every knife bounced away without leaving a scratch. The Paladin did not even slow down. If anything, he became faster. Aiko’s eyes narrowed. The crowd began to murmur in fear. A woman crossed herself in the manner of the Old Religion. An Oredanian guard at the far end of the street hesitated, then shouted for soldiers.

The Paladin raised his palm again. Aiko threw herself sideways as light tore through the air. The blast struck a wall behind her and blew a hole through it, showering the street in stone and dust. Someone inside screamed and a child began crying. The crowd of people had almost disappeared. Even those watching from their houses began to retreat.

Aiko came up running, and he fired again, with Aiko able to dodge all of the blasts. She ducked low, sliding beneath the burst as it ripped through a line of hanging cloth and set it aflame. Still she threw knives. Some at his chest, at his face, some at the joint.

What the Paladin did not know was that Aiko had already established a plan that he remained ambivalent to. Some went nowhere near him, they flew upward, spinning into the sunlit air above the street. The Paladin did not notice.

He pressed forward, sword in one hand, magic gathering in the other, turning Greyhaven’s warm afternoon into a butcher’s corridor of light and steel. Aiko backed away, blood dripping from her side. She was not enjoying this any more, and was now in pure survival mode.

There was no rhythm to savor, or elegance to admire. No secret joy in measuring herself against a worthy enemy. This was ugly, and a part of her thought that her final moments were ahead. She knew if she failed, Greyhaven would become nothing but dust.

Oredanian soldiers finally arrived. They came from the harbor road in a hard charge, six men in steel and blue-gray cloaks, spears lowered, boots pounding against the stones. “Drop your weapon!” one shouted.

The Paladin did not turn fully as he only lifted his left hand with the air folded. A blast of force slammed into the charging soldiers and ripped them off their feet. They flew backward down the sloping street, screaming as they crashed through a wooden rail at the harbor’s edge.

Then they hit the water, creating a splash that was enormous. For a heartbeat, there was movement, but the weight of their armor dragged them under. The crowd screamed, as one man ran toward the harbor, then stopped when he realized there was nothing he could do.

Aiko stared, horrified. The Paladin turned back to her as he raised his sword toward the sky. This caused light to gather along the blade, brighter than the sun. The air above Greyhaven trembled, cracking windows with the weight of power the Paladin possessed.

Aiko knew that magic because she had heard about what Seraphine had done. A rain of light poured down with precision.

In a crowded street, her blood ran cold. The Paladin was not aiming at her anymore. He was aiming at everyone.

Aiko moved and ran straight at him. The Paladin brought his glowing sword down, but she slid beneath the swing, blood smearing across the stone as she passed. She kicked off a broken beam, sprang onto a shattered cart, and launched herself toward his back.

His armored fist caught her across the face. Pain exploded through her jaw, causing her vision to blur. She hit the ground hard, rolled, and nearly blacked out. The light above him grew. Aiko forced herself up with a sound that was half groan, half growl.

She refused to relent. Now she knew that the lives of everyone in the town was in danger. If she failed, Greyhaven would burn around her. She went back in, closing the gap between them once more. The sword tore through the side of her dress and grazed her thigh. She ignored it. She planted one foot on his armored knee, pushed herself upward. She planted one foot on his armored knee and dragged herself upward, using his own weight against him.

The Paladin reached for her as Aiko wrapped both legs around his neck. His hand closed around her wrist hard enough to bruise bone. She screamed and twisted with everything she had left. The crack cut through the street louder than the screams. The light above him shattered.

The summoned light shattered as the Paladin laid on the ground. The Paladin’s body jerked once, then collapsed beneath her. The half-formed volley fired wildly into the street. Spears of light ripped from the broken spell and slammed into nearby buildings. A roof burst apart and a balcony collapsed. One shop caught fire instantly, flames crawling up the painted wood. As people scattered, they shouted. “My house!” someone screamed. “My house is burning!” Aiko hit the ground beside the Paladin, gasping. For a moment, she could not move.

The Paladin’s white armor lay still… then one of his fingers twitched. Aiko’s eyes lifted to the sky-the knives were still there. The phantom blades hung above the street as if they were waiting for their master to command them.

Aiko raised one trembling hand… and then, her fingers closed, causing the knives to immediately fly toward their target. They came down singing, with a hum that Aiko loved. Every blade answered her will. They struck the Paladin’s head, neck, shoulder joints, and the gaps torn open by the force of his fall. Metal shrieked, with the Paladin’s white armor began to spark.

Aiko’s face twisted with effort. “Stay,” she whispered. More knives rained down toward the Paladin, with the final dagger cutting through the broken gorget, where his neck had twisted. The head separated from the body and rolled once across the stone.

Some of the people who remained gasped, and others screamed. Some stood frozen with hands over their mouths. A merchant fell to his knees beside the burning remains of his livelihood, sobbing as flames ate through his stall. From the harbor, there were no more cries from the soldiers who had gone into the water.

Aiko stood over the dead Paladin, bent forward, hands braced on her knees. Blood ran from her side, her thigh, and the corner of her mouth. Her red-and-gold dress hung in torn strips. Her breathing came in ragged, broken pulls.

She had killed him, but there was no fanfare. The gruesome battle had shifted the atmosphere, and no one knew whether they had witnessed salvation or something worse. The sky cleared once more to what it was before, no longer being disturbed by the light.

More Oredanian soldiers arrived at the end of the street, weapons drawn. They stopped when they saw the body in white armor. As they saw the severed head, the fires, the ruined stalls. Finally, they saw Aiko, with her hands on her knees. Aiko looked over at the soldiers and managed a bloodied smile. “What took you so long?”

She closed her eyes, still smiling. The soldiers gathered around her, shouting for a healer, as they lifted her up to take her to the nearest chirurgeon.

She whispered, “all I wanted… was to dance.”

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The Technate

See You Next Tuesday, Christine!

Voyager (Part 1 of 3)

Voyager - 'Through Death, We March' 18

✍📕The Third Estate — Fri, 12 Jun 2026 18:36:42 GMT

AI generated images act as placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

Expect grammar errors. These are rough drafts that are being published, and sometimes it takes me quite bit to finish a chapter. Excuse my mistakes. They will be corrected.

Krammak, Sifian Sultanate 1108 AG

Krammak, two kilometers from the Valley, stood near the coast as one of Sifia’s forward military positions, built to support the movement of troops, supplies, and ships during wartime. The outpost was not a great city or castle, but it had been expanded into a fortified war camp with wooden palisades, stone watchtowers, guarded gates, storage yards, stables, barracks, command tents, and field forges for repairing weapons and armor.

“I’d say that Sifia is ready for anything.” Darren looked around at all the armaments.

“It seems like overkill.” Dante observed, though the young lad knew very little about war. “Well, if their enemy is as formidable as they believe, they’ll need everything they can throw at them.” Darren replied, admiring a trebuchet, built by the best carpenters in Sifia. Capable of hurling massive boulders to break down walls.

“Speaking of throwing… hey maybe you should ask if they can catapult you and your spear.” Dante joked.

“Don’t tempt me. That might be a good idea. Imagine me flying over the walls of Isthia.” Darren laughed, “but anyway, where’d Gamble go?”

Dante looked around. He motioned over to troops gathered under a tent, where Gamble was showing off his new invention. “When it comes to making sol, that man seems to never stop.” Darren smiled, while watching Gamble doing his sales pitch.

“It is a great invention.” Dante said as he continued to stare in awe at the capacity of the Sifian military.

While Darren and Dante walked around the camp, they noticed ditches, sharpened stakes, and earthworks surrounded the outer perimeter, making a direct assault costly. Inside the outpost, soldiers drilled in formation while blacksmiths worked, something Dante admired, as well as quartermasters counted grain and arrows, healers prepared bandages and medicine. Dante also looked at the healers, impressed by their mix of conventional tools, as well as Pria magic. Officers moved between maps, scouts, and messengers. Wagons carried food, water, spare weapons, shields, siege tools, and tents, while horses and zaruuks were kept ready for patrols and supply runs.

Darren noticed a few Immortals standing at attention. They were silent and observant, ready for anything that came their way.

The Sultanate was ready for whatever conflict awaited them.

“Isn’t this amazing? You can communicate with anyone by just putting this bad boy in your ear!” The Sifian troops were impressed with Gamble’s new invention.

“So what are you doing with these? Selling them I suppose?” One soldier asked, as Gamble fidgeted in his bag.

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s trade!” Gamble offered up several linkpearls to the soldiers who immediately put them on their ears. “I hope it doesn’t fall off my ear if I run into an Isthian!” The shorter of the troops said, laughing as he put his on. “The commander would love one of these.”

Gamble smiled, telling them that he already gave him the pearls, as well as the shell that controls communication between all the soldiers. “If only the Sultan had one. No more emissaries, or waiting weeks, sometimes months, for information.” Gamble said, in a proud tone, of course.

“So what do you want in exchange?” They asked. Gamble began to fidget with his armor. There were obvious signs of wear and tear, and he wanted to upgrade, in a sense. “I want one of those fancy leather armors I saw archers wearing.”

The soldiers looked at each other, and laughed, “deal! You probably could have gotten one for a few sol from the quartermaster.” Gamble grinned. He knew the more he spread his invention, the more people would want it. Giving them away for free or a few sol benefited him greatly.

While the conversations continued with jovial laughs and men being entertained, it was easy to forget that this was war. Krammak had everything needed to keep an army functioning: armorers, cooks, scouts, engineers, medics, priests, animal handlers, signalmen, runners, archers, infantry, cavalry, and guards posted at every entrance. Darren stopped and stared at the armorers. He admired as they worked tirelessly to fix armor to make sure the men were as safe as possible.

Prisoners could be held in wooden cages or guarded tents, while wounded men were taken to crude field hospitals away from the main roads. “I’d hate to be in one of those wooden cages. That looks… almost cruel.” Dante observed. Banners marked different units, and signal fires were prepared in case the outpost needed to warn nearby forces. Along the roads, patrols watched for enemy scouts, bandits, or monsters drawn by the noise and movement of so many people.

“You’d think they’d let us use one of their ships to voyage south?” Darren pointed at the ships that made up Sifia’s armada.

Off the coast, Sifia’s navy controlled the waters. Warships, supply ships, and patrol vessels sat beyond the shoreline, forming a blockade that made it nearly impossible for enemy ships to pass unnoticed. Their presence gave the outpost a direct connection to the sea, allowing Sifia to move troops and supplies while denying that same advantage to its enemies.

From Krammak, the army could look inland toward the road ahead and outward toward the ships that had locked down the coast. It was a military outpost, but more than that, it was a sign that Sifia intended to control both the land and the sea.

Suddenly, the atmosphere began to change. Soldiers dropped whatever they were doing and got into formation.

Amir al-Jaysh Rashid al-Karam, Supreme General of the Sifian military, approached the encampment on horseback. He looked around at his men, who stood at attention. The general carried presence in a way that made those around him feel small. Survivor of several conflicts, especially against pirates, and was chosen to lead the campaign against Isthia.

“We have received the order. We will not wait idly by on this end of the Valley and wait for death. That is foolish. Therefore, we march on Eastern Vales!”

The men cheered. “For the Sultan!”, “For the glory of the Sultanate!”, “Destroy Isthia for good!”.

“Hey I got an idea.” Gamble came running to Darren and Dante. “Nice armor you got there. It looks nice.” Darren commented on Gamble’s new attire.

“They gave it to me for a few pearls. They still can’t believe that this works.” Gamble looked as if he had cured every sickness known to man.

“What’s your idea?” Dante asked. “Let’s march along the military to Eastern Vales. I mean, we were going there anyway.” Gamble responded.

“Well, let’s go then. Dante, you ready?” Darren asked his brother.

“Wait… are we fighting for Sifia? I didn’t sign up for that.” Dante asked, concerned, while Gamble began laughing, “no, you fool. Think of it as a very prestigious, once-in-a-lifetime, military escort!”

“ Besides, we look like civilians compared to these soldiers.” Darren said.

The three gathered their things and began their journey into the Valley. They expected this to be one of their easiest journeys yet, as they were protected by the Sifian military. Whenever people think they are safest, that is when they often run into the greatest danger

No one knew it yet, but what awaited them in the Valley was anything but safe.

Greyhaven, Stonecoast, Republic of Oredae

Greyhaven was a busy coastal town built along the cliffs of Stonecoast. The weather was often cold, wet, and overcast, with fog coming in from the sea during most mornings. The buildings were made mostly of gray stone, and many of the streets were narrow, uneven, and crowded with carts, workers, soldiers, merchants, and townspeople.

Despite its gloomy appearance, Greyhaven had a steady flow of activity. Fishing boats came and went from the harbor. Dockworkers unloaded crates, barrels, rope, timber, salted fish, and lamp oil from merchant ships. Blacksmiths worked near the lower streets, repairing tools, anchors, weapons, and armor. Market stalls lined the main road, selling bread, dried fish, candles, cloth, leather goods, and supplies for travelers heading inland.

Most of the people in Greyhaven were Oredanian, but many Isthians lived there as well. Some had settled in the town years before, while others had come for trade, work, marriage, or safety. Their presence was common enough that few people stopped to stare, though old tensions still appeared in small ways.

The Old Religion flourished here as well. Oredae tolerated other religions and welcomed Pria into its lands. To avoid provoking Isthia, Oredae refused to accept any Pria that were exiled, which has raised tensions within the nation, including in Greyhaven.

An Isthian baker adjusted the baskets in front of his stall while an Oredanian fishmonger beside him wiped rainwater from her awning. “You’re blocking the walkway again,” she said.

“I am not blocking it,” the baker replied. “People can walk around.”

“They should not have to walk around bread. Why are Isthians so damn hard-headed?”

“I am not defined by where I am from,” the baker replied, clearly irritated. “I am simply a baker. Refer to me as such.” Lately, and somewhat understandably, many Isthians had earned the resentment of others because of what the Crown had done.

The fishmonger shook her head and returned to sorting her catch. A few customers nearby laughed, then continued haggling over prices.

Oredanian soldiers patrolled the streets in pairs, especially near the harbor and the town gates. Their presence was steady but not unusual. Greyhaven was close enough to contested lands that no one questioned the need for guards. If anything, this allowed people to feel safe and secure.

Wagons entering the town were inspected, ship crews were questioned, and messages from the west were carried quickly to the watchtowers.

Near the docks, an Isthian carpenter worked beside an Oredanian apprentice, repairing a broken cart wheel under a canvas cover. Farther up the road, sailors drank outside a tavern while a priest argued with a merchant over the cost of lamp oil.

“What be yer thoughts on this whole Isthia and Sifia quarrel, eh?” The men were corsairs, who were Oredae’s answer to piracy, though whether that answer was better than the problem depended on who was asked.

“Ain’t me war, ain’t me burden. Just means we steer clear o’ the western seas.” One of the corsairs, older, and more experienced, knew better than to get involved in any potential skirmish.

Children ran between stacked crates until a dockworker shouted for them to move before someone got hurt.

Greyhaven belonged to Oredae, but it did not feel like a town made of one people. It was a working town, shaped by trade, weather, military caution, and the need to survive. Oredanians held authority here, but Isthians helped fill the markets, repair the ships, bake the bread, and keep the streets alive.

The fog made the town look dull from a distance, but up close, Greyhaven was never still.

Inside the tavern sat Aiko, an associate of Darren’s. Aiko had been busy in her country’s politics with tensions across the continent increasing now more than ever. Oredanians did not want war, though that didn’t stop war hawks from potentially claiming the entire continent, including Isthian lands. Thankfully, that’s not a popular opinion, as people seem to enjoy peace more than strife.

Aiko sat in the back in her traditional battle gown, hair pulled back, and sipping on hot tea. No ale for her as she wanted to stay focused, and the tea was more beneficial. Word had reached Oredae about what had occurred in the Sultanate. Since then, Oredae refused to have one of their cities turn into Dar al-Qamar, and Aiko had travelled through Oredae, searching for… irregularities.

“Anything else for you today, ma’am?” A tavern maiden approached Aiko who was much younger than Aiko expected for someone to work at such an establishment.

“More tea if you would be so kind.” Aiko responded with slight smile. She stared out the window, which gave her a perfect view of the street, for any potential sighting of this Paladin—the Dawnblade. To her, she sounded like a formidable foe, someone she would love to dance with. When she heard that she had also killed an Immortal, well. That just made it more exciting for her.

As to not draw too much attention to herself, Aiko finished her second cup of tea and went about her business. It wasn’t unusual for Aiko to attract unwanted attention as she walked the streets, but she didn’t mind it. No one was stupid enough to even try to attack a Battledancer unless they had a death wish. Her favorite moments were when wives get mad at their husbands for staring just a bit too long.

This is so boring, she thought. Greyhaven was a vulnerable target, which is why Aiko chose this town to surveil. It’s been over a month and still nothing unusual. Perhaps Isthia didn’t want to fight two wars at once, or they were fond of Oredae. Hard to believe, given what she knows about Isthia’s new king. She decided that she had been there long enough, and would go elsewhere.

As she walked toward the stable to get her horse, that’s when she saw something. A man in pristine white armor, bearing the griffon of House Mistral trimmed of gold thread. The armor looked like it hadn’t seen any combat, and the sun reflected an unpleasant light in her direction, almost blinding her.

That can’t be her. That’s a man. Aiko thought curiously, but she still waited a bit before leaving. What caught Aiko’s attention was not only the armor, but the direction he came from. Isthia lay to the west, yet the man had entered Greyhaven from the opposite road. If he was truly one of Jeshua’s Paladins, then he had not come directly from the Kingdom. He had either circled around, arrived by sea, or had already been moving through Oredae unnoticed.

“I’ll have to leave my horse here a bit longer, is that alright?” Aiko asked the stablehand, “as long as the coin’s good.” He replied. “Money. Is that all people seem to care about?” Aiko responded as she handed the man a few sols. “Aye. I need to feed my family, lass.”

She engaged in a bit of banter with him, not wanting to make it obvious that she was staring at the man clad in white armor. “Really? You have any children?” She asked.

“Three that I know of.” The stablehand laughed, “but I was quite a rabbit in my younger years. Probably got a few bastards out there.” Aiko smiled uneasily. She wanted to believe the man was joking.

The man had passed them, but he made sure to make direct eye contact with Aiko. That may not be the Dawnblade, but that’s one of Jeshua’s Paladins. A slight shiver went down her back. This was it, she thought.

She bid farewell to the stablehand, and headed back into Greyhaven.

Valley of Death, Contested Lands

By midday, Krammak was far behind them.

The Sifian army had marched deep into the Valley, banners raised, spears forward, shields strapped tight, and scouts riding ahead on horseback and zaruuks. Darren, Dante, and Gamble walked near the center of the column, close enough to be protected but far enough from the officers that no one bothered asking why three civilians were traveling with an army.

At first, Gamble had been pleased with the arrangement.

“This,” he said, adjusting the straps of his new leather armor, “is what I call smart travel.” Darren glanced at him. “You mean hiding in the middle of trained soldiers?”

“Do you disagree?” Gamble retorted. “I mean, not really, but just something about that doesn’t feel right.” Darren continued looking ahead, occasionally glancing over at his brother. “Dante, you okay?” Darren asked.

“Hmmm?” Dante yawned, “just tired, to be honest. Envious of some of these carriages.” Darren patted him on the head, telling him they’ll be able to catch a few Z’s at Eastern Vales. “How? Did you forget this was an invading army?” Dante replied, trying not to laugh.

“I… didn’t think of that. You got me there, Dante.” Darren laughed. Gamble kept playing with his linkpearl which had gotten to the point that there were too many voices for him to keep up. “Ahhhggh!” Gamble took off his linkpearl, “you’d think there wouldn’t be this much chatter during a march!”

“Sounds like you’ve ran into a problem.” Dante said.

Dante looked around, uneasy. “What about an ambush from atop the valley?”

Gamble shook his head. “Even if they tried, with the Pria in our ranks, their arrows can’t pierce their shields.”

The Valley stretched ahead of them, wide and dry, with broken hills rising on both sides. The road through it was old, older than the current war and maybe older than Sifia’s hatred for Isthia. Stone markers lined parts of the path, though many had been cracked, buried, or knocked over by time and battle. Some bore Sifian markings. Others had Isthian script carved into them. Most had been defaced.

Traders had transformed the Valley into what seemed like the Valley of Trade, due to almost a century of peace. Though those who travelled through the road would claim that they heard the voices of those long perished.

The Valley was a neutral zone to allow for trade between the two nations. Villages that once sat near the road were now ruins, though some were repurposed and clearly used. “You think people actually live here?” Dante asked, but Darren didn’t answer, and Gamble wasn’t paying much attention. He was more focused on his linkpearl issue.

“Once,” Darren said after waking up from what seemed like a daydream.

The farther they marched, the quieter the soldiers became. At Krammak, the army had been full of movement and noise. Men joked, armor clattered, horses snorted, and officers shouted orders. Here, the sound was more controlled. Boots struck the road in steady rhythm. Wagon wheels creaked. Leather straps pulled tight. Somewhere ahead, a scout whistled and another answered.

But there had been no sign of Isthian soldiers, which bothered Darren. He was expecting, at the least, an ambush. It felt as if Jeshua was giving them an invitation to come across unabated. King Jeshua razed a city, and then went quiet. No more attacks that he knew of. Something doesn’t feel right, Darren thought to himself.

“You okay, Darren?” Dante saw the apprehension on his face which he usually noticed before they came upon an encounter.

An army did not march into contested land without being watched. Isthia had forts, scouts, patrols, and informants. Even if their soldiers did not attack, someone should have been seen by now. It got to the point where even the soldiers started looking around confused.

Darren slowed slightly and looked toward the ridges. “You notice anything strange?” Finally answering Dante. Gamble followed his gaze. “That depends. Are we counting the giant army we accidentally joined?”

He didn’t laugh, “no Isthians.” Dante looked up. “Isn’t that good? Maybe they saw a massive army headed their way and ran?” Darren remained silent, and now even Gamble started to feel something was off.

A few Sifian soldiers nearby had clearly been thinking the same thing. One of them, a broad-shouldered spearman with a red scarf wrapped around his neck, looked toward the hills.

The land began to change as they reached the middle of the Valley. The ground became darker, almost black in places, and the dry grass gave way to patches of ash-colored soil. A few trees stood near the road, but they were dead, their branches twisted and bare. Some had been burned long ago. Others looked as though something had stripped the life from them without touching the bark.

Dante noticed the smell first. “Do you smell that?” Darren did. Everyone smelled the smoke, the same smoke that would arise from a dying flame. Gamble’s confidence began to fade. “Maybe we should walk closer to the soldiers.”

“We’re already walking with the soldiers,” Dante said. “I mean closer to the bigger ones!” Gamble responded.

The order came for the march to stop. The soldiers now stood in full attention once more, with the Commander riding to the front with urgency. “What do you think’s going on?” Dante asked. Darren looked at Gamble and Dante. He motioned them to follow him. “We need to get out of the march.” The three squeezed through the ranks of soldiers until they made it to a hill.

As the silence settled, the Valley regained its familiar aura that everyone was use to. A feeling that felt like death itself. Then, the roar came. Loud and unforgiving, with shouting beginning immediately. “Dragon!” Dante immediately stared down the column of soldiers and saw the beast descend from the sky.

“We cannot fight a dragon!” Darren warned, telling them to stay down. It flew at an astronomical speed, obliterating the soldiers at the front, mercilessly and unforgiving. The shouting echoed through the valley. Soldiers began to run both ways, with the Commander shouting. “Formations, you fucking cowards! It’s just a dragon!”

He gave the order to the archers to engage, with the Pria assisting them. The arrows could not pierce the thick hide of the beast, even with enchanted arrows. They sparked against its scales and fell uselessly into the dirt, some snapping in half before they hit the ground.

The dragon banked hard and turned back toward the column.

“Shields!” A lieutenant shouted. The front ranks raised their shields just as the dragon opened its mouth. Fire poured into the Valley, swallowing men, horses, carts, and banners in a single roaring line. Soldiers screamed as the flames cut through the formation. Some dropped where they stood. Others ran blindly, armor glowing red from the heat, but those directly in front of the dragon became ashes from the blast.

Darren grabbed Dante by the back of his tunic and pulled him behind an overturned wagon. “Stay down!” Darren shouted. “I am down!” Dante yelled back, pressing himself against the dirt. Gamble dove beside them, his new armor scraped across the rocks. “This escort has become very poor in quality! Definitely getting a bad rating!”

Another wave of heat rolled over them. The wagon beside them caught fire, forcing Darren to drag Dante away again. They ran low, weaving between panicked soldiers, fallen shields, and broken spear shafts. Around them, the Sifian army tried to recover.

Rashid, the lieutenant, rode through the chaos, his horse fighting against the smoke and noise. “Reform the line! Spears front! Archers to the flanks! Pria, shield the wounded!”

The Pria moved quickly. Blue light gathered around their hands as they raised barriers over groups of injured soldiers. The shields did not stop the dragon’s fire completely, but they softened it enough for men to crawl away alive. Healers pulled the wounded behind carts and rocks, while runners carried orders from one broken section of the army to another.

The dragon landed near the road with enough force to shake the Valley floor. Its claws tore through stone. A group of spearmen charged before the order was given, desperate or brave, it was hard to tell. The dragon swept its tail once and scattered them like broken sticks. Dante stared, horrified.

Darren shoved him forward. “Do not look. Move.”

They ran toward a cluster of supply wagons as the dragon lowered its head and bit through a horse and rider in one motion. The army answered with more arrows, more spears, more shouting. Nothing seemed to matter. The dragon moved through them as if they were tall grass. Then the Immortals entered the fight.

Three of them broke from the line, moving faster than the ordinary soldiers around them. Their blue garments snapped in the wind as they spread out across the road. One drew two curved blades. Another carried a spear longer than Darren’s Breakspear. The third raised his hands and called aether around him in a bright, violent pulse. The dragon turned toward them.

“Now!” Rashid shouted.

The Immortals attacked together. The first ran under the dragon’s head and slashed at the softer scales near its jaw, while the second drove his spear into the creature’s foreleg, not deep enough to cripple it, though the beast roared in pain. The third struck with a blast of aether that forced the dragon’s head aside. For the first time, the beast reacted like something that could be hurt.

The fear slowly began to life as the Immortals encouraged the men to be brave once more. Men stopped running, and officers continued to shout orders. Shieldmen formed tighter ranks, with archers moving to the sides, aiming for any sort of weakness. Maybe the eyes, or even the mouth. What mattered was that they weren’t giving up. Pria mages strengthened the arrows with aether, but it was still not enough to hurt the beast.

A massive ballista was dragged into position by six soldiers and two zaruuks. “Chain bolts!” Rashid ordered. “Bring the chain bolts!” Gamble, crouched behind a boulder with Darren and Dante, suddenly patted his belt. Darren looked at him. “What are you doing?”

“My shell.” Gamble remembered. “This is not the time to play around, Gamble!”

“No, you fool, the linkpearls!” Gamble pulled out the small shell that controlled the network. His hands shook, but his face sharpened with realization. The soldiers he had traded with were scattered across the column, but many of them still wore the pearls.

He lifted the shell close to his mouth. “To anyone wearing one of my linkpearls, stop shooting the body! Aim for the wings and eyes! Tell the ballista crews to use chain bolts! Chain the wings!”

A voice shouted from somewhere ahead. “Who is this?” Gamble smiled before responding. “The man who gave you the thing in your ear! Listen to me or get cooked!”

Darren stared at him. Gamble looked back. “What?”

“You goddamn bastard. I can’t believe it!” Darren looked over at Dante, with him giving Darren a slight nod to reassure him that he was okay.

“See?! I can be useful!” Gamble said as he chuckled.

The message spread faster than any runner could carry it. Soldiers with linkpearls repeated the orders. Archers shifted their aim and ballista crews adjusted their angle. Pria mages moved toward the siege crews and began reinforcing the chain bolts with aether. The dragon lifted into the air again.

“Down!” Darren shouted. He threw himself over Dante as the dragon passed low over them. Its talons tore through a line of soldiers not twenty feet away. The wind from its wings knocked Gamble flat and rolled him into a broken shield.

“I have changed my mind,” Gamble groaned. “I do not want to be important.” The first ballista fired. The chain bolt flew wide and struck the ridge behind the dragon.

The second fired a moment later, b this one hit the dragon’s left wing. The bolt punched through the thin membrane between the bones, and the chain snapped tight as soldiers anchored it around a stone post.

The dragon screamed. “Pull!” Rashid shouted. “Pull it down!”

Dozens of soldiers grabbed the chain with ohers joining them. The dragon beat its wings, dragging men across the dirt. Some lost their grip and others were lifted off their feet and thrown aside. A second ballista fired and struck the other wing.

The dragon was still too strong, but it was hurt, which made it desperate. It rose higher, pulling the chains with it. One anchor snapped free, crushing two soldiers as it tore from the ground. The beast twisted in the air and spat fire across the siege line. One of the ballista crews vanished in flame.

Dante covered his ears. Darren pulled him behind a low stone wall. “Keep moving!”

“I can’t fight that!” Dante shouted, “where do we go?!” The boy was frightened, but Darren reassured him. “Dante, listen. I know that monster is big, scary, and strong, but we will make it out of this, okay?!” Darren tried encouraging him. “Do you hear me? We are going to be okay.” He whispered.

Dante nodded and trusted his brother. He didn’t know it yet, but he had become Darren’s number one priority, and he’d do anything to keep him saf.e Gamble crawled after them, clutching the shell. “Yeah I think any sane person who’s seeing an army get its ass kicked by a dragon can come to the conclusion that they can’t fight it!”

Rashid rode closer than any sane commander should have. “Third crew! Aim for the throat when it breathes!” The remaining ballista was turned with desperate speed. Pria gathered around it, pouring blue light into the bolt. The dragon landed again, furious now, thrashing against the chain still lodged in one wing. An Immortal leapt onto its shoulder and drove his blades between the scales near the neck. The dragon slammed itself against the ground, crushing him beneath its weight.

The army shouted in anger. For a moment, the Sifians surged forward as one. Spears struck the dragon’s legs. Archers fired at its eyes while the Pria cast barriers to shield the men close enough to attack. The dragon killed them by the dozen, but every death bought another second. Darren saw it open its mouth again.

“Gamble!” he shouted. Gamble already had the shell raised. “Fire when it breathes! Fire now!”

The order jumped from pearl to pearl, with the third ballista firing soon after.

The enchanted bolt shot through the smoke and drove straight into the dragon’s open mouth. Blue light flashed inside its throat, but the dragon’s fire burst outward in a broken explosion, as if still full of energy, spraying heat and sparks across the Valley. The beast stumbled back, choking, clawing at its own neck.

Rashid did not hesitate. “All ranks forward! Immortals, seize the opportunity!”

The Immortals attacked again. The remaining two moved like blades given human form, striking at the wounded throat and the torn wing. Pria mages bound the dragon’s legs with bands of blue aether while spearmen drove hooks and chains into whatever gaps they could find. Soldiers died trying to hold those chains, but more took their place.

The dragon tried to rise, but this time, it did not have the strength to do so. A trebuchet crew, half-burned and half-mad with fear, turned their machine toward the beast. The arm creaked back. A massive stone was loaded into the sling.

“Loose!” Rashid shouted. The trebuchet released.

The boulder struck the dragon’s skull with a sound that echoed through the Valley. The creature collapsed to one side, crushing wagons, shields, and the dead beneath it. Dust rose around its body. For several seconds, no one moved.

Then the dragon’s claws scraped weakly against the ground. Rashid drew his sword and pointed toward the beast. “End it.”

The final attack came from every side. Spears, swords, arrows, aether, and fire of their own. The dragon fought until the last moment, but it was wounded, chained, and surrounded. At last, one of the Immortals climbed onto its neck and drove his spear deep into the ruined throat.

The dragon gave one final roar, weaker than the first but still enough to silence the Valley.

The road was burned black, with the wagons being reduced to ash. Horses lay still beside shattered wheels, while soldiers moved through the smoke calling names that would not be answered. Healers rushed from body to body, saving who they could and covering those they could not. The banners of Sifia still stood, but many were torn or burning at the edges. “This one’s too far gone. There’s nothing I can do.” One of the healers said, trying to mend a wounded soldier. “No, please! Please! I have a wife who… who…”

Darren, Dante, and Gamble stood near the broken wall, covered in dust and ash. Dante looked at the dragon’s body and swallowed hard. “We were protected by an army.” Darren stared at the dead scattered across the Valley. “So were they.”

Gamble lowered the shell in his hand. For once, he had nothing clever to say. Rashid rode past the remains of the beast, his face hard and unreadable. He looked over what was left of his men, then toward the road ahead.

“Reform the column,” he ordered, though his voice carried less anger now. “Tend the wounded and burn the dead. We march when able.”

The Valley of Death had earned its name again, receiving more sacrifices to add to the echoes.

The trio, who had thought themselves safe among thousands, understood now that no escort in the world could promise them safety.

Voyager - 'Crossroads' 17

✍📕The Third Estate — Wed, 10 Jun 2026 18:25:14 GMT

AI generated images act as placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

Dar al-Saltana, Sultanate of Sifia 1108 AG

“We strike now! It’s been a month since Kamar and we continue to sit here like we gave them our consent to destroy the city!” Sultan Malik al-Rashid had brought in his council for the third time since the destruction of Dar al-Qamar and each time he has been told that the Sultanate cannot simply go to war.

“We must wait to hear back from the President. If one of Jeshua’s knights was able to destroy an entire city, heavens know what awaits us if we attack Isthia.” Grand Vizier al-Farouq, one of the Sultan’s least likable council member, always seemed to be the only one with sense in this matter.

As much as the Sultan wanted to wage war, the Vizier was correct. General Rafiq al-Hadir, commander of the Western Armies, begrudgingly agreed with the Vizier. “The Vizier can be a bit of a bastard at times, but he has this correct, your Majesty. This could be the exact trap to lure your armies out of the Sultanate.”

“Gahh!” The Sultan threw his glass across the room, refusing to sit, and the tension being more palpable now than ever. “My Sultan,” the General spoke once more. “I apologize if I speak out of turn, but I speak out of concern for you. This warrior killed an Immortal as well.”

Upon hearing this, the Sultan took a moment and stopped pacing. The stress was weighing on him, not because one of his cities was torn asunder by one person, but because he felt he let his people down. He felt as if he did not do enough. Maybe if he had sent two Immortals, and not one. Or perhaps if they had adequately defended the eastern garrisons then the so called Paladin would have never made it to al-Qamar.

The Grand Vizier stood, removed his turbaned cap and set his cloak upon his seat. The sun now highest in the sky, which meant the shadows of the city were peering into the Chamber of Councils. He placed his hand on the Sultan’s shoulder, an act no one would have predicted him to do. He was showing the Sultan empathy, but most of all, understanding.

“I hate Isthia. I hate their king, and if I could, I’d deliver the Sultan’s justice personally. I want to destroy them. Understand my hesitation is to protect you, your Majesty.” The Sultan calmed, but the determination stayed in his eyes. “We all bleed for al-Qamar. I studied university there.” He chuckled, “met my first wife there. The cunt.”

That got a small chuckle from everyone in the room, including al-Rashid. “But we must remain steady. Not complacent, but steady.” The Grand Vizier walked back to his seat, but did not sit down. Slowly, the entire council began to stand, smiling at the Sultan. After a moment, al-Rashid himself stood.

“You have made your arguments, but I still want to bolster the eastern garrisons.” Commander of the Desert Garrisons, General Faris al-Samar bowed before the Sultan. “At once, my Sultan. We shall do what is necessary for Sifia.” He dismissed the council, but the stress remained on his face.

Though he was a man filled with pride, he also understood that the enemy they face is unlike any the Sultanate had ever encountered. How one warrior, a Paladin, could deliver such destruction with the power of light, was something unfathomable. Adding insult to injury, even an Immortal could not stop her. What concerned him was that there could be more… what he didn’t know was just how right he was.

In his chambers, the Sultan poured himself of the finest wine there was in all of the realm. He peered out into his city, al-Saltana, a beauty that gleamed with gold as the sun hit the roofs of the many buildings within its embrace. In silence, he prayed to his father before him, asking for guidance as to not allow a kingdom that’s existed for over a thousand years to be destroyed due to one man’s ambition.

The Sultan had met Jeshua once during one of his trips to Isthia. King Leonardo had been one of his best friends, and both kingdoms prospered during their rule. The peace established by his mother, the warrior Queen Bryn, was held together mostly by their friendship. However, the Old King was dead, and in his old age, the Sultan knew he hadn’t much time left himself. Part of him wish he’d join his friend in whatever comes after death, but that was the cowardice in him.

Sifia sustained a major injury, but it had not suffered a loss big enough to slow down the Sultanate. The destruction of al-Qamar brought together the entirety of the kingdom, all of its citizens wanting revenge for the loss of one of their greatest cities. The truth was that Dar al-Qamar was not as fortified as other cities, which is why the council believed it was targeted. People from all over the realm, from Oredae to Isthia to Sifia, all congregated at al-Qamar especially because of its university.

Previous Isthian kings had studied inside those walls. The Sultan, and much of the Three Kingdoms, thought the city neutral. That assumption had caused its destruction, but it had also ignited a fury within the citizens of the Sultanate. Jeshua had moved the first pawn, but a pawn was still only a pawn, and Sifia had not yet touched the board.

South of Krammak Outpost, Sultanate of Sifia 1108 AG

The trio of Darren, Dante, and Gamble had been traveling for over a month and had finally reached Krammak, the Sifian outpost that sat across the Valley of Death from the Vales of Isthia. Hundreds of Sifian soldiers now crowded the border, which had become a regular sight across the Sultanate, just as Sultan Malik had ordered. The trio’s destination was Isledon, but now it felt impossible. The higher tensions rose between Sifia and Isthia, the faster the trio wanted to travel.

“I didn’t know you were the youngest of three daughters! And you own a tavern?!” Gamble seemed like he was talking to himself, much to Dante’s amusement.

“These linkpearls may have been a bad idea.” Darren laughed. “It’s better than him flirting with his crossbow.” Dante smiled.

“You are the most beautiful dame across the entire Three Kingdoms! Not just Sifia.”

“I’d rather eat my own vomit than to continue listening to this.” Darren motioned at Gamble to wrap it up. He looked at Darren, with a sad face, “My lady, it seems my master requests my presen—” Gamble stopped cold, horror spreading across his face. “No. No, no, no. I am THE master, but even masters have SUPERVISORS!”

“Gahh! Thanks, Darren! Now I can’t show my face in Azalea.” Gamble groaned.

Dante looked at Darren who chuckled, “that’s what happens when you put yourself on a pedestal. Maybe don’t oversell yourself next time.”

Gamble feigned discomfort, “if only I had a supportive retinue I wouldn’t have to be pressured into thinking of a lie… on the fly.”

“Clever…” Dante said. He stared ahead and could make out the outpost as they arrived. Darren got a bad feeling, so he asked Dante and Gamble to stop. “I don’t think we got here fast enough.”

A myriad of Sifian soldiers were conducting patrols and drills near the border between Isthia and Sifia. Trebuchets, spikes, and all sorts of armaments could be seen. Sifia was mobilizing for war, and the trio was witnessing it firsthand. They hadn’t learned about al-Qamar, so they weren’t expecting this much steel and urgency.

“Should we even approach? Is there no other way?” Dante asked, sensing that going through the outpost may not be the best idea. Darren sat there for a moment before looking over at Gamble, “we have no reason to fear the Sifians, or the Isthians for that matter… right?”

Gamble hesitated. “I don’t think we should find out, but I’m also tired of walking.”

“Yes we can certainly use some rest.” Darren replied, and with that they continued on.

Darren had a point. They owed allegiance to neither crown, but neutrality meant little when armies were frightened. Darren and Gamble would sound Sifian the moment they opened their mouths, and if the rumors about Isthia’s treatment of the Pria were true, Dante complicated everything further.

Darren looked at Dante, and instructed, “I doubt the Sifians would have an issue with you being a Pria, but keep your eyes hidden… and your religion to yourself.” Dante nodded, with Gamble adding,"they tolerate the Pria, but a follower of the Old Religion might get us in trouble.”

“Damned if we do. Damned if we don’t.” Dante whispered, and then prayed, “dear Lord, we walk into the unknown for safety. Please grant us your refuge, and steel our swords for what may come next. Amen.” He placed his book deep inside his pack.

“Toss it.” Darren said, “they might check your bag.”

“Absolutely not, Darren!” Dante protested, while looking at Gamble who shrugged, agreeing with Darren.

“Little brother. I know your religion is important to you…” he stopped. Darren hesitated, because he didn’t want to upset Dante. So he relented, “just keep it deep in your pack and if they ask, you found it in your travels from Azalea. You tell them you found it interesting.” Dante nodded and agreed to the compromise. They reached the entrance to the garrison, while a group of soldiers dragged the husk of a massive monster they had just slain.

“Greetings.” A Sifian soldier approached them as they came upon Krammak.

“Hey… uh sorry. This many soldiers makes us a bit alarmed. Why the sudden mobilization?” The soldier looked at Darren with an annoyed tone. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well now I’m certainly curious. We’ve traveled a month from Azalea. Has something happened?” Gamble asked.

Upon hearing that they were traveling, the soldier softened his tone. “Apologies. Excuse my tone.” The trio nodded and shrugged as he continued, “Isthia has attacked us, and they hit us hard.” All three immediately asked, “what happened?!”

“… al-Qamar.” The soldier paused, looking to the ground, “we’ve lost Dar al-Qamar.”

Dante immediately reacted, while Darren and Gamble looked at each other with concern. “How? Why?!” Dante said, voice raised.

“If the rumors are true,” a Sifian soldier on a horse approached them. “They say a single warrior from Isthia razed it to the ground.” Both the soldiers looked at each other before one continued. “They say she wields light magic.” The trio stood stunned, finally making sense of the sudden mobilization.

“Light magic…” Dante whispered under his breath. The mounted soldier saw the expression on his face and explained further. “We’re aware the Isthian king was rumored to wield light magic.”

“Then it’s no longer a rumor.” Dante looked at the soldier with his face becoming pale, and his blue eyes appearing faintly. “I can understand how that may be concerning for a Pria.” The soldier said to Dante.

“So we’re at war…” Darren said before being corrected.

“Not yet, but it certainly looks like we are. The Sultan has not given the command to attack Isthia, and to be honest.” The soldier explained, with both looking around them before speaking, “I really wish we weren’t. Another war between this valley will just be a bloodbath.” He wasn’t wrong. Several men have died in this valley from both Sifia and Isthia. Another war within the valley would be a fool’s errand, killing many people for a potentially lost cause.

“If there’s no war, we can still cross?” Darren asked. The soldiers nodded, but they couldn’t guarantee safety. “There have been many monster sightings.” He nodded toward the monster that was dragged in by a small regiment of soldiers.

“Monsters we aren’t afraid of.” Darren smiled, “but people. That’s a different story.”

The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia, 1108 AG

The rain had forced Cade and Penelope to make camp before reaching Eastern Vales, but they were close. Penelope had spotted a wild pig earlier in their travels, and she couldn’t resist killing it. Even Cade was excited and carried it to their camp to enjoy. Once the rain relented, Penelope started what Cade teased was her true magic: cooking.

She started a fire while Cade readied the pig, his mouth watering from anticipation. “I haven’t had pig since the last feast we had in Isthia.” Penelope smiled, “well I hope it’s to your expectations.”

“I’m sure it will not disappoint.” Cade put aside Garuda, which didn’t need sharpening as the two had encountered few creatures on their pilgrimage to Eastern Vales, which may have been a result of increased patrols. “Can I read a bit from your compendium?” Cade chuckled clearly needing something to do. “Sure but. Don’t be mad at me if you burn yourself.”

“Burn myself?!” Cade found the concept of a book burning him to be funny. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“The ever cocky, exiled Prince of Isthia. Do as you will.”

Cade and Penelope had traveled far from Isthia. They travelled cautiously, mostly because they didn’t want to run into Isthian soldiers which would certainly want to take Penelope. As powerful as the two were, they weren’t foolish enough to think that they could take on a regiment of trained soldiers. Patrols were higher now, which forced them to avoid the road. After their encounter at Castle Forsyth, their paranoia had grown.

“Ow! What in Father’s name?!” Cade, not heeding Penelope’s warning, had burned his hand. That garnered a hearty laugh from Penelope, who couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the moment. “I’m glad my misfortune brings you joy.”

“In a world this chaotic, joy is not so easily found.” Penelope continued laughing as she approached Cade to take back her book. “I think you’ve toyed with it enough.”

“Wait! I was just getting to the best part.” Cade protested. “What’s the best part, losing your hand?”

“No…” Cade stuttered. He handed Penelope the book, but his fingers grazed hers. It was barely anything, the kind of touch that should have meant nothing. Instead, Penelope’s heart stopped. Cade’s breath slowed. Without another word, Penelope stepped into him and embraced him. For a moment, Cade didn’t move.

“I… no. I don’t think this is appropriate,” she whispered, pulling back.

As she began to relent from the embrace, Cade pulled her in. “None of anything we’ve experienced is appropriate.” With that, Cade embraced Penelope, and the two began kissing as the pig burned in the background. They smiled at each other, until Penelope noticed. “Oh bloody hells, the pig!”

Cade laughed, but something in him had changed. His feelings for Penelope were inevitable, but he wasn’t expecting something like this. He stared at Penelope as she tried desperately to save the pig. “You could help me you know.” She teased.

“Ah yes let me conjure a bucket of water for my lady.”

My lady. Penelope paused for a moment as she smiled at the thought.

Isthia City, Kingdom of Isthia 1108 AG

Queen Casadine sat alone in her chambers, staring at the woman in the mirror.

The rain tapped against the tall windows behind her, soft at first, then harder, as if the sky wanted to provide the perfect backdrop for her regret. Candles flickered on either side of the vanity and across the jars of powder, rouge, perfume, and oil laid before her.

She dipped two fingers into a small dish of pale cream and brushed it beneath her eye, all the while staring at the woman she had become.

Something within the Queen Mother had shifted. She was still youthful for her age with her beauty adjusting well to the passage of time. Her face still carried the grace expected of a queen. Her hair still fell and flowed majestically over her shoulders. Her eyes, hazel and sharp, still knew how to command a room before uttering a word.

She hated the woman who stared back at her, because the woman in the mirror carried regret she was forced to endure. A servant had offered to help her dress. Casadine dismissed her as another had asked if she wanted her hair braided in the Mistral fashion. Casadine dismissed her too. Then came the third, asking if Her Grace wished for anything else before court.

Casadine nearly laughed. What could she ask for? A kinder son? The husband she loved returned to her? A kingdom that prospered that was now in decline?

She lifted the brush and dragged color across her cheek with a steady hand. She had done this a thousand times before, but today felt heavier. She remembered Leonardo watching her from across this very chamber, amused as she complained about court.

“You were made for this,” he had told her.

“No woman is made to sit beside fools and pretend not to smell them,” she had laughed. The King would always laugh at her jest. She missed his laugh.

Casadine paused, while the brush hovered near her face, “you’d hate the king your son has become.”

She had seen him heal the blind. She had seen men fall to their knees and weep at his feet, and she also heard the chants. Son of God…

She had watched him order horrors with the same hands he used to bless the sick. A tear formed before she could stop it. Casadine stared at it in the mirror.

“No,” she whispered. She reached for a cloth and pressed it beneath her eye before it could fall. She did not want to tarnish the woman in the mirror with her sadness.

On the vanity, beside her powders, rested a small silver pin shaped like a griffon. Leonardo had given it to her after Jeshua was born. She remembered the way he had held the child, awkward and terrified, as if the heir to Isthia were made of thin glass.

“White hair? What in God’s name?” Leonardo had said. He couldn’t remember someone in his line, or the Queen’s for that matter, who had white hair. Casadine laughed as she could feel what he was implying, “I promise I did not forsake you, my King. Besides, he has your eyes.” The King would stare at his Queen with joy.

“I would never accuse you of such a thing.”

Her fingers closed around the griffon pin. For one wild moment, she wanted to hurl it across the room. She wanted to shatter every mirror, tear every banner, rip every symbol of House Mistral from the walls until the chamber looked as ruined as the things her son had touched.

Instead, she pinned it to her gown.

The door remained closed behind her. Beyond it waited courtiers, guards, servants, spies, priests, and all the little birds that fed on royal silence. The world could wait a few moments, she thought. Casadine leaned closer to the mirror and painted her lips red. She stared into her own eyes until she found the queen hiding behind the mother. She pulled her forward, dressed her in powder and gold, and buried the rest where no one could see.

A knock came at the door. “Your Grace,” a voice called from the other side. “The court awaits.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered, though she did not know if she spoke to Leonardo, to Isthia, to Jeshua, or to herself.

Then Queen Casadine rose from her seat. Her moment of peace had faded into silence as she went to what was expected of a Queen Mother.

Sit and listen.

Voyager - 'Provocation' 16

✍📕The Third Estate — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 01:49:27 GMT

AI images act as placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

Dar al-Qamar, Al-Qamarat, Sultanate of Sifia 1107 AG

North of Bayt al-Sahra, deep in the Al-Qamarat region of the Sultanate, stood Dar al-Qamar, but most simply called it Kamar.

It had begun as a garrison, raised by merchant princes who wanted a guarded road between the desert towns and the Valley. Over time, soldiers gave way to families, markets, schools, libraries, and towers built for the study of the stars.

Kamar was not like Bayt al-Sahra. It did not live by trade alone. Its pride was knowledge. The University of al-Qamar stood near the center of town, surrounded by courtyards, lecture halls, and quiet gardens where students argued over numbers, maps, medicine, and the movement of the heavens. Beside it rose the Center of Astrology, a tall domed structure where scholars watched the night sky and claimed the stars gave way to important revelations. Sifians had always been intrigued with the stars above, especially since they believe a divine asteroid changed the course of their history.

At the end of the day, Kamar was still a Sifian town. It was highly respected by the Sultan, who considered it a true diamond in the desert. Students from Oredae, and sometimes Isthia, would travel here to gain knowledge.

Its walls were high, its gates reinforced, and those who guard it up above. The town had been besieged before. Its closeness to the Valley made it vulnerable to armies, raiders, and the monsters that wandered too close to the roads. Every child in Kamar grew up knowing the sound of warning bells.

News from the capital came slowly this far north. Most rumors reached Kamar through Bayt al-Sahra to the south, and Bayt al-Sahra had grown busier by the day. Isthian aggression increased army presence by the Sultan. The roads turned every traveler into a messenger, and it was seldom good news.

Still, the people of Kamar worked, studied, prayed, and watched the skies, as they prayed to the stars above for peace.

The lecture hall of the University of al-Qamar was older than the many generations of students that had grace their presence in its halls.

Its walls were made of pale stone, smoothed by time and desert wind, with tall arched windows that allowed a constant source of light within the university. Shelves lined the back wall, filled with scrolls and bound compendiums. At the front of the hall stood a large slate board used by professors in their lectures.

Professor Samir ibn Haleem stood before it with a piece of white chalk in one hand and a thin wooden pointer in the other. He was an older man with a silver beard, and sharp eyes.

Before him sat nearly forty students, arranged in rising rows. Some were sons and daughters of wealthy Sifian families. Others were scholarship students from smaller towns across Al-Qamarat. A few had come from as far south as Port Azalea and Bayt al-Sahra. Their robes varied in quality, but all wore the same blue sash of the University of al-Qamar.On the board was a diagram of a triangle inscribed within a circle.

Beside it were columns of numbers. “Again,” Professor Samir said. “If you know the angle of elevation and the distance from the tower’s base, you do not need wings to measure its height.” A boy in the second row raised his hand. Professor Samir sighed before even calling on him. “Nadir.”

“What if the ground is uneven?”

“Then you measure from two positions, account for the difference in elevation. It is a simple solution.” Several students laughed, while the embarrassed Nadir lowered his hand.

Professor Samir turned back to the board and tapped the diagram with his pointer. “Mathematics is more powerful than you young scholars can comprehend. It allows the mind to see what the eyes cannot.” He wrote another figure beneath the triangle.

“Now. Suppose a watchman stands one hundred paces from the base of a tower. The angle from his eye to the highest point is forty degrees. What does he seek?”

“A ladder,” a girl in the back muttered. The room laughed again. Professor Samir pointed at her. “Amina.” She sat straighter. “The height of the tower, Professor.”

Professor Samir stood closer before the students, waiting for Amina to continue her answer. “By constructing the ratio between the known distance and the unknown height.”

“Good… and why does that matter?”

Amina hesitated.bAnother student answered before she could. “For builders?”Professor Samir turned his head slowly toward him. “If you ever interrupt a classmate again, Tariq, I will assign you calculations for a fortnight.” Tariq sank into his seat.

Amina smiled faintly. Professor Samir looked back at her. “Continue.”

“For builders,” Amina said. “For anyone who must measure something they cannot directly touch.”

“Excellent.” He turned toward the rest of the hall.

“This is why Kamar survives. Kamar survives because knowledge allows us to build complex machinery. The equation may seem simple enough, but its importance is paramount.”

A murmur of approval moved through the students. Outside, the city was alive in its usual way. Through the open windows came the sounds of cart wheels from vendors, hoofbeats, and children running through the courtyards below. Somewhere nearby, a bell rang from one of the smaller schools. Professor Samir continued.

He drew a second diagram, this one of a curved path rising from one point and falling to another. “Now we move from height to motion. A stone launched from a wall does not travel in a straight line.”

The lesson continued like it did any ordinary day. Outside, the markets slowly began to open. One of the vendors who sold star fruit-a delicacy found only in Al-Qamarat. Many who travelled to Kamar would make sure to always try one of these fruits. On this day, one such knight, clad in white and gold armor, would be one of those travelers.

Her blonde hair unbound, flowing behind her helmet, brown eyes noticeable through the coif. “Star fruit,” she began speaking to the vendor. “One of Sifia’s best treasures.” She took a bite and savored how delicious it taste. “Ah yes, m’lady. Quite the treasure indeed. Our star fruits are renowned across the land.” He responded.

“Mhmm,” the lady said, while tossing sol at the vendor. “It’d be a shame if they couldn’t grow anymore.” The vendor nodded and was elated the extra sol he received from the stranger. “Thank you!”

She smiled. As she left, she strolled across the town. She reached a park where she saw many children and their parents playing. Some were enjoying picnics. She did admit that the weather that day felt great, even as she strolled, fully clad in armor. This did not go unnoticed, as some tried to understand who this person was. None were brave to interrogate her, but a young child walked up to her, finding her armor alluring enough to stop whatever he was doing.

“Hi lady. I like your armor.” The young boy said. His mother came to boy’s side. “I’m sorry! He’s just so inquisitive. I hope he didn’t bother you. Where are you from?” She asked. The knight in white and gold took off her helmet, and held it using her upper arms, leaving both hands available. While she did this, the boy’s mother had a bad omen of some sort, and just told her son to come with her. The boy refused, thinking that the lady was some sort of knight and wanted to know. Or a warrior from a far away land.

“Isthia.” Upon saying this, she stared into the lady’s eyes. She picked up her son, and ran away, motioning her husband that it was time to go. The urgency as she moved gathered their things made her husband understand that this was an emergency. He said goodbye to those he was talking to, and then they got curious. “What about that warrior is alarming you?” She didn’t want to say at first, but as she was packing, she looked at them. “She’s from Isthia.”

Sifian soldiers noticed the commotion and this alerted them to their location. Three soldiers walked up to the warrior in white. “Ma’am. What is your name?”

The warrior simply looked at them, and smiled. “Dame Seraphine Veyra, Paladin of the Crown, the Dawnblade of Isthia.” Upon hearing this, the solders drew their blades and demanded she came with them. It wasn’t that Isthians weren’t allowed on Sifian lands, at least not yet, however a ‘Paladin of the Crown’ was enough to alert them. She ignored their request, and did not comply.

“No.” The Sifian soldiers looked at each other, unsure of what to do. They threatened her that if she didn’t come with them, she would forfeit her life, and upon hearing this, she placed her helmet back on her head. She adjusted her gauntlets, and with one swift motion. Like a sudden flash of light in what felt like a second, she effortlessly killed two of the Sifian soldiers, leaving one gravely injured.

This alerted everyone in the vicinity to run. The panic in the air was palpable, and they all felt they were in danger. They didn’t realize how accurate their fear was. Seraphine walked to the injured Sifian soldier. “I want to you to witness.”

“Witness…” The injured soldier tried to stand, but he looked at his wounds. He knew he was as good as dead. “Witness… what?”

“Your failure.” Seraphine lunged her blade into the air, and immediately the sky parted as rays of light descended upon the town. The sounds of explosions permeated in the air, as screams from every direction echoed through the aether. No one or nothing was spared.

“Professor! Out the window!” Amina realized before anyone else what was occurring, and immediately the students panicked.

“Wait!” Professor Samir tried to stop them, but there was no use. The rays of light descended upon the university. Some of the students were able to make it outside, but everyone else left behind had chosen the school as their graves. The shouting, the screaming, the sound of death. Seraphine maintained her blade steady as it commanded the skies above her to continue retribution upon the people of Kamar.

Soldiers ran toward her, but each one fell, unable to stand a chance against what they were seeing. The students that made it out into the courtyard faced the wrath of the Dame, as the light kept raining on them, causing explosions. More death, with less shouting. Once the damage had been done, Seraphine lowered her blade, as the last rays of light rained down on those unfortunate to have survived the initial volley.

Satisfied, she sheathed her blade. The sword was halfway inside its proper place, when she was interrupted. “I found it curious that I didn’t run into one of you sooner. You must have been asleep. Shame on you for failing your Sultan.” The Dame said, with her back turned. The Immortal stood there, both blades drawn. “Whatever monstrosity you spawned from will be excised from the realm. I will settle for your head.”

“An introduction would be appropriate, don’t you think?” Seraphine questioned, as the town around them burned. Screaming could be heard from the university, and those who have survived were too injured to move, or defend themselves. “Please… help me.” A voice would call out.

“I am Tariq. I am your doom.” The Immortal closed the gap between the two and immediately engaged in combat. The Paladin was able to parry most of his blows, but it was obvious Tariq had the upper hand. With a strong thrust, Seraphine was able to parry, however she was pushed back by the shear force that Tariq was able to hit her sword with.

While maintaining the advantage, Tariq swirled the flames around them and turned it into a weapon against the Dame. Before she could react, a tornado of flame descended from the ruin, in complete control of the Immortal. As the tornado launched itself forward, Seraphine created a bulwark of light. Once the tornado of fire reached the barrier, it was dispelled by the power of light.

As the smoke settled, Seraphine stood unscathed. Tariq remained focused, and once again launched himself forward. Before he could reach her, Seraphine weaved the light before her against the Immortal, summoning chains that bound him, causing him to stumble onto the floor. “I am disappointed. I thought slaves of the Sultanate would be more formidable. Shame.” As Tariq laid bound on the ground, he stared at the Dame as she approached. “You can wield the light.” Tariq said, completely surprised.

“Yes. And it shall be by the light that you will die, slave.” As she said this, she caused a sudden spark of light imbue her weapon, enchanted by the magic itself. Tariq couldn’t get out of his prison, as he lay there struggling. “Tell me. How are you able to do it? Surely it’s because of your king.”

Seraphine smirked as she stood on top of him. “He chose the best of us in the realm to serve him.” She prepared her sword to execute Tariq. “Us?” He asked. “How many are there? How is this possible?” He continued questioning the Paladin as he tried his hardest to break out of the chains. “Enough to shake the Three Kingdoms.” She swung her blade, decapitating the Immortal swift. She sheathed her weapon and turned.

Tariq had used a technique that created a shadow of himself. The shadow was bound by the chains, as the real Immortal seized the opportunity, and pierced through the Paladin’s armor. The fight commenced one more. One would jump high and the other would follow. The Immortal used a myriad of his magic against the Paladin. Some were effective, while others bounced right off.

For a moment, the fighting stopped. “I underestimated you, Dame.” Seraphine laughed, “most men do, and that’s why most men die.” This time, Seraphine closed the gap, but this time, she was much faster than Tariq. As he defended with successful parries, he summoned the very waters themselves. Manifesting itself within the aether that surrounded them both, the torrential downpour struck the Paladin, with her unable to guard herself against the sheer pressure of the water above her.

“That won’t kill her.” Tariq whispered, knowing that even as strong as his magic may have been, she still outclassed him. He knew the power of light magic, but he refused to relent. He swore a vow to protect the peoples of Sifia, and he wasn’t going to break that promise today. Seraphine had taken a substantial blow, and this time, it was her recovering.

Tariq wasted no time and seized the opportunity. As he was going to land a blow, his blade echoed the earth beneath them, trapping the Paladin within the rubble. Tariq began to charge up one of his other abilities: the Syphon. This technique was so powerful, that it did exactly as its name foretold. However, he was unable to reach the Dame in time, as she shattered her rocky tomb with the sheer willpower of the light. She struck hard, and fast. Tariq was beginning to falter as his energy was running desperately low, and his mana had almost fizzled.

Seraphine, however, felt as if she was just getting started. She did not tire, nor die she sustain any wounds. Her body had become one with the light, and even if Tariq were stronger adversary, he could not outlast a warrior who seems to grow stronger with every blow. Tariq tried once more to summon elements, but it was no use. His reserves had run dry.

Once more, she began to pummel Tariq with blows, this time her sword slashing him through his armor, unable to dodge nor block the attacks. Knowing she had the advantage, Seraphine kicked Tariq down on the floor. “How disappointing.” She uttered, staring at a defeated Immortal.

“I expected more from the Sultan’s chosen, but if this is the best Sifia can muster, then you do not deserve to inherit this realm.” Tariq began to stand, with all of his energy completely dissipated. “Whatever monstrosity gave you these abilities will pay dearly for this transgression.” The Immortal picked up his blade once more, unwilling to give up. Surrendering was not what Immortals did. They fought until their last breath, and Tariq was not about to disappoint that expectation.

Seraphine took to the sky, jumping higher than Tariq could chase. She was getting close, about to deliver the finishing blow. “What?!” The Dame saw yet another shadow before her, but this time, Tariq had the advantage. She landed, looking everywhere for the Immortal. She began casting more volleys of light from the skies above. She didn’t know where he was, when suddenly, a burst of shadow appeared before her. The sword went in clean, her hauberk not standing a chance against the Immortal’s scimitar.

He had stabbed her in the heart, an immediate death. Tariq removed his blade and watched the warrior fall on the ground. Satisfied, he put his swords away. “Help me…” An injured man called for the Immortal to help, who turned to do so.

“It’ll be alright.” He removed the door that had pinned him to the ground, freeing the man who could barely stand. He attempted to heal the man, but his wounds were too severe. While he tended to the man, Tariq was about to witness something that should not be possible.

The flash of light distracted him from the man, and he looked toward the dead Paladin. As the light enveloped the would be corpse, the Dame rose once more. “By the heavens…” The Immortal couldn’t believe what he was witnessing, and if he were to tell a story such as this, no one would believe anyone is capable of resurrecting.

She stood once more as she smiled at Tariq. Without hesitation, she launched a burst of light from her sword which caused an explosion, instantly killing the injured man. Tariq was able to survive it, but it came at a great cost. He laid on the ground, seemingly defeated. This time, no shadow to save him. Try as he might, he body had given up. “I see you cannot stand. Shame.” Before Tariq could speak, the Paladin plunged her blade into his back, killing him instantly.

Dame Seraphine smiled as she wiped clean the blood from her sword. After putting her blade away, she walked away. Behind her, the wrath of light engulfed the town in a raging flame, leaving behind only the ashes of those she had slain, including the Immortal.

King Jeshua had moved the first pawn on the board, and the Sultanate had begun to bleed.

Joshua Haldeman’s dreams of a technocracy are finally realized by through his grandson, who mercilessly strives to complete his goal: a Technate. Based on Malthusian principles of population control, the upper echelons of technology have decided that not everyone is meant to inherit the Earth. Read “The Technate”, a fictional telling of the world falling apart through the eyes of your everyday American family.

Voyager - 'Chattel' 15

✍📕The Third Estate — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 15:47:39 GMT

AI generated images are placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

The Valians, Kingdom of Isthia

Cade and Penelope had ventured for a while, but they were almost at Eastern Vales, much to Penelope’s joy. She was not one to walk, especially for as long as they have travelled, but Cade had been a good partner.

“I’ve noticed something peculiar about your blade.” Penelope had softened a bit now that they had shared adventures together. They had fought many monsters together by this point, but they’ve developed a rhythm. The exiled prince, along with an exiled Pria. “What’s that?” Cade asked.

“What you do with your sword.” Penelope answered, staring at Cade’s sword as she spoke. When he fought, it’s as if wind itself moved with him. Something a human cannot do, nor a sword for that matter. Cade thought for a moment, and understood what she was implying, but he wasn’t sure.

“You’ve never questioned how you’re able to do that?” Penelope was now smirking, because she believes that everyone by now has Pria ancestry, and she may be correct. . Which means most humans can use magic as well, and they do it often. “I’ve been told the sword is blessed by God, along with Tempest. Hence it’s power.”

Cade stared at Penelope, inquisitively. “The reason I ask is we Pria can translate whenever aether is used.” She answered. Cade looked at her now, curious as to what she was leading to. “It’s magic, Cade. You’re using magic.”

Cade had never thought about it like that at all. He assumed his abilities just came from the sword, which was somewhat true. There were times that he did realize certain things were rather extraordinary. Maybe that’s why Jeshua can use magic. It is plausible that for over three hundred years of ruling Isthia, that Pria certainly made it into his bloodline.

Cade spoke, “if what you’re implying what I think you are, that would mean I was Pria.” There was silence in the air as they walked, when Penelope finally said, “no. You’re human. It’s obvious because your magic is weak.” Cade laughed, “weak?!” Penelope also joined in on the laughter, smiling at the young prince.

Penelope grew silent. If her theory about Cade being part Pria is true, it would mean that none of this was about Pria or magic. The people hate magic, while the man they deemed the savior that was promised uses it. It didn’t matter how they dressed it. Magic is magic, and this is something Penelope had always suspected.

“I’m sorry,” Cade said. “If I made you upset, that is.” Cade noticed the silence. He stared at Penelope, and he couldn’t help but feel the pain she is suffering.

“No. You didn’t upset me,” Penelope smiled. “If anything, I felt happiness for a moment, even if was brief.”

They continued walking until they came upon House Forsyth’s dominion. Lord Forsyth was the Duke of the Valians. They had grown powerful due to their support of Queen Bryn during the Brynist Rebellion. It’s said that their ancestor marched with the Warrior Queen, and because of that loyalty, they were granted dominion across the Valians. This made them one of the most powerful houses in Isthia.

“That’s Castle Forsyth, and they’re loyal to the crown, so best to stay away from them.” As they got closer, they saw something they couldn’t explain, nor ignore. Cade immediately looked over at Penelope, and tried to give a reason as to why there were so many workers.

“Workers on a plantation. Make sense, since House Forsyth supplies most of the food for the realm…” Cade explained, but as they got closer, it was clear that these people aren’t workers. Penelope stopped.

“They’ve made slaves of Pria. What is this?!” One of the Pria reached for a fallen basket, and the choker flashed blue-white, forcing her to her knees. She witnessed what seemed like their master had whipped her, yelling something inaudible. Penelope’s anger began to rise, as her eyes turned from blue, to red. Similar to how Dante had done when he faced the Immortal. This was anger, and Pria anger lead to destruction.

“Wait, Penelope, we don’t know that.” Cade tried to calm Penelope, but there was no calming her down. “Penelope. If your plan is to attack Forsyth, you won’t even make it past the gate.”

Penelope stopped, and saw reason. She calmed down, knowing that Cade was right. Penelope was always one to think and not act brash, because doing so ignores variables that work against her. She was a learned strategist, having gained most of her knowledge through her compendiums, and attacking one of the strongest houses in Isthia was foolish.

“Control what you can control..” Cade reminded Penelope. “I’m not sure if I will be welcomed here, considering how I… well I turned on Jeshua.”

“Cade. Those chokers stifle magic. They are slaves. What other reason could there be? They would never wear those willingly.” Penelope said, matter of factly.” Cade realized she had a point, and he saw that Penelope wanted to do something about it. He also knew if they attacked, it would be suicide.

“Well Pen.” He said. Penelope looked at him, and stared at him. Only one person called her Pen, and that was her mother. She felt the fire rise again, but she controlled her anger. She breathed, knowing she needed to calm down.

“I don’t think we stand a chance. We are two people, and they are heavily fortified. It’s smarter to leave and come back when things aren’t so chaotic.” Cade tried to understand her resolve, but he also didn’t want to do anything hastily. “House Forsyth now has slaves. More than likely with the blessing of the crown.”

“Cade.” Penelope finally relented, “you’re right. We can’t do anything.” The rage within her began to calm, and Cade let out a breath.

“Penelope, I. I wish I had an answer that makes sense. I wish I could say something, but I can’t. House Mistral has never supported any form of slavery.” Cade continued to speak, but Penelope wasn’t listening.

“House Forsyth played a major role in fighting in the Westerlands to protect Queen Bryn against the rebellion.” Cade began, “I’m not exactly sure what this is, considering the Pria also protected her army in the conflict.”

“What is your point, Cade? A history lesson?” Penelope grew visibly annoyed, “get to the point.”

“I’m saying that Forsyth was never like this.” He replied. Penelope began to shake her head, “you can’t certainly be this blind, Cade.”

“Alright, I mean.” Cade seemed offended, the first time he’s ever grown stern around Penelope. He continued, but then relented without saying anything. He was about to defend House Forsyth, but he also understood that it’s been a hundred years since the rebellion against Queen Bryn. Things can change.

“I wasn’t trying to defend them, and I’m sorry for the history lesson.” He stopped, and realized that simply apologizing would be the best option. “How far are we now from Vales?” She changed the subject, knowing that there was nothing she could do, because Cade was right. She wouldn’t make it past the gates.

“We aren’t far.” As they were speaking, scouts from Castle Forsyth on horses, with banners of the Stag, House Forsyth’s sigil. “Cade…” Penelope whispered at Cade, “just let me handle it.”

“You are now in lands of House Forsyth. State your business.” Three more men on horses approached. Cade looked over at Penelope, who had already covered her eyes. “Speak!”

“My name is Cade Mistral. Prince of Isthia.” Cade figured there was no reason to lie, but he also knew the consequences of doing so. Penelope stared at Cade. Clearly he’s gone mad.

The scouts began to laugh. “And I’m Lord Forsyth. Identify yourself, or we will escort you to the castle where you will explain why you trespass on our lands.”

“You can’t cross here? What authority gives you this right? Isthia is a realm where we can freely travel.” Penelope began, knowing she was right.

“Silence, woman.” One of the scouts immediately retorted. Cade began to strategize, knowing that they were outnumbered, and these men were heavily armed, and armored. Cade drew his weapon, which caused them to draw their weapons. “You have decided your fa-,” before he can finish, Garuda began to glow green, placing the wind around them directly in Cade’s control.

He threw the blade in front of them. “If you commit treason, let that be your decision. King Jeshua will hear of this.” The men stared at each other, “it’s possible these two killed the Mistral prince and took his blade.”

“This man lies! Perhaps he’s a Pria.” One of the soldiers spoke, while others made eye contact. “He does look like the prince.” One of them whispered. With blades drawn, one of the men looked at Cade in the eyes, then stared down at the Garuda with doubt. Then he looked at Penelope, who looked away. The last thing they needed was revealing she’s Pria. He then sheathed his blade, and the other followed suit.

“The blade can only control the wind if it’s in the hands of a Mistral.” One of the soldiers spoke, and shortly after… kneeled. “My prince, our apologies. Due to current hostilities, we have to be a bit more strict. You understand, I hope.” They all got off their horses, and followed suit.

Penelope stood there, shocked. She was impressed. Cade made himself vulnerable, rolled the dice on his fate, and it worked.

“I understand. You’re doing a good job.” The soldier asked why they were on foot, and Cade made up a story about how they were attacked by monsters, and lost their mount. The soldier nodded his head, acknowledging that he understood. He commands one of the soldiers to give them his horse, which one does without delay.

“Why not stay here, Prince? You will be safe.” One of the scouts asked. Cade began to think before answering abruptly. He knew that the more they stood there and spoke, the higher likelihood that they’ll continue to ask more questions, and Cade may not be able to answer.

Cade gets quiet, to a whisper, “I’m… I transgressed against my mother, and laid with this lady. I’m promised to someone else, I’m afraid. I don’t want to disappoint the queen.” The soldier began to laugh, put his hand on Cade’s shoulder, “I completely understand.” He dismissed the soldiers, got on his horse, and bid the exiled prince safe travels. The man continued to laugh as he got on his horse. “One day, perhaps you’ll feast with us and share this story. We’ve all been in a similar predicament!” They rode off as the soldier shared the story with the other guards, and they all began to cheer as they left.

“I’m sorry. Did I hear that correctly?” Penelope, clearly embarrassed, and a bit mad. “You’re welcome. It was the only thing I could think of at the moment. It’s bad enough they know who I am.” Cade mounts the horse, and Penelope climbs behind him. As they rode, a smile appeared on Penelope’s face. She was feeling joy, but more importantly, she was feeling safe.

Isthia Castle, Kingdom of Isthia 1107 AG

King Jeshua hosted a feast, calling all lords across the realm to dine. The mood was festive, and not as tense as it was during the coronation of the one beloved prince, who now rules the realm as its monarch.

The feast was held in the great hall of Isthia, beneath vaulted ceilings painted with saints, kings, griffons, and scenes from the Old Religion. Golden candlelight spilled across the chamber, catching on polished armor, jeweled goblets, silver plates, and the bright white banners of House Mistral that hung from the stone columns. Purple cloth draped the royal dais, trimmed in gold thread, and at the center of it all sat King Jeshua Mistral.

The King observed with amusement. He felt enjoyment, seeing the very people who serve the Crown enjoy a festive occasion. His mother sat next to him, but her face was not one of joy. She thought about her son, and how she hadn’t seen him in a few days. He left without saying a goodbye, or worst, he died.

“Mother you should be enjoying this occasion.” Jeshua spoke. His mother moved her head as if she was in a daydream, startled for a moment. “I haven’t seen Cade in a few days. I worry about him.” She replied.

Jeshua smiled, but gave her a bit of honey to calm her. “Cade said he wanted to be away from all this for a few days. He wanted to say goodbye before he left.”

The Queen Mother looked at her son, with a smile on her face. “Oh good! That delights me then, my son.” And with that, she stood and enjoyed the feast with all the nobility. For a rare moment, Jeshua cared about the wellbeing of his mother. Telling a small lie to soothe her spirits, even if it was for one night.

For once, the kingdom did not seem to think of war, Pria, or even the madness of the exile. People were finally happy, dancing, and feasting. The hall was alive with laughter.

Lords and ladies filled the long tables, dressed in their finest silks, velvets, and brocades. Men wore deep blues, purples, whites, and blacks, colors of wealth and loyalty. Women wore gowns that shimmered when they moved, their sleeves stitched with pearls and tiny fragments of glass that reflected the firelight. Servants hurried between the tables carrying roasted meats, spiced vegetables, honeyed breads, glazed fruits, and silver pitchers of wine. The smell of rosemary, butter, smoke, cinnamon, and roasted lamb filled the air until the room itself seemed drunk of jubilation.

At the far end of the hall, musicians played from a raised platform. Harps, lutes, viols, and small drums joined together in a bright, graceful rhythm. The strings sang sweetly over the feast, rising and falling in unison. A flute joined them, then another, weaving through the melody while the drums kept a gentle heartbeat beneath it all.

Then the dancing began.

Couples moved into the open floor before the royal dais, hands joined, heads bowed, steps measured at first. They turned in careful circles, gliding across the polished stone as musicians quickened the song. Skirts unfurled like flowers in spring. Boots struck the floor in time with the drums. The dancers laughed when they missed a step, bowed when they passed the king, and spun again beneath the glow of a hundred candles.

Jeshua watched them with a calm smile. This was genuine and not a mask that he wore. For a night, he was happy. He didn’t see himself as a savior, or a king. He saw himself as a simple man who wanted to enjoy the night. After much deliberation, the King decided to join in on the festivities, much to the amusement of the lords.

He danced with a young maiden, who was more than happy to please the king. As they danced, both laughed as they whispered amongst each other. As he danced, a lord echoed from afar.

“I’d offer you a dance, but imagine the rumors in the morning.” One of the Lords shouted, which earned a laugh from everyone, including Jeshua.

Jeshua wore royal black trimmed with white and purple, the colors of House Mistral made sharper by the gold crown upon his head. His long white hair fell neatly over his shoulders, and his eyes held the soft brilliance. His presence was hard to ignore, and every so often, someone at the tables would look toward him with reverence, as if confirming that he was their king.

Someone shouted, “long live King Jeshua! The one true king!” Everyone shouted simultaneously. “Long live the king! Long live the king!”

After a while, Jeshua raised his goblet, the hall quieted almost immediately. “My friends,” Jeshua said, his voice carrying easily through the great hall. “Tonight we celebrate Isthia. We think not of our troubles. Tonight, we lock tomorrow away and cast yesterday into the fire. For Isthia!”

The nobles lifted their cups. “Here, here!”

“We celebrate her strength, her faith, and her people. We celebrate the houses who remain loyal, the soldiers who stand ready, and the divine hand that has guided us through darkness.” A murmur of approval passed through the room. Jeshua smiled wider. “Let the enemies of peace tremble beyond our walls. Tonight, within them, Isthia remembers what she is.” The hall erupted.

“To Isthia!” someone shouted. “To the king!” another cried.

Cups rose with wine spilling. The musicians struck their strings again, brighter and faster than before, and the dancing resumed with greater passion. Even the older lords who could barely stand without groaning clapped along from their benches. Young knights laughed with maidens. Children of noble houses darted between tables until their nurses caught them by the sleeves. Servants smiled despite themselves as they refilled cups and cleared plates.

One of the servants decided to enjoy the moment, and took a bit of wine for herself. Jeshua looked at her, and she froze. He simply smiled, raised his hand in an approving manner, and allowed her a bit of rebellion. She smiled, bowed, and went about her business. For a moment, the great hall became a world untouched by exile, war, or death.

Jeshua leaned back upon the throne-like chair set for him at the feast and watched his kingdom celebrate. His face remained warm, almost gentle, but his eyes moved constantly. He saw which lords drank deeply and which only pretended. He saw who clapped first after his toast and who waited to follow others. He saw which ladies whispered behind jeweled hands, which sons stood too proudly, and which old men looked tired enough to be replaced.

Music swelled again as the dancers formed two lines facing one another. The men bowed and the women curtsied. Then they crossed, turned, parted, and returned, their laughter rising to the painted ceiling. The candles burned lower, the wine flowed freely, and outside the palace windows, the night pressed black against the glass.

Inside, Isthia danced. King Jeshua smiled as though he had given them peace.

Reign of House Mistral

✍📕The Third Estate — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 00:42:08 GMT

AI generated photos will not be used in the final product and act as placeholders.

779-781 AG: The Murose Rebellion

House Mistral rises against House Murose, the family that founded Isthia.

Leonardo Mistral leads the rebellion with support from powerful provinces including Vales, Isledon, Glacia Frontier, and Zanzibar Isles.

King Rein II Murose is defeated and executed.

The coronation of King Leonardo I, the usurper, the savior of Isthia.

781 AG: Beginning of House Mistral’s Reign

Leonardo I Mistral, later remembered as Leonardo the Usurper, takes the throne.

The Church originally condemns him, even though they crowned him, for overthrowing God’s chosen rulers. Leonardo argues that his victory proves God’s will and forces the Church to crown him.

This begins the long fusion of Church and Crown in Isthia.

781-801 AG: Mistral Consolidation

The early Mistral reign is unstable. Rebellions continue as loyalists to House Murose resist Leonardo’s rule. The Mistrals survive through war, executions, and centralization of royal power.

This period was known as the Mistral Seeding.

820 AG: War with Sifia

Isthia goes to war with Sifia. The major event is the Battle of the Valley, one of the deadliest battles in Isthian history, with tens of thousands dead.

Sultanate of Sifia wages war against the Kingdom of Isthia.

This deepens the rivalry between Isthia and Sifia. This war was fought simply for supremacy of who rules over a key point between Valendia and Caereth. Henceforth, the valley had become known as The Valley of Death.

890 AG: Peace with Oredae

Isthia and Oredae form a peace agreement. Sifia does not join the agreement.

This matters later because Oredae still honors its promises to Isthia during Queen Bryn’s civil war, but does not send troops. They send supplies and envoys, which helped Queen Bryn quell rebellions, though Queen Bryn wanted the Battle Dancers to aid them.

950-1000 AG: Abaddon

The world enters the period known as Abaddon, the Dark Age of Priteria. Plague, ruin, and unknown causes devastate the world.

House Mistral survives this era, which likely strengthens its mythology as a ruling house that endured divine punishment, monsters, plague, and political collapse.

1000 AG: Pax Mistral Declared

King Oden Mistral declares the Pax Mistral. This is the first time Sifia, Oredae, and Isthia are referred to together as the Three Kingdoms.

This is probably the high watermark of Mistral legitimacy before Bryn’s crisis, which followed just five years later. The rebellion was dubbed a “minor hiccup”.

1005 AG: Queen Bryn Mistral Ascends

Princess Bryn Mistral becomes queen of Isthia. King Oden Mistral dies of a probable heart attack, as described later by the Church. The King did not have a male heir.

The Warrior Queen.

She is the first woman to rule Isthia. Her coronation immediately triggers one of Isthia’s bloodiest civil wars due to several houses refusing to bend the knee to a woman.

1005 AG: The Brynist Civil War Begins

Houses Winfrey, Trys, Hunon, Joffrey, and Gwen revolt, refusing to bend the knee to a queen. They back Drake Mistral, Bryn’s cousin, as their preferred claimant, a boy of only nine years, and easier to control.

Loyal houses include: Forsyth, Calloway, and Spalding

The Pria within Isthia quickly support Queen Bryn, strengthening her army with magic. Sifia supports the rebel houses, which causes friction between the two nations once again.

The Republic of Oredae, located in Valendia, east of Isthia, surrounded by mountains.

Oredae sends supplies to Isthia, honoring promises made to kings before Bryn. Oredae is not a Kingdom, but a republic, ruled by an elected leader decided by those who have stake within the nation.

1005 AG: Rebels Seize the Westerlands

The rebel houses take much of the Westerlands. Mistral loyalists there are killed for supporting Queen Bryn (Brynists).

This forces Bryn to act quickly.

1005 AG: First Battle of the Highlands

Queen Bryn leads a garrison of 1,000 men to the Highlands to stop the rebel advance before it reaches Isthia, something that worried the loyal houses, who wanted to send far more troops.

Before the battle, rebel emissaries offer her a chance to surrender the throne to Drake Mistral. She refuses.

The rebels attack before dawn with arrows, killing many soldiers in the camp. Pria mages summon shields to stop the volleys, and the battle for the Highlands begins. The Warrior Queen defeats the rebels, which leads to her being considered one of the best rulers to take the throne.

After 1005 AG: Queen Bryn’s Legacy

Bryn becomes one of House Mistral’s most important historical figures.

Her reign proves a queen can hold the realm through war. Her supporters later become known as Brynists, especially those who believe her bloodline or rule had divine importance.

Queen Bryn would rule Isthia for 60 years.

This is also where House Mistral’s relationship with the Pria becomes complicated, because the Pria once helped save the crown.

1060 AG: Pria Invasion of Isthia

An unprecedented invasion from the Pria of Ma’sayla starting from the south of Valendia. They were able to conquer much of the kingdom. Queen Bryn is almost at the end of her reign, with her male heir, King Leonardo IV, set to take the throne.

The Pria conquer the entire kingdom with brutal efficiency, with them taking Queen Bryn as a prisoner. Both Sifia and Oredae raise their banners and attack the Pria, forcing them out of Valendia, and restoring Queen Bryn to the throne. This was unexpected, and Sifia did this in a way to restore relations with Isthia.

After the rebellion, there weren’t many conflicts that followed. This disrupted Pax Mistral, but after this, the Three Kingdoms acknowledged that they are bound to one another through blood and centuries of peace, for the most part.

This creates a lot of animosity toward the Pria on both continents, with Isthians growing massive disdain due to the Old Religion.

This cools over time, since Prias fought in all three armies against the Pria of Dul’seah, and they would also be considered as part of the Three Kingdoms.

Many modern Pria living in Isthia descend from these so-called Invaders.

1106 AG: Main Story Begins

The main storyline begins. King Leonardo IV Mistral is near death.

Isthia is economically prospering, politically stable, but still full of anti-Pria sentiment.

Jeshua and Cade are positioned as rival heirs/royal sons, with Jeshua rising toward power due to being the eldest.

1106-1107 AG: Jeshua’s Rise

King Leonardo IV dies. Jeshua Mistral becomes king of Isthia.

Dowager Queen Casadine crowns her son, Jeshua Mistral, as the new King of Isthia.

He uses light magic, heals the sick and blind, and many begin calling him the Son of God.

He also begins weaponizing religion and fear with ambitions to conquer both Sifia and Oredae.

1107 AG: Exile of the Pria

Jeshua orders the exile of all Pria from Isthia.

This turns anti-Pria hatred into royal policy.

The hypocrisy is that most Isthians, Sifians, and even Oredaens are filled with humans who have some Pria ancestry in them. This is proven further because of the extraordinary things humans seem capable of. An example of this is Darren, who can jump unusually high.

1107 AG: Cade’s Exile and Resistance

Cade Mistral becomes an exiled prince.

He travels with Penelope, a Pria spellcaster, and begins seeing the true horror of Jeshua’s rule.

Near House Forsyth lands, Cade and Penelope discover Pria enslaved on plantations, wearing chokers that suppress their magic.

This suggests Jeshua’s regime has moved beyond exile into exploitation and enslavement.

1107 AG: Current State of Isthia

Isthia is under King Jeshua.

The Pria have been being exiled, enslaved, or hunted.

Sifia is mobilizing for war.

Darren, Dante, and Gamble are trying to reach Ma’sayla as they believe that’s the only city that could guarantee Dante’s safety. Ma’sayla is the capital of Dul’seah (continent)

Cade and Penelope are witnessing the collapse of the old Isthian order from inside the kingdom.

The Mistral dynasty has gone from usurpers, to survivors, to supposed divine rulers, to the edge of becoming tyrants.

Voyager - 'Brotherhood' 14

✍📕The Third Estate — Wed, 03 Jun 2026 16:21:19 GMT

Placeholder, although these anti-AI people are really making me not want to support artists. Get over yourselves for real.

Port Azalea, Sultanate of Sifia, 1107 AG

The trio awoke to the sound of war itself, or so it seemed.

There were no battles, nor war drums. There were no screams nor clashing steel. The port below the inn had changed overnight. The noise of merchants and fishermen had become whispers beneath marching boots, shouted orders, creaking wagon wheels, and the low thunder of drums somewhere near the docks.

Darren stood at the window for a long moment before dressing. The harbor was crawling with Sultanate soldiers.

Red and black moved through the streets, with people in awe at the might of the Sultanate and its army. Men in polished helmets patrolled the roads in pairs, while others hauled crates toward the docks, loading ships that were once utilized for voyages, carrying people and merchants throughout the Three Kingdoms. Banners bearing the eagle of Sifia snapped in the morning wind. Officers rode between formations, shouting commands while sailors tied ropes and checked sails. Preparation was half the battle, and if the rumors are true, then war is imminent.

Dante came to stand beside him, still half awake, his short brown hair wild from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, then looked out the window. “Why are there so many soldiers?”

Darren did not answer right away. He watched a line of men carry spears toward a waiting ship. Another group rolled barrels across the street. “Seems the Sultan is either paranoid or there really is a potential war with Isthia,” Darren said.

Dante looked up at him. “Ready for war? Why? I thought Sifia and Isthia were in good terms.” Darren stepped away from the window. “Let’s not worry about that for now. Let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving!” The common room downstairs was full of soldiers.

They filled nearly every table, loud and hungry and alive with that strange cheer men sometimes carried before marching toward battl. Some laughed over cups of watered wine. Others slapped each other on the back and a few were quiet, staring into their food, as if they feared the prospect of war.

Their armor bore the red and black of Sifia, and the eagle marked their shields, cloaks, and breastplates. Darren wasn’t too fond of the sigil. A kingdom in the desert using an eagle as their sigil. Never made any sense to them.

He had lived in Sifia long enough to know their soldiers were usually disciplined. Men smiled before dying all the time, though others trembled. They enjoyed what could potentially be the last feast they’d ever enjoy together.

He and Dante found a vacant table in the corner near a window. It gave Darren a clear view of the street outside, the front door, and the stairs.

Dante sat across from him, watching soldiers pass outside. “So is Sifia at war with Isthia now?” he asked.

Before Darren could answer, a young woman approached their table with a tray tucked against her hip. She was small, with hazel eyes and flowing blonde hair that caught the morning breeze every time the door opened. “How may we serve you today?” she asked.

Dante looked at her and immediately forgot how to sit normally. The young woman smiled at him. “Well, look at you. Handsome little thing, aren’t you? How old are you?” Dante’s cheeks flushed red. He looked down so quickly Darren almost laughed.

“He is young enough for you to disappoint you,” Darren laughed. The woman laughed. “Awe that is a shame!”

Dante kicked Darren under the table, making Darren laugh. The young woman leaned closer to Dante, smiling. “A few more years, perhaps.” Dante looked as if he wanted the floorboards to open and erupt magma to get him out of this awkward situation.

They ordered bread, eggs, salted fish, and tea. When the woman left, Dante kept his eyes on the table. “You enjoyed that,” Dante muttered. “Enjoy your youth. Women can ruin your life.” Darren suggested.

The moment passed quickly. Outside, another group of soldiers marched by, shields on their backs, spears upright. Their boots struck the road in clean rhythm. No one in the inn seemed alarmed by it, but Darren noticed the serving girls moving faster than usual. He noticed the innkeeper counting coins with one eye on the soldiers. He noticed two officers at the far table speaking low over a map.

“Darren,” he said. Darren looked back at him. “What if I don’t want to go south?” That got his attention. Darren leaned back slightly. “You don’t want to go south?” Dante shook his head.

“Your father specifically asked me to take you to Ma’sayla.” Dante’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. “Because I feel safer with you and Gamble.” Darren said nothing. The words sat between them, heavier than they should have been.

Dante looked embarrassed by his own honesty, but he did not take it back. Darren stared at Dante, but there was no fear or doubt in his face. His trust in Darren had grown far more than just a man taking a boy south. Darren looked out the window again.

The port was closed which was more obvious than the day before. Ships were being claimed or inspected by the Sultanate. Soldiers were not preparing for a patrol-this was mobilization. If they wanted to reach Ma’sayla by sea, the route had become difficult, perhaps impossible, which left only the land route.

Through Isthian territory. Darren hated the thought the moment it formed. He could take Dante back to Bayside. They could return to the house on the hill, keep whatever Sols remained from Brock’s satchel, and let the rest of the world tear itself apart without them. It was the sensible thing to do, or so it seemed.

Brock had not been vague. He had not asked Darren to keep Dante comfortable. He had asked him to take the boy south, to the Pria lands, and Brock had sounded afraid. Darren had only heard his father afraid a few times in his life, or whenever he had made an effort to be a parent.

“Dante,” Darren said carefully, “I understand why you want to stay.” Dante looked up. “I do, but I think your father knew something we don’t. Sifia mobilizing only gives me even more concern.”

Dante swallowed. Darren lowered his voice. “If the port is closed and the army is moving, then something has happened, or something is about to happen. Either way, I think you’ll be safer in Ma’sayla.” Darren stopped, but with a short laugh continued.”In fact, I think we all would be.”

“Why?” Darren looked toward the soldiers again. “There’s a storm coming.” Dante followed his gaze. “Considering Brock’s urgency,” Darren continued, “I think he felt the hurricane before the rest of us.” Dante did not answer.

Their food arrived, but neither of them touched it right away. Then Gamble came crashing down the stairs. He nearly missed the last step, caught himself on the railing, and burst into the common room with his hair sticking in several directions and his coat half buttoned. His single eye darted around the room until he found them.

“There you are!” Darren tensed. “Gamble?” Gamble hurried toward them, breathing hard, but there was excitement in his face rather than fear. Dante turned in his chair. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Gamble said. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Move the fish.”

Dante slid the plate aside. Gamble dropped something onto the table. It looked like a shell.

Not an ordinary shell, though. It was pale and smooth, with thin silver wiring wrapped around its spiral ridges. Tiny pieces of polished stone had been set into it, each one faintly glowing with a soft blue pulse.

Darren pointed at the shell. “Is that supposed to explain why you look like a raccoon that discovered lightning?”

“This,” Gamble said, placing both hands on the table, “is a linkshell.”

Darren blinked. “Congratulations..?” Gamble’s smile twitched. “You have no idea what I just said, do you?”

Gamble reached into his pocket and pulled out two small pearls, each one attached to a thin clasp. They were not perfectly round and each carried the same faint blue shimmer as the shell.

“From a linkshell,” Gamble said, “you can create linkpearls.” Dante leaned closer. “What do they do?” Gamble picked one up and held it out to Darren. “Put this on your ear.”

Darren stared at him. “I am not wearing an earring.” Gamble’s smile vanished. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I do not put strange earrings on because you sprinted downstairs looking possessed.”

“It is not an earring!” Gamble said, exasperated. “It goes on my ear. That’s an earring.”

“That does not make it an earring! It’s not even a ring! Stop being a party pooper.” Gamble responded, with a more serious tone, and took a breath through his nose. “Darren, for once in your life, stop being shaped like a locked door and put it on. Stop being such a melon.”

Dante covered his mouth to hide a laugh. “Like a melon?” Darren looked at the pearl again. “What does it do?” Gamble’s expression brightened again. “These pearls “link” to the shell. When you speak while pressing that tiny button on your ear, we should be able not communicate anywhere there’s Aether.” Gamble breathed, but smiled. Darren did not like how wide his smile became.

“Gamble…” Darren was still hesitant. “Just put it on. I will go upstairs, and you will understand.” Darren took the linkpearl with great suspicion and clipped it to his ear. It was cool at first, then warn, but he frowned and touched it. Gamble clapped once. “Wonderful! Now stay here.” He turned and rushed back up the stairs.

Darren looked at Dante. “If my ear falls off, I’m blaming you too.” A few seconds as Gamble disappeared upstairs. Then Gamble’s voice appeared directly in Darren’s ear. “Darren. You’re a bastard.” Darren flinched so hard his knee struck the table. Dante jumped,”what happened?! Are you okay? Don’t tell me your ear is falling off.” The soldiers nearby looked over.

Darren grabbed at the linkpearl. “What in the Father’s name?” Gamble came racing back down the stairs, grinning like a man who had just stolen fire from heaven and planned to sell it.

“You heard me!” Darren pointed at him. “I heard you inside my skull.”

“Not inside your skull, dumbass. Near your ear.” Gamble laughed, knowing his invention had the potential to change the world. Dante reached for the second pearl. “Can I try?”

“Yes!” Gamble said, practically glowing. “Put it on.” Dante clipped the linkpearl to his ear. Gamble adjusted something on the linkshell, then pressed a tiny raised piece along his own pearl.

“Dante,” Gamble said. Dante’s eyes widened. Gamble was standing right in front of him, yet his voice came through the pearl as if whispered from another room.

Dante touched the pearl carefully. “I can hear you twice.”

“That will happen if I’m standing close, silly goose. The point is distance.”

Darren leaned over the shell. “How?” Gamble sat down, finally, though his leg bounced beneath the table. “Aether. It moves through everything. Air, water, stone, living bodies, literally everything! I thought if sound could be carried by breath, then perhaps it could be carried by aether too, if properly shaped.” Darren stared at him. Gamble pointed at the linkshell. “This shapes it.”

“And the pearls?”

“When you speak through that specific pearl, it sends it straight to this linkshell, which then sends it to everyone who’s attached to it. If someone doesn’t have that specific linkshell, they can’t communicate with us.” Dante’s mouth opened slightly. “So we can talk to each other wherever we are?”

“Wherever there is aether,” Gamble said. “Which is fortunately almost everywhere, unless we find ourselves in some dead pit of nothing, in which case communication will be the least of our problems.” Darren slowly sat back.

For a moment, the soldiers, the port, even the coming war faded around him. “This is amazing,” he said. Gamble’s face softened. “Yes. It is.”

“No, I mean it. Gamble, this could change everything.” Darren said, surprised at the ingenuity of it all. Now messages can travel almost immediately without having to wait days for runners with news. “This could make you rich.” Dante said. Gamble simply just kept nodding in excitement.

Dante smiled. “You could buy your own town.” Gamble lifted his chin. “Too small!” Darren smirked. “Your own house?”

Gamble gasped. “House Gamble. Lord Gamble. No, wait. Lord Gambleston.”

“Oh come on, Gambleston?!” Darren started to laugh uncontrollably, and Dante joined him. For a moment, the morning almost felt normal.

Then Gamble’s smile faded. Darren noticed immediately. “What?” he asked. Gamble looked around the inn. His gaze moved over the soldiers, the officers, the map at the far table, he lowered his voice. “I tested it last night.”

“The linkpearl?” Dante asked.

Gamble nodded. “I stayed up working on the shell. I thought I was close, so I kept adjusting the stones. At first, it was only static.” Darren leaned forward.

Gamble swallowed. “Some were from the harbor, while some came from the military posts. I think the aether carries more than I expected. If you tune it wrong, or right, depending on how you look at it, you can catch things not meant for you.”

Darren’s good mood vanished. “What did you hear?” Gamble tapped the linkshell once, though now the gesture seemed nervous rather than proud. “Isthia has a new king.”

Dante went still and couldn’t understand why this made Gamble frightened. Darren’s face hardened. “Leonardo is dead. Kings die, Gamble.”

Dante kept listening, trying not to interrupt. Gamble continued,”yes, kings die, and their son ascends the throne. However, King Jeshua…” The name hung over the table.

Darren looked toward the soldiers again. Suddenly their presence made more sense. The ships, the banners, the crates, the patrols “What else did you hear?” he asked. Gamble did not answer right away. Dante’s voice was quiet. “Tell us.”

Gamble looked at him, and for once there was no joke waiting in his mouth. “Jeshua has ordered the exile of all Pria from Isthia. If he conquers these lands, the Pria await the same fate.”

Dante’s face changed. The color on his face left him. “All?” he asked. “All,” Gamble replied. Darren felt something cold move through his chest.

The inn remained loud around them. Soldiers laughed, and the sounds of plates clattering, as someone called for more tea. Outside, men marched toward ships. Whatever was coming, the Sultanate stood ready. Dante gripped the edge of the table.

“Why?” he asked. Gamble shook his head. “The orders call them enemies of the realm. Abominations, according to the Old Religion.”

Darren’s jaw tightened… Brock had known. Maybe not all of it. Maybe not the exact command, but he had known enough to come in the night, enough to hand over Sols, enough to ask Darren to take Dante south.

“Then we go to Ma’sayla,” Darren said. Dante did not look at him. Gamble rubbed his face with both hands. “That is not all.” Darren hated those words. “What else?”

Gamble leaned closer. “Sifia believes Isthia is preparing for war. That is why the port is like this and they are calling ships in. Moving soldiers and reinforcing the coastal roads.” Darren glanced at the officers across the room.

“Can Sifia hold them?” Gamble’s eye sharpened. “That depends.” Gamble looked down to the floor for a moment, trying to think of a way to say it. “Jeshua believes he’s the Son of God.” Dante stood so suddenly the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Several soldiers looked over. Darren raised one hand slightly, signaling calm, though his own pulse had quickened. Dante stared at Gamble as if he had spoken blasphemy. “That is not possible,” Dante said. Gamble did not argue.

“It is not,” Dante said again, but this time his voice shook.

Darren looked between them. He knew enough of the Old Religion to understand why Dante’s face had gone hollow. Light was not just power, but rather divine. It meant the Father’s hand moving through the world, and if Jeshua had it… Dante sat slowly, as if his legs had weakened beneath him.

Gamble continued, but quieter now. “They say he healed people in the capital, an entire crowd of sick, the blind too.” Dante’s hand moved to the small book he carried close, his fingers pressing against its worn cover. “No,” he whispered.

Darren said nothing. “He cannot be the Son of God,” Dante said. The words were not loud, but they cut through Darren more sharply than shouting would have. Gamble watched him carefully.

Dante looked up, fear and anger fighting in his eyes. “If this man threatens to kill and conquer, then he is not the true Son of God.”

No one at the table spoke, while outside, a horn sounded near the docks. Dante’s voice grew steadier, though his hands still trembled. “Our Savior is meant to change the world through goodness. Not terror.” Darren felt those words settle into him.

He did not know what Jeshua was. In fact, Darren never kept track on Isthian politics, even if he was originally from there. He understood Dante’s concern, and he knew that Dante’s belief are being shaken. Deep down, he knew Dante believed what he had just said.

Gamble’s gaze dropped to the linkshell. A moment earlier, it had been an amazing invention, but now it looked ordinary. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Dante shook his head. “No. I needed to know.” Darren stood, fast paced, which made the chair legs scrape against the floor. Dante and Gamble both looked at him. “We’re still going south,” Darren said.

Dante stared at him for a moment with disappointment, but then he nodded. Gamble exhaled and leaned back. “The port is locked down. Ships are being held by the Sultanate. If we want to reach Ma’sayla, the sea route may be not be an option.”

“Then we find another port,” Darren said as he looked towards the window.

Beyond the soldiers and banners, beyond the masts and sails, the sea rolled beneath a gray sky. Somewhere south of all this were the Pria lands. Somewhere south was the one place Brock believed Dante might live. “Then we go through land.” Gamble’s expression darkened. “Through Isthia?”

Dante slowly stood beside him. He looked smaller than he had that morning, but not weaker. More determined than before, especially after hearing about the news that Jeshua believed himself to be the One True King. “To Ma’sayla, then,” Dante said.

Darren placed a hand on his shoulder. “To Ma’sayla. We’ll all be safe there until this all blows over.” Gamble looked between them, then down at the linkshell. “I suppose House Gambleston will have to wait.” Darren smiled and laughed.

Outside, the drums began again. This time, none of them mistook the sound for anything but war.

Port Azalea was starting to become what it used to be as soldiers slowly disappeared into the sea. Outside, the air was warm, and the sea breeze seemed to bring with it a certain level of normalcy. The last of the ships sailed toward Isthia’s shores, but there was no preemptive attack planned by the Sultanate, or so they thought.

“Hey Darren,” Dante began to speak as he looked down at the floor. Gamble looked at him. “You okay, boy?” He asked.

“Yes but umm… Darren.” Darren acknowledged him while adjusting Breakspear. “What’s up?”

“I love you, brother.” Dante said. Gamble’s eyes widened as he stared at Darren.

Darren looked at his younger brother with a smile, as he embraced him.

“I love you, too.”

Voyager - 'Paladin' 13

✍📕The Third Estate — Tue, 02 Jun 2026 17:39:36 GMT

AI images act as placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

Isthia, Kingdom of Isthia 1107 AG

The silence outside the walls was worse than the shouting had been.

For days, the camps had bustled with life, with neighbors having pleasant conversations, food being cooked which could be smelled through the city gates, and even humans rubbing elbows with their friends outside the gate. Children crying, and mothers calling names. Old men coughing beside dying fires as they told stories of their youth.

Soldiers would even have pleasant conversations with the Pria, even helping them against monster attacks. Now there was nothing but flattened grass, broken cooking pots, and dark circles in the dirt where fires had once burned.

A few Isthian workers moved through the remains with carts and shovels, gathering whatever had been left behind. None of them spoke as they work, and the sadness or even regret, was palpable in the air. Even those supervising the workers said next to nothing. One of the soldiers picked up a doll, smudged and dirty, missing her arm. He tried to hold back tears, but he couldn’t. A worker told him he felt the same way.

One young man stopped when he found a little carved bird in the dirt. It was no larger than his thumb, made of pale wood, with two tiny blue stones for eyes. He turned it over in his hand, brushing mud from its wings.

“Throw it in the cart,” one of the soldiers said. The young man looked back at him. “I would like to keep it for my child, if possible.”

The soldier thought for a moment. “I understand your sentiment, truly I do.” He stopped, knowing he was going to tell him he couldn’t take it. “We never had this conversation. Put that in your bag.”

The man nodded, and understood, as the soldier continued his rounds.

A week ago, the boy who owned that little bird might have been running through the same market as any Isthian child. He might have stolen figs, laughed too loudly, or chased pigeons through the square while his mother shouted after him. Now he was one of them. A Pria who was no longer with them. Stripped of whatever rights they had and tossed aside as if they never mattered.

Across the field, flames rose as the soldiers burned what could not be reused. The smoke curled into the gray Isthian sky and drifted back toward the city noticeable to everyone inside the city.

Inside the walls, the capital tried to move forward.

Merchants stood behind stocked tables, calling out prices with voices that lacked conviction. Fish glistened on beds of ice while bakers stacked loaves high in baskets. Even though the merchants tried to find customers, they were met with nothing but silence. The streets were thin with customers as people passed through quickly, keeping their heads down as if the stones themselves had become silent witnesses.

There were spaces everywhere now, including on streets where several businesses would be bustling with traffic. Though, nothing. The city gates were opened, but no one walked through them. There was no one to buy their wares. Isthians stayed indoors while the world tried to move on. Maybe it was guilt for allowing what happened, with some even cheering it on.

The magnitude of what had occurred was being fully felt through the echoes that rang from the city streets. The city guard still worked their routes, though most of them were still riding the high of what they had been a part of, as if they were unaffected.

“You should have seen that boy I dragged from Pickens. Dirty and clearly unwanted. Probably did him a favor.” One of them would say, while others responded in laughter.

“For the first time in a long time, there isn’t much to do. I wish more days were like this.” Another would respond.

“It’s not good for Isthia to not have any business. The coffers will dry up, and the realm could not sustain itself any longer.”

“King Jeshua doesn’t care about that because he knows there are spoils to collect outside of the Kingdom!” Near the church steps, however, the mood was different.

A crowd had gathered beneath the great stone archway, where priests in white and violet robes lifted their hands toward the heavens. Bells rang above them and House Mistral banners hung from the buildings, the purple cloth rippling around the griffon sigil as if the beast itself had taken flight over the city.

“The prophecy has been fulfilled!” shouted one of the priests. The crowd roared. “The unclean have been cast from the land of the faithful!” More cheers. “Look upon Isthia and rejoice, for the Lord has separated the righteous from the wicked!”

Some fell to their knees and some others wept with joy. Men embraced one another as women lifted their children high so they could witness the beginning of what the priests called a purified age. Though, not everyone cheered.

At the edge of the crowd, an older woman stood with both hands clasped tightly around a basket of bread. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on the priest, but she did not move with the others. Beside her, a younger woman whispered, “You should say amen.”

The older woman did not answer. “Mother.” Still nothing. The younger woman leaned closer. “People are watching.” It seemed as if though she cared more about her reputation and how people would judge them. Only then did the older woman lower her head. “Amen,” she said softly. Her voice broke on the word.

The younger woman looked away, embarrassed, but the old woman could not stop seeing the face of the Pria seamstress who had once mended her husband’s coat without asking for payment. She could not stop thinking of her grandson, who had cried for two days because his best friend had been dragged south with the others.

What prophecy explained that? What righteousness required children to be separated from children? She did not know, and not knowing had become a liability.

At the far end of the market, two royal guards moved through the crowd with polished armor and purple cloaks. Conversations thinned as they passed. Even those who had cheered lowered their voices. Fear had settled into Isthia quickly, quicker than the ashes outside the walls. One of the guards stopped before the empty herb stall.

“Who owned this?” he asked. No one answered. His eyes moved from face to face. “I asked a question.” A merchant swallowed. “A Pria woman, my lord.” The guard stared at the locked wooden shutters. “Name?” The merchant hesitated as the guard stepped closer.

“Name?” He commanded, with the merchant confused as to why the soldier needed her name in the first place. “Selene,” the merchant said. “Her name was Selene.”

The second guard took out a small book and wrote it down. “Any known associates?” The merchant’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. “Aside from us, here in the markets, I couldn’t tell you as I do not know.”

Around him, people shifted uncomfortably. Everyone in that part of the market had known Selene because they had bought from her before. Everyone had spoken with her and some had also eaten at her table. Some had trusted her with fevers, wounds, pregnancies, and grief.

Now friendship had become a weapon exploited by the soldiers on order of the King. Everyone had a friend who was a Pria, and never once did they experience anything worthy of what had occurred. The merchant lowered his eyes. “She served many customers.”

“That is not what I asked.” Before the merchant could answer, a bell rang from the palace district.

The guards turned toward the sound, and so did the crowd. Eventually, the church bells stopped as the priests lowered their hands.

From the northern avenue, a procession of royal soldiers emerged, marching beneath the banners of House Mistral. Their armor flashed in the cold daylight. At their center rode a herald in violet and white, carrying a scroll marked with the royal seal.

The city watched in silence, anticipating something they didn’t understand. The herald reached the market square, pulled his horse to a stop, and unfurled the decree.

“By order of His Majesty, King Jeshua, first of His name, of House Mistral, rightful ruler of Isthia and chosen servant of the Most High,” he shouted, “all citizens are commanded to report any person suspected of sheltering Pria, aiding Pria, trading with Pria, or withholding knowledge of Pria movements beyond the realm.”

A murmur moved through the crowd. The herald continued.

“Failure to report such knowledge shall be treated as treason against Crown and Church.” The old woman with the basket closed her eyes. The young man outside the walls, the one who had found the carved bird, looked toward the city as smoke rose behind him.

Inside the castle, the atmosphere felt different.

The throne room of House Mistral had always been a place of power, but now it felt less like a hall and more like a sanctum. Violet banners hung from the stone pillars, each one marked with the griffon of House Mistral. Candles burned along the walls in long golden rows, their flames bending strangely whenever Jeshua moved.

The King’s Guard stood in formation along both sides of the chamber. Their armor was polished, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. They were there to protect the king, as they had protected every king before him. This day was not for them. It belonged to the six warriors kneeling before the throne.

They had been summoned from across the realm. Some were knights while others were soldiers. Some had spent their lives fighting monsters along the borderlands. Others had earned their names in wars that never made it into songs because the Crown preferred silence over glory. All of them had killed for Isthia, but most importantly, loyal to the crown.

King Jeshua had chosen them, something considered an honor. He sat upon the throne with Tempest resting across his lap, the sword’s edge faintly glowing with green light. His long white hair fell around his face, and his blue eyes shone with something deeper than magic. He studied the six in silence.

“At the dawn of every age,” Jeshua said at last, “the world reveals what kind of men are worthy of surviving it.” His voice carried through the hall without effort.

“The Immortals of Sifia have long stood as legends. Soldiers who do not fear death. Warriors who walk into battle as if the grave itself has forgotten their names.” His eyes moved from one warrior to the next. “The Battle Dancers of Oredae have turned war into art. They move faster than steel, strike harder than thunder, and leave their enemies dead before they could utter a word.”

“What has Isthia had?” No one answered. Jeshua stepped down from the throne, Tempest in one hand. “Faith,” he said. “That has always been our greatest weapon. Our God allows our armies to prosper on the battlefield. My Father blesses Isthia, and will continue to do so. For as long as we are faithful.”

The priests standing near the altar bowed their heads at the mention. “But faith must sometimes take form.” Jeshua stopped before the first kneeling warrior. “It must have hands.”

He moved to the second. “It must have blades.”

Then the third. “It must have a face terrible enough to make treason kneel before judgment arrives.” He turned back to face the entire room. “The King’s Guard exists to protect me,” Jeshua said. “You will not be guards.” The six remained still.

“You will be my wrath.” A shiver moved through the court. “You will go where armies are too slow. You will strike where laws are too weak. You will command every city, every village, every noble house, and every foreign throne that Isthia does not bend and will never break.”

Jeshua lifted Tempest. “I know what waits beyond our borders. I know of Oredae’s Battle Dancers, and I know of Sifia’s Immortals. I know the Pria still breathe beyond the reach of our justice.” His expression darkened. “Pity is how the strongest kingdoms were conquered through rebellion.”

The words sank into the stones. One of the kneeling warriors looked up, just slightly. He was older than the rest, with scars across his cheek and one clouded eye. “My king,” he said, “what would you have us become?”

He extended his free hand as the candles began to flare. At first, nothing happened. Then the light in the room began to bend inward, drawn toward Jeshua’s palm. Amber threads unspooled from every flame, twisting through the air as if they were living. The priests stepped back and even the King’s Guard tightened their grips on their weapons.

The six warriors did not move as Jeshua’s eyes burned brighter. The golden light gathered in his hand until it became too bright to look upon. Then, with one sharp motion, he cast it over them. It was the sound of mortal bodies being forced to hold something they were never meant to carry.

Light struck their armor, their skin, and their eyes. It sank into them like molten fire, with their backs arched, and hands clenched. One slammed his fist against the stone floor hard enough to crack it. Another gasped as bright, golden lines spread across her arms beneath the skin, glowing like sacred veins.

The court watched in horror and awe, while the priests began to chant. Jeshua did not-he only watched. The light settled into the six, one by one. Their breathing slowed and their bodies stopped trembling. When they opened their eyes, each pair shone faintly gold, not with the pure blue radiance of Jeshua, but with something borrowed… something chained.

They were not like him. He had made sure of that.

They could not command light as he did. They could not heal with a touch and could not summon the full fury that lived in his blood. They could draw power into their weapons, harden their flesh against steel, and they could move faster than ordinary soldiers and strike with enough force to split shields, armor, and bone.

They were not divine, but they were no longer merely human. Jeshua walked among them. “You feel it now,” he said.

The oldest warrior looked at his own hands, breathing hard. He had also returned to his youth, no longer the old, hardened warrior of before. “You feel the strength I have given you, just a fragment, or a spark. Enough to make you feared and make you victorious. Enough to make every traitor understand that the Crown will no longer tolerate weakness, or disorder.”

One by one, the six looked up at him. “Hear me well,” Jeshua continued. “This power is not yours, but mine. It was given by me and it is bound to me. Should you betray the Crown, should you question the will of my Father, should you raise your hand against Isthia, that same light will turn upon you.”

The glow in the warriors’ eyes flickered. “You are not free men anymore.” Silence swallowed the room. “You are Paladins of Isthia.”The priests lifted their hands. “Blessed by the king,” Jeshua said.

“Blessed by the king,” the priests repeated.

“Bound to the Crown.”

“Chosen by God.”

The six lowered their heads again, but this time, they did not kneel as soldiers. They were weapons of the Crown to deliver the king’s law to those who question his authority. Jeshua returned to the throne and stood before it, Tempest angled downward at his side.

“Rise.” The Paladins rose together, as the room seemed smaller with them standing. Jeshua looked beyond them to the gathered nobles, priests, guards, and servants watching from the edges of the hall. “Let this be known throughout the realm,” he said. “The Old Religion is no longer merely the faith of Isthia. It is Isthia.” No one spoke.

“There will be no shrines to false gods or prayers to foreign spirits. No hidden worship and divided loyalties. My Father alone will be honored in this kingdom.” His gaze hardened.

“Those who worship any god but Him worship rebellion, and rebellion is treason.” Several nobles bowed immediately will others followed a breath later. Jeshua noticed the delay.

“The age of tolerance has ended,” he said. “The age of purification has begun.” Outside the castle, bells began to ring again. This time, the sound did not feel like celebration.

Far south, across the waters that divided Isthia from Sifia, the bells were not ringing. War drums were.

The ports of Sifia had become crowded with soldiers, sailors, merchants, and frightened families. Ships that once carried spices, silk, glass, grain, and silver now sat anchored in long defensive lines across the sea. Sifian banners snapped in the wind, the lion of the Sultanate watching over waters that had turned from trade route to battlefield-in-waiting.

The order had come quickly after the exodus, and faster still after reports of Jeshua’s decrees reached the south. Sifia had not declared war, but every man at the docks knew the truth that the peace that the Three Kingdoms enjoyed was beginning to rot.

The blockade hurt Isthia, but it wounded Sifia too. Markets along the coast were already feeling the strain as prices climbed. Warehouses emptied faster than they could be filled. Sailors cursed in taverns, while merchants begged officials for exceptions. Fishermen complained that soldiers had taken the best parts of the harbor for warships. Still, the order held.

Until Sifia controlled the sea, no one would cross. In the capital, members of the Sifian council argued long into the night. Some called for patience and others called for preparation. A few whispered that Isthia had finally become what many had feared it would become: a kingdom ruled not by law, but by holy fire.

Somewhere in the palace of Sifia, a military map lay spread across a table. Isthia was marked in violet. The sea between them was marked in black.

Beside the northern coast, one advisor had written a single word. Jeshua.

Back in Isthia, the six Paladins marched from the throne room beneath the eyes of the court. Servants stepped aside as they passed. Guards watched them with quiet resentment and the nobles watched them with fear disguised as admiration. Jeshua remained at the throne, staring after them. Casadine stood nearby, her face pale.

“My king,” she said carefully, “men made into symbols often become more than men.” Jeshua looked at her. “That’s the entire purpose. They are not ordinary men or women. They are the King’s law, and their power will be known across the realm."

Jeshua sheathed Tempest, and said to his mother something that chilled her spine.

“The world is mine. There will be no other king, but me. Even if everyone must die in the process.”

Voyager - 'Immortal' 12

✍📕The Third Estate — Mon, 01 Jun 2026 15:55:54 GMT

AI images act as placeholders and will not be included in the final product.

Isthian Outskirts, Kingdom of Isthia 1107 AG

“How’s your ankle?”

Cade and Penelope had fled Isthia during the exodus, but neither of them truly knew each other. Cade knew that Penelope was a Pria, and that’s all he had gathered about her. He had helped her against a different guard in the markets in Isthia, who overstepped his authority and harmed Penelope. Ordering the guard to stand down, she was able to leave but not completely unscathed. She feared if Cade hadn't been there, she may have been killed.

Regardless, Penelope didn’t trust the prince. He was the brother of the man who killed her people. She always thought that most people had some Pria blood in them. To her, that small lineage mattered, as it allowed some humans to do things they normally couldn’t do. The hypocrisy of it all angered Penelope.

“It’ll be fine, but a break would be nice.” Penelope replied to the exiled prince, looking down or ahead, ensuring to not make eye contact.

“That’s a good idea.” Cade said. Cade assured her they were safe, and she nodded. Cade could feel that she was distant, and he didn’t judge her for it. She’s been through something that he could never imagine going through himself. Cade betrayed his own countrymen to save a Pria. Though he was justified in doing so, the guilt still lingered.

“A good rest would do us good.” Penelope was still guarded toward Cade, despite what he’d done. Penelope sat on a fallen tree log, while Cade began prepping a fire to help against the bitter cold, as frostbite would complicate things further.

“Agreed.” They continued small talk as Cade gathered wood near their camp.

“Are you thirsty?” She asked, filling her jug with water with her spell. She figured a small gesture of kindness would suffice. She handed Cade the filled jug, and he drank it to completion. “Thank you.”

Cade wanted nothing to do with the throne. He was content living the life he lived and felt he wouldn’t make a good king. “I don’t know if I’ve properly introduced myself.”

“I know who you are.” Cade could feel her contempt, but he continued.

“Well I don’t know you.” Penelope looked at Cade in the eyes for the first time. “Penelope.” Cade gave a small nod and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Penelope.” She started turning pages in her book as a distraction. Cade figured she didn’t want to speak further, so he continued getting wood. “Thanks for the water.” He handed the jug back to her.

“You’re welcome.” Penelope acknowledged with a light smile. Cade picked up on her guarded demeanor, so he tried not to push too hard as to not upset her.

“I can light the wood.” She finally said. Cade looked up as he laid down the last bit of wood he needed. “I didn’t bring anything to light it, so thank you.”

He then sat down and started sharpening his sword, Garuda. The edge of the blade sparked a radiant glow of silver, with each stroke of the whetstone creating a soothing and reassuring sound. As he sharpened, Penelope readied herself.

She raised her hand and with her palm toward the wood and chanted a small fire spell igniting the wood. “I wish I could that,” Cade joked. Penelope let out a faint laugh.

Cade had taken off most of his heavy armor and regalia representing House Mistral. He made the decision to present himself not as a prince, but as a commoner, a man, someone far from the Isthian royalty. Cade’s mind would replay events as the night pressed on. He thought about what Jeshua was capable of.

“I’m not quite sure where I’m going, but more than likely the Sultanate.” Cade said, but paused. He noticed Penelope wasn’t interested, or maybe she was still guarded. He tried to break the tension, but his efforts resulted only in disappointment.

“Anyway, I know Sifia would be safe for you.” Cade wasn’t an adventurer of any sort, but he was a determined man. If he wanted something, he would get it, and he wasn’t shy about it either. Penelope looked and asked, “why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Why are you helping me?” Penelope replied with a question.

“Because you need help.” Cade replied, smiling.

“That’ll take more than a week to travel.” Penelope’s tone remained unchanged, but she thought about how long of a trip to Sifia was.

“It’ll be a fortnight, but we aren’t safe in Isthia.” Cade looked to the south, toward Sifia.

“So you’re traveling there?” Penelope asked. Cade nodded. He had planned on stopping at the nearest town, but that wasn’t completely safe either. Regardless, a horse is better than traveling on foot, and he needed to get some supplies.

Penelope thought about the distance and the monsters they’ll certainly run into, something Cade agreed with. “If we stop at Eastern Vales, which isn’t far, get supplies, hopefully a horse or two.”

“Okay.” Penelope said.

“Well, the sun is setting. We should get some rest.” Cade suggested.

“Okay. I should do that. You’re right.” Penelope agreed and started clearing a space to sleep. Cade laughed a little, but her body language made him aware that she didn’t want to speak.

“I wanted to ask, that book you have? What is it?” Cade noticed Penelope scrawling, and the book radiated a similar aura that was similar to a Pria’s eyes. “They are not books. I read compendiums.”

“… so a book then.” Cade said.

“Yes. A book.” Penelope said with slight annoyance. Penelope didn’t trust Cade. She didn’t know his intentions because his brother had exiled her people.

“Well get some sleep.” Cade suggested again as he sat on the log. He continued sharpening his blade, restoring the sharpness that no doubt dulled after his excursion in Isthia. As Penelope rested, Cade kept watch, making sure his new companion was safe.

While staring into the darkness, Cade’s mind wandered. He began thinking of his mother and hoping she was safe. He didn't tell her he planned on leaving. “I hope she’s okay.” He uttered, and prayed for her safety.

“How can he use magic…” Jeshua began to occupy his mind. Cade was in the right to ask. What Jeshua was able to do, no one, not Pria or human, had been able to do with magic. Jeshua doesn’t call it magic, but that’s what it is. He could deny it, but Pria could translate the aether to discover whether an individual could cast magic or not.

They were remarkably different. When Jeshua was born, Leonardo did not recognize the babe as Mistral. He was born with blue eyes, glowing, similar to a Pria.

Eventually, Cade nodded off, unable to fight the influence of sleep any longer.

Penelope awoke to a snoring Cade. As he slept, she decided to take the opportunity to find breakfast for the both of them, and was able to hunt a couple of rabbits. Though her ankle slowed her down, it didn’t affect her ability to hunt.

“I’m guessing your ankle feels better.”

Penelope nodded. The aroma of the rabbits cooking over the campfire was too strong for Cade to ignore and remain asleep. “Ow. Remind me not to sleep on the floor.”

Penelope just looked at him. The stain of Mistral from Cade still angered her, despite him saving her. “You snore.” Cade looked at her with a little smile, apologizing for his “snore.” She had already dressed the rabbits and skinned them, something Cade appreciated.

“Are you hungry?” She asked, pointing at the rabbits that were roasting. Cade spoke as he nodded, “well thank you ma’am, you are too kind.” Cade replied.

Penelope continued to cook as Cade gathered their things to begin their journey to Eastern Vales, with the hopes of getting better sleep. As Penelope continued to roast the rabbits, the aroma smelled too good to be true for Cade. “Never thought cooking a rabbit could have such an alluring smell.” Cade said.

“Mmhmm.” Penelope responded. Cade could sense that she was struggling to trust him still, and he didn’t blame her. He decided to be patient, and not push too hard.

“Eastern Vales is south of us. We’re still in the Crownlands.” Cade began to plot, acknowledging they were still in Isthia.

“Ok.” Penelope finished cooking a rabbit and threw it at Cade, who took a big bite. "This is really good. Where’d you get the spices?” Penelope smiled, but not fully. ”I don’t use spices.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Cade said.

Penelope stared at Cade as he continued eating the rabbit. Though Cade had proven himself valiant to her in the past, the trauma caused her to keep her guard up, and she couldn’t shake her disdain toward the prince.

She believes that Jeshua is also part Pria, and for some reason, it manifested itself differently in him. “Maybe your brother is the true Son of God.” Cade stared at Penelope, startled by that comment. It bothered him as if he himself was also guilty of the exodus. He looked down while shaking his head.

“I know him.” Cade said, “he’s delusional, nothing else.”

“Your people hate magic.” Penelope continued.

“That doesn’t mean we h-” Cade stopped. Considering the weight of what’s happened, he thought that saying ‘we don’t hate Pria’ would increase the tension. Cade finished gathering his things, making sure they were prepared, though they didn’t have that many supplies.

“Are you ready to go?” Cade asked Penelope.

“Mmhmm.”

Verdant Meadows, Sifia 1107 AG

Darren and Dante encountered a monster, with Darren taking lead. Gamble had disappeared into the woods earlier, so for now, they were a duo. Songs of clashing steel and the gnawing of a beast echoed through the meadows.

The monster attacked viciously, forcing them to fight and defend themselves. Darren was able to move quicker than the beast, able to dodge with ease, but he was careful not to make himself too exhausted. The monster was able to bite Darren’s upper arm, which hindered his abilities significantly. He ignored the pain, but for now, the two headed beast had the advantage, and it seized the opportunity.

As the duel continued, Dante’s arrows hit the monster, but its hide was too strong. They would hit the beast and broken arrows would land on the ground. He would enchant his arrows, but as his mana was getting dangerously low, and the monster kept attacking. Darren persisted. With an injured arm, he was severely handicapped, until Dante came up with an idea. “Darren!” He shouted, “Enchant!” Darren smiled, recognizing what Dante was hinting at, “Dante, I’m going up. Do your thing you did the other day!”

As Darren jumped toward the beast, Dante prepared to enchant his spear with magic. The monster expected a frontal assault-a fatal mistake. As Darren leaped high into the sky, and the beast jumped as well, not knowing that the sky was where Darren danced the best.

Darren split his spear, and threw one toward the monster, as the beast failed to reach the man. As Darren launched one of the spears, the monster seemed to laugh at him, as he effortlessly swatted it away. What the beast failed to acknowledge was that Darren had an idea. So then, Darren launched the other part of the spear, which was also easily parried by the monster. As the split spears fell from the sky, Dante acted immediately.

While Darren was in the air, he now fell toward the monster. Face first, right toward the beast. The monster roared the closer Darren got, thinking it had ensured a victory. As he got closer to the beast, he summoned his spear, with the two halves becoming hole-straight toward the beast. As the enchanted polearm flew toward Darren into the sky, it pierced the monster’s hide effortlessly, with the spear stabbing the fiend’s heart, killing it instantly.

The beast fell toward the ground. Darren planned for the spears to come together, and head straight toward him, knowing that the spear would hit the monster as it came towards him. The magic provided by Dante increased the potency of the Breakspear, much to the dismay of the beast who had reached its end.

Upon landing on the ground, Darren put his arm out, beckoning the spear that made itself whole as it traveled back to him. Gamble stumbled out of the woods, looked over at the dead beast. “Oh so this is what was distracting me!” Darren laughed, who acknowledged the convenience to be absent from the fight. “I should take shits more often.” He joked. They laughed as they enjoyed their victory.

Darren’s wound had slowed him down significantly, and with the adrenaline gone, he felt the pain immediately. “I can cauterize the wound, Darren.” As he spoke, he chanted a fire spell. “Ahh! Damn! That hurts.” Dante told him it doesn’t take long, and continued. As they recovered, a familiar friend finally decided to join the duo.

“You missing a fight is something I’ve grown accustomed to.” Darren joked. “It looks like you and the boy handled yourselves just fine.” Gamble smiled, nodding toward Dante.

“Dante you’re doing better with your enchants. Your bow skills are also improving. Proud of you, kiddo.” Darren looked at his younger brother, who was elated to hear that from Darren. “Thank you!” He said.

“I’m so glad we’re almost out of this place!” Gamble complained while getting himself together. “Azalea should be just ahead, then after, take the voyage south.”

“To Ma’sayla.” Dante said, although the excitement faded from his voice.

As Darren was adjusting his spear, a dagger launched from the woods toward them, and before they had a chance to react, it landed on Dante’s leg, injuring his knee. Gamble immediately jumped into action,”Darren, north!” But he didn’t move. “Dante!”

Darren looked at his brother’s wound. Staring toward where the dagger came from, he saw the would be assailant: an Immortal. He knew he didn’t stand a chance, especially with an injured arm, but he did not care.

Darren attacked the man, but the man was able to parry blow. Darren did not relent, as his anger continued to push him, but because of this fury, he didn’t realize that every attack was futile. The Immortal was handling Darren with ease, and toying with him at this point.

Darren split his spears to gain an advantage over the mage. The sound of clashing blades, match for match, the Immortal was able to parry with ease. Enraged, Darren leaped over the Immortal, landing behind him, but he anticipated the attack. Another failure on Darren’s part. He was completely out of his league.

Then another blade. The Immortal was now dual wielding swords, and now Darren could feel the exhaustion settling in. The man did not relent as he attacked, but Darren was able to parry all of his attacks. The Immortal cast a spell that slowed Darren down significantly.

The Immortal already knew he had won. He launched toward Darren to strike the finishing blow, but instead of going for a kill, the Immortal hit Darren with the butt of one of his blades.

Darren had been defeated. As he laid on the ground, he looked at the Immortal. “What are you doing?!” Darren yelled,”I thought you people didn’t attack citizens.” Darren, injured, looked as his brother, who was injured as well. He tried to get up, but his body betrayed him. He had no energy left.

Once Gamble was able to suture Dante’s injury, Dante immediately went to aid his brother. Even though limping, he began chanting a spell, with visible anger. His eye went from glowing blue, to red, something Darren hadn’t experienced. Then suddenly, a rift from the sky opened up. Before the Immortal could react, meteors fell from the visible tear. Dante continued to walk toward the Immortal, who was now preoccupied dodging rocks.

He was able to dodge the rocks, but preoccupied and distracted, Dante tapped into something he rarely had access to. Even feeling his mana depleted, he was still using strong spells. Darren just stared, seeing the power that his brother has.

Dante then put his hands together. He conjured a massive fireball, and launched it toward the Immortal. Distracted, the Immortal took a heavy blow from Dante’s magic, which sent him flying down into the ground. “Stop.” Darren told Dante. Though this weakened their foe, it only enraged him.

An angry Immortal approached the trio, with Gamble unleashing his bolts toward him relentlessly. Darren yelled him to stop as well. He knew Immortals aren’t their enemy, and with both Dante and Darren injured, the fight had already been decided.

Gamble continued to approach the Immortal, even though his bolts were doing nothing to him. He got close to the Immortal, dropped his crossbow, and went straight to him with his fists. Darren hadn’t seen Gamble this angry. He landed a punch straight on the Immortals jaw, which sent him to the ground.

The Immortal then cast a fire spell towards Gamble. Dante then used his last remaining mana to push Gamble out of the way, potentially saving his life.

“Darren!” Limping, Dante went to his brother’s aid, with bow in hand. As he stepped, he continued to attack the Immortal, but it was no use.

“Stop.” The Immortal spoke, commanding the boy, but he kept firing. “Dante… stop.” Darren told him as he tried to get back up.

“You are not bandits?” He asked. “Do we look like bandits?” Gamble was losing his cool, but making eye contact with Darren, who shook his head. Darren knew they were no match for an Immortal, but he let his anger best him.

“Bandits tend to dye their hair. I tracked you after you finished… relieving yourself.” He looked at Dante, removing his turban. “Accept my apologies, then.” He walked up to Dante, and healed his wound. “Maybe instead of attacking first, you should be a little more observant.” Darren said, still hurt and wincing in pain. He walked to his brother,”are you okay?”

Darren looked at Dante’s wound. “Are you okay?”. Gamble, exhausted, asked the man for his identity. To his surprise, the Immortal compiled.

“I am Zayyan, servant to the Sultan.” The Immortal introduces himself and continued,”I’m sorry for your brother. Where are you traveling to?”

“We’re headed to Azalea, hoping to catch a boat headed south.” Darren said, visibly exhausted. Zayyan laughed,”there won’t be any ships traveling out of Azalea. You can thank the new King in Isthia for that.”

“Well damn.” Gamble echoed from behind Dante,”so we wasted a trip?”

“You can keep traveling east,” Zayyan suggested. “To Isthian lands.”

“Isledon has a port.” Gamble suggested, looking at Darren.

“We should still stop by Azalea. Get rest, supplies, figure it all out from there.” Darren looked at Zayyan,”I appreciate you not killing me.”

Zayyan laughed,”your reputation precedes you, Breakspear. To fight an opponent such as yourself was an honor.” Darren shook his head.

“Did you recognize me before or after you attacked us?” Darren asked.

“Not before, though your pole arm is uniquely designed.” Zayyan answered. He looked at Dante once more,”my apologies, truly.”

Gamble spoke,”you’re lucky we don’t kill you for hurting the boy.”

Darren looked at the Immortal. “You truly should have approached us first before attacking. Maybe this is a lesson for you.” Darren stumbled over to Dante. “Are you okay?”

Dante simply nodded, but there was no smile on his face. Zayyan then gave Darren some advice.”Isthia is unstable. Expect trouble if you decide to head that way.” Darren nodded,”thank you. Good luck killing bandits.” Zayyan laughed, throwing a bag to Dante. It was a sack of sol. “Again, my apologies.”

Surprised, Dante looked at Darren who simply nodded, saying,”don’t complain about easy money, brother.”

The trio reached the end of the meadows, with Azalea in sight. Gamble let out a long sigh, “I can use some ale, wine. Whatever.”

Dante laughed and said to Gamble, “you should probably drink water. That’s what I want. Water.” Gamble looked at Dante, with a bit of confusion. “Can’t you just conjure water? I thought you were a magician.” Darren smiled listening to the conversation.

“Well. When it comes to magic, not everyone has access to all the elements.” He answered, which confused Gamble even more. “I need to get some sort of book to understand how you people work.” The trio was back to good spirits.

Upon reaching the gates, they were stopped by guards, who welcomed them, asking where they had come from. Once Darren told them bayside, they immediately opened the gates. “Breakspear!”

Darren looked up and a Sifian guard came jogging their way. “I heard you killed a griffon! You crazy bastard.” Darren laughed and shook his hand. “News travels fast.” Gamble interrupted,”I’m truly sorry to interfere with your fan meetup, but I want to get drunk.”

The soldier led them to the tavern. “Let me buy you all the first round.” Before going into the tavern, Dante stopped and told Darren that he probably should go to the inn. Darren laughed at the boy and simply said, ”today, brother. You’re getting drunk.” Dante simply smiled and followed his brother.

Everyone was enjoying themselves, with the bard regaling everyone with the victories the Sultanate had enjoyed. He sang songs about how Isthia’s new king is a delusional bastard. “Here, here!” The atmosphere was filled with joy. Just men being men, even with women joining in.

Dante enjoyed observing everyone enjoying themselves, with Darren tossing sol around to ensure everyone gets a drink. “No wonder you’re always broke.” He laughed to himself. For the first time in a long time, the young Dante experienced true happiness. People never needed a reason to drink, and sometimes the burden of life is better shared amongst your people.

Afterwards, they stumbled out of the tavern and headed toward the inn, with Darren placing his arm over his brother. Gamble decided to stay longer, which was his usual modus operandi. Sometimes Gamble would drink to the point where he doesn’t even know who he is, but it was a ritual that kept him sane.

“You can get your own room this time, Dante.” Darren stuttered to get the words out as the ale worked itself. Dante hadn’t drank much because that was the first time he’d ever tasted ale, and he hated it. “Love you, kid, get sleep.” Darren told Dante. He looked at his older brother and just smiled, “ummm… I love you too.”

In the quiet of the room, Dante decided to read psalms from the texts of the Old Religion. He prayed for the safety of his father. “Lord, I thank you for bringing my brother into my life.” Dante stopped himself from getting emotional, but a tear rolled down his face. “I have a brother, and he’s pretty great.”

Voyager - 'Exodus' 11

✍📕The Third Estate — Sat, 30 May 2026 16:55:01 GMT

AI photos are placeholders and will not be in the final product.

Verdance, Sifian Sultanate 1107 AG

The Verdant Meadows stretched farther than Dante had imagined. “I didn’t know this place was so big…” He’d complain.

The road cut through the greenery of the Meadows, winding between soft hills, wildflowers, and tall grass that swayed with the evening wind. Far beyond them, the deeper parts of the Verdance region rose in darker shades of green, with forests and cliffs waiting somewhere beyond the horizon. For now there was only open land, the chirp of insects, and the quiet crunch of boots against packed earth.

They had made it halfway through the meadows by Darren’s estimate, though Gamble had argued twice that Darren’s estimates were usually just guesses wearing confidence. “Still better than your sense of direction,” Darren said.

Gamble scoffed. “For the record, only one of us has gotten us lost.” Dante stayed quiet, but he let out a small laugh.

Darren retorted, “I drank too much from the night before that, alright? Maybe if I didn't get so inebriated.” Both Gamble and Dante laughed, imagining what a sight that would be to witness again.

Dante finally spoke up. “I thought you told me you didn’t drink that much, Darren.” Darren smiled,”there are times when sometimes it’s best to drown your sorrows with a good pint of ale.”

“Well, if you followed God, your worries would be minimal and you wouldn’t need to rely on that so much.”

Darren stopped and Gamble raised his eyes, as if Dante had just crossed a line he shouldn’t have. “Don’t lecture me on religion. You know nothing about what I’ve been through. Religion is a blight that should have been eradicated a long time ago.”

Dante gulped, thinking his suggestion was innocent.”Oh I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he continued after a brief pause.”I won’t overstep again. I promise.”

“I let you do your little prayer and carry that book without protest, but never once try to impose your beliefs on me.” Darren’s anger was palpable, and even Gamble sensed it. Dante just nodded, and sadness overcame him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The rest of the trip had gone a bit quiet, until Gamble cut through the tension,”we should set up camp before we lose the light.” Darren nodded,”we should. My feet are starting to hurt.”

Gamble took this opportunity to lighten the mood. “Oh look at me. The fancy Breakspear complaining about his feet.” Gamble joked.

Darren reply,”everyone has to rest. Besides, if you don’t remember, a Sandworm dragged me into the dirt.”

Dante walked between them, listening more than speaking, though he had started smiling more as the day went on. The road had been kinder than expected. Monster encounters had been low, which none of them complained about. They had seen a few distant shapes moving through the grass and heard something large shifting near a stream to the east, but nothing had charged them or provoked them. For once, the world seemed content to let them pass.

Gamble adjusted one of the crossbows at his side and glanced at Dante’s bow. “You know, I’m still saying it. You should switch.”

Dante looked down at the bow in his hand. “To a crossbow?”

“To a crossbow,” Gamble said, as if this should have been obvious to Dante. “Less strain and easier to aim. For someone as young as you, a bowstring may be too much of a strain on your muscles. Also, mine are beautiful.”

Darren looked over. “You named them, didn’t you?” Gamble ignored him. “I have a spare that I retrofitted. Smooth trigger doesn’t jam unless someone stupid touches it.” Looking over at Darren, Gamble chuckled. Darren raised a brow. “So it jams often.”

“Well you know, it’s best to warm her up before just sticking it in.” Darren looked at Gamble, laughing,”it’d be best if we not talk about such things around the kid.”

Dante smiled faintly but shook his head, and answered as if he didn’t hear what Gamble said. “I think I want to keep using the bow.” Gamble gave him a wounded look. “Well. The offer is still there. Have you named her yet?” Darren gave Gamble a smile.”Why are you assuming his bow is a woman? Did it tell you, Gamble?”

Gamble couldn’t contain himself from laughter. “You’d rather be intimate with a man? I won’t judge, you know. All weapons are women or you know…”

“Oh stop that,” Dante said. “I’ll name her… Heartstring.” Darren laughed at that, a short burst that made Dante look down quickly, though he was still smiling. “Well,” Darren said, shifting the Breakspear on his back, “you can use my spear if you ever feel up to it.”

Dante looked at him. For a moment, the wind seemed to quiet around them. His eyes moved to the weapon, then back to Darren’s face. “Really?”

Darren shrugged, trying to make it seem smaller than it was. “Really.” Gamble turned his head slowly. “You let him touch the Breakspear, but when I asked, you told me I had the hands of a gambling raccoon.”

Dante laughed then. Not loudly, but enough that both men noticed. Darren did not point it out. Gamble, to his credit, did not ruin it either.

The sun began to sink behind the hills, spilling gold over the meadows. The tall grass caught the light until the whole field looked amber, as if fire was slowly dissipating, though softly. Birds moved in dark clusters across the sky, heading toward the trees before night claimed the road. The usual night critters began their mating calls.

A cicada had made its home near the camp, which gave them a new set of issues. “I’d rather deal with a hundred Sandworms than to hear that God forsaken beast. Where is it?!” Darren couldn’t stand the sound, but to be fair, no one could.

It was loud and obnoxious. Nothing could make the sound stop, which made Darren pursue a new quest. “Where is it?!?” Darren’s annoyance could be heard throughout the meadows, however it was quickly drowned out by the sound of the beast.

“I’m going to just burn this entire forest down. I can’t stand it!” Now Dante was on the same page as Darren. “That might actually be the best course of action.” He replied.

Meanwhile, Gamble was unbothered,”I like the sound. It reminds me that I am still alive.”

“Or for fucks sake. Okay. Dante help me find this forsaken insect.” Darren began looking around frantically, with Dante using fire magic to help light up the area. Though whenever the cicada saw the fire, it would stop the sound.”

“… I’d rather get eaten by the Sandworm.” Dante complained.”It’s definitely in a tree.” Darren was being driven mad by the sound, and Dante could tell. As they kept looking for the bug, they heard the sound of a bolt from Gamble’s crossbow that hit the cicada, finally shutting off the noise.

“You knew where it was the whole time, didn’t you?” Darren asked.”I told you I love the sound! They aren’t hard to find.” Gamble replied in laughter.

“Asshole.” Darren muttered. They began to set up camp. Something was making Gamble uncomfortable. Gamble shifted his gaze to the road. “A little close to the road.”

“I figure the closer to the road the better. We have no idea what’s in these woods,” Darren said. “Far enough that anyone walking through won’t step on us.”

“If you say so, captain.” Gamble settled as Dante started a fire. “Having a Pria is highly advantageous.”

They had moved off the path and found a place beneath the trees to be good enough. Gamble gathered dry wood while Darren cleared the ground and checked the brush for signs of nests, tracks, or anything with teeth that considered travelers a gift from heaven. Dante helped where he could, though he still moved like someone afraid to make the wrong choice. “Last time I camped, I got covered in ticks.” Dante said, with a somewhat concerned tone.

By the time the fire was lit, the sky had deepened into violet. The meadows no longer looked golden. The road behind them disappeared into shadow, and ahead, the dark outline of Verdance waited. Gamble sat with his back against a tree and stretched his legs toward the fire. “I’ll admit, today was almost pleasant.”

Darren dropped his pack beside him. “Right so don’t jinx us.”

“I’m simply tired of being in endless deserts, ogres, and whatever else crawls out of the sands.”

Dante sat near the fire, holding his bow across his lap. “Do you think it’ll stay quiet?” Darren looked out toward the grass.

“No,” he said. Gamble sighed. “You could have lied to the kid so he can sleep.”

“I could have.” Darren confirmed. Dante’s smile faded a little, though but not from fear. The world was not safe just because it had been kind for a few hours.

Darren noticed and softened his voice. “We’re fine for tonight. Fire’s good and the ground’s clear. It’s why I’m keeping watch.” Gamble leaned his head back. “Good just wake me up when it’s my turn.”

Darren gave him a look. Gamble pointed at him. “That one! That’s the expression.” Dante glanced between them “what expression?”. Unsure whether to laugh or stay quiet. Darren shook his head and looked back toward the darkening meadow.

“I said I’ll take first watch.”

“And I said we trade,” Gamble replied. “You can play stone wall tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep like the rest of us.” The fire popped between them.

For a while, none of them spoke. The night settled over the Verdant Meadows, soft and cool and full of hidden sounds. Darren kept his eyes on the grass beyond the firelight, while Gamble watched him with the tired patience of someone who knew exactly what his friend was doing.

Dante hugged his bow closer and stared into the flames.

For the first time in days, he almost felt safe. The cicada paid the price and now Darren is at peace.

Kingdom of Isthia 1107 AG

Penelope’s mother awoke earlier than anyone else in the ghetto outside the city gates. Life was hard, but the people made due with what they could. Most Pria were friendly to one another, and others lived quiet and kept to themselves. When monsters appeared, they came together to fight them off. Being outside the city walls, there is nothing protecting them from these beasts. The soldiers never helped.

Jeshua’s command did not remain in the throne room for long. By morning, it had reached the city watch, who were charged with enforcing the king’s law. The march of soldiers could be heard throughout the city, with people confused. They interrupted markets, which angered people who demanded to know what was going on.

“What is going on?” People would say as they saw the soldiers march through the roads.

The first soldiers entered the lower markets just after sunrise, when the merchants were still laying out fruit, cloth, fish, spices, and tools beneath the shade of their awnings. At first, no one understood what was happening.

The people saw the armor of Isthia, the banners of House Mistral, the familiar steel of the king’s men, and many simply stepped aside as they always had. Then the first Pria was dragged from behind his stall. People began to protest immediately,”wait! Leave that man alone!” The crowd began to speak amongst themselves. They had no idea what was happening, or why.

The man was an older gentleman, thin and gray, with a hand raised in confusion rather than defiance. “Wait,” he pleaded. “I have papers. I pay taxes here! My sons served the crown! They’ve bled for this kingdom.” The soldier struck him across the mouth. That was when the market broke.

Screams cut through the morning and stalls overturned. Baskets spilled across the stones, while children ran beneath tables while their mothers chased after them, only to be shoved aside by men in armor.

Pria were pulled from doorways, from behind counters, from the middle of the street. Some were bound and beaten. Some were killed where they stood because they reached for a knife, a broom, a stone, anything that made the soldiers feel justified.

“By order of King Jeshua,” one captain shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos. “All Pria are to be exiled from Isthia to the Pria lands in Ma’sayla. Any who resist will be treated as traitors to the Crown. Fear not, for we are simply taking you home.” That last part was said in jest that aroused laughter from the city watch.

“We are Isthian! This is our home,” a woman screamed as two soldiers dragged her husband away. “We were born here! Our fathers were born here!” One of the soldiers laughed. “The king cares not. Isthian was built by humans for humans. You were simply guests, and you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“You fool! You are probably Pria yourself to some degree. We’ve been here for a long time!” A young woman began to shout.

The words spread faster than the soldiers did.

By midday, the lower city was burning enough to make the message clear. Pria-owned shops were smashed open while windows shattered. Doors were kicked in with painted signs were torn down and trampled into the mud. A tailor’s shop, known for dressing half the nobles in the city, was emptied in moments.

Bolts of cloth were ripped from the shelves and thrown into the street. A bakery was destroyed while bread still sat warm on the racks. The soldiers laughed as they carried out the baker’s daughter, her blue eyes bright with terror. Everywhere, the same answer was given. Soldiers took this opportunity to keep whatever valuables they found. “This old bastard had thousands of sols just sitting in the back.” A soldier would say, jubilant to have struck a fortune.

One man resisted. He grabbed his weapon and infused it with magic. A fiery spell whose heat could be felt by anyone near it. “I served the Crown. I was once one of you. I carried the banners with pride. I will not allow you to do this to my friends and family.” He took a deep breath,”I will not tolerate your evil!”

He raised his blade, and effortlessly killed one of the soldiers. As chaos breaks out, a few more Pria join the old man, who gathered in numbers-enough to start a resistance. Soldier by soldier is cut down by the Pria as now they felt they had no other choice. However, the victory was short lived, as they were overwhelmed by soldiers.

All murdered and made an example of-just how the King had commanded. All murdered for being born the wrong race. By late afternoon, the city gates groaned open. That was when the real purge began.

Beyond the walls sat the Pria ghetto, a sprawling amalgamation of tents, crooked wooden shelters, mud paths, cooking fires, and lives forced to exist where the city could forget them. The people there had heard the screams from inside the walls. They had seen the smoke. Some had already begun gathering what little they owned. Others stood frozen, hoping the soldiers would stop at the gate. A young boy ran through the gates, shouting, “they’re killing us! They’re killing us!”

They did not stop.

The cavalry came first, driving through the outer paths and scattering anyone in the way. Behind them marched foot soldiers with spears, torches, and clubs. Tents collapsed beneath boots. Cooking pots were kicked into the dirt. Blankets were ripped from children. Old men were dragged out by their hair. Anyone who argued was struck and anyone who dared to fight back was cut down.

“We served the King!” one Pria man shouted, holding up a rusted military token in his shaking hand. “I bled for Isthia! I fought at the western pass!” A soldier snatched the token from him, studied it for a moment, then tossed it into the mud. “Then you should have died there.” The man lunged, but it was a fruitless effort.

The ghetto erupted. Some Pria ran while others begged. Some dropped to their knees and prayed to gods the soldiers mocked. Mothers hid children beneath floorboards that barely deserved the name. Young men formed desperate lines with farming tools and old blades, only to be broken apart by trained soldiers who had come prepared for resistance.

The air filled with the sound of orders, crying, splintering wood, and laughter.

Not all soldiers celebrated what they were doing. They knew they had pledged fealty to the crown, and disobeying a direct order from the King himself would end in execution. One of the soldiers came upon a woman hiding with her baby in one of the tents.

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could managed.

Others kept their eyes low and some followed commands with tight jaws and pale faces… but none of them stopped. Mercy had become dangerous. Pity had become treason. And in Isthia, under Jeshua’s crown, obedience had become holier than compassion. A member of the city watch said, “we are just following the King’s command.”

Near the inner edge of the ghetto, where the tents gave way to cramped shacks and narrow alleys, Penelope woke to the sound of something breaking. At first, she thought it was thunder.

Then came the screaming.

Her eyes opened in the dark, glowing faintly blue before she had even fully understood where she was. The small room around her trembled with every distant crash. Dust fell from the ceiling. Outside, people were running. “What the hell?”

Penelope sat up sharply. Across the room, her mother was already awake. Neither of them spoke at first. Another crash came, closer this time. Then a man’s voice, harsh and full of command.

“Check every shelter! No exceptions!”

Penelope’s mother crossed the room quickly and grabbed her by the shoulders. Her face was calm in the way people became calm when fear had passed beyond panic and turned into survival.

“Get dressed. Turns out you were correct,” she whispered. Penelope stared at her, still half trapped between sleep and nightmare. “Mother… what is happening?”

Her mother looked toward the door as shadows moved beneath it.

“It is hate. That is what is happening. They hate us for being different.”

Cade did not enter the hall with questions. He entered with judgment, anger-feelings he couldn’t describe.

The doors to the chamber flew open, and every eye turned toward him as he strode forward with fury burning in his face. Jeshua stood near the far end of the room, surrounded by members of the King’s Guard, their polished armor gleaming beneath the torchlight. Cade did not slow nor bow. He did not announce himself. Instead, he drew his sword and raised it toward his brother.

Steel rang out at once.

The King’s Guard moved immediately, stepping in front of Jeshua with blades drawn, their formation tightening around the throne like a bulwark. Cade stopped only when cold points were leveled at his chest. For a moment, no one moved. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Jeshua stared at him from behind the Guard, his expression unreadable at first. Then, slowly, he stepped forward. The men in front of him hesitated, but he moved past them anyway, eyes fixed only on Cade. After a long, tense silence, Jeshua finally spoke.

“You dare raise your blade at your king?”

Cade’s jaw tightened. His grip remained firm for only a second longer before reason forced its way through the rage. He knew he could not win here.Slowly, with hatred burning in his eyes, he lowered the sword and sheathed it. “You are not my king.”

The words struck harder than any blade. Cade reached to his chest, seized the crest of House Mistral fastened to his armor, and tore it free. The metal clattered against the stone floor and spun to a stop at Jeshua’s feet.

Cade turned and walked from the chamber, leaving the crest behind him. Jeshua stared at his younger brother as he walked away. He did not smile, nor any expression. His face was simply blank, knowing that at the end of it all, that was still his brother.

He did not leave the castle in peace.

As he moved through the city, the full weight of what Jeshua had unleashed came crashing down around him. He saw Pria dragged screaming through the streets. He saw shops smashed apart, homes broken into, and families torn from each other by laughing soldiers. He saw children cut down for trying to protect their parents and mothers beaten to the ground. He saw horrors he had never imagined would happen under the banners of his own house. Every scream became another nail in the coffin of his loyalty.

Then he saw a city watchman strike down a fleeing Pria boy. That was the moment something in Cade snapped. He moved before thought could stop him.

Garuda flashed from its sheath in a blur, and the watchman barely had time to turn before Cade’s blade cut through him. The body hit the street hard, and the chaos around them seemed to stutter for half a heartbeat. Other guards shouted in alarm, but Cade was already upon them, moving with terrible speed.

His sword cut one man down, then another. Wind seemed to gather around him with every motion, his gift answering the fury in his blood. He moved like a storm made flesh. He was not alone for long. Several members of the city watch, men who had seen enough, broke ranks and came to his side. One by one, they chose him over the crown, with Pria joining them with their magic.

“My prince!” one shouted as he joined the fight, sword red with the blood of his former allies. “We will follow you!” Others echoed him. They had seen the horror his own countryman; men he considered friends and even allies. They could no longer stomach what was being done in the king’s name.

With a small band at his side, Cade pushed toward the city gates, cutting down any soldier or watchman who tried to stop them. Garuda made quick work of the opposition, and Cade’s movements were almost supernatural now, his body light and swift, his strikes landing with the force of a gale. One guard stumbled back from him, fear in his eyes even as he held up his blade.

“Why, my prince?” the man cried. “I am only following the king’s command!” Cade drove the sword straight into his heart.

“He is not my king.”

They fought their way through the streets until at last they reached the outer gate leading toward the ghetto. Smoke filled the air. Screams echoed beyond the walls. Cade turned to the few men who had stayed with him, all of them breathing hard, faces pale and shaken by what they had done. “Go,” Cade ordered.

They stared at him. “My prince—”

“Go,” he snapped again, though the title made his face harden. “If you stay with me, they will hang you all for treason. Lay low, disappear, and do not let them find you.” Cade paused,”today, you chose goodness. I will not have your lives taken. I could not live with myself."

“That is an order from your Prince.”

The men hesitated, but they understood. One by one, they nodded. There were no grand farewells. Just grim looks, quiet loyalty, and the shared understanding that none of their lives would ever be the same again. Then Cade turned and went on alone.

The ghetto was worse than the city.

Here, there was no pretense of order. The streets were mud and ash, littered with torn cloth, broken carts, and the ruins of homes that had never been given the dignity of stone. Soldiers tore through tents and shacks like beasts.

Cade saw one man beating an old Pria to death with the butt of his spear. He killed him and then another had cornered a mother and daughter against a splintered wall. Cade killed him too. Everywhere he moved, he struck down cruelty wherever he found it, becoming a phantom of vengeance in the smoke.

The Pria he saved looked at him with stunned disbelief. “Thank you, my prince,” one elderly man whispered, trembling as Cade pulled him to his feet.

Cade did not even look back as he moved on. “I am no longer a prince.” Then, through the chaos, he saw a face he knew. It was Penelope.

She was on the ground near one of the tents, her hair disheveled, fear and confusion written plainly across her face. A guard stood over her, slapping her hard enough to throw her sideways, while her mother pleaded desperately at his feet. “Oh shut up, you dog. I just hate it when they fight.” He grinned.

“Please!” her mother cried. “She’s done nothing! Please!” The guard only laughed and raised his hand again.

Cade charged. Garuda plunged into the man’s back with such force that the blade burst through his chest. The soldier gasped once, then collapsed instantly into the dirt. Penelope looked up in shock, her glowing blue eyes wide as they met Cade’s.

For a moment, she could not understand what she was seeing. A prince of House Mistral, standing over a dead Isthian guard. Saving her. “Why?” she asked, still breathless, still stunned. “Why are you helping us? Why are you turning your back on your family?” Cade looked at her, his face hard with grief and fury.

“That man is not my family,” he said. “That man is an abomination.” He extended a hand. “Come with me. Both of you.” Penelope moved immediately, but her mother did not.

Cade turned. “We have to go. Now.” Her mother tried to stand, but the pain on her face told the truth before her words did. She looked down at her and she knew it. Cade’s face filled with sadness as he’s seeing a mother part with her daughter. All because of hate. “No,” Penelope said at once, shaking her head. “No, we’re not leaving you.”

“Penelope,” her mother said, taking her by the shoulders. Her voice was trembling, but firm. “You have to go.”

“No!”

“You have to go!” her mother repeated, more sharply now. “I will only slow you down.” Tears welled in Penelope’s eyes. “Mother, no, please—” Cade stepped closer. “She can make it,” he said, though even he did not fully believe it. “We can help her.”

Her mother looked at him, then back at Penelope, and slowly shook her head. “No. The girl must live.” Penelope was sobbing now, clutching at her. “I’m not leaving you! If you join the caravan, they’ll kill you if you can’t move.” Her mother grabbed her face and forced her to look at her. “You listen to me,” she said, voice breaking. “You run. You do not look back. You hear me? You run.”

Penelope could barely breathe. “Mother—”

“Now go!”

Voyager - 'Sultanate' 10

✍📕The Third Estate — Thu, 28 May 2026 21:52:32 GMT

Dar al-Saltana, Sifian Sultanate Year 1107 AG

Dar al-Saltana rose from the desert as a formidable beacon of hope and steel.

The capital of the Sultanate stood beyond the golden road, surrounded by an oasis so vast it made Bayt al-Sahra look like a village well. Palm groves wrapped around the city in green bands, their leaves stirring in the hot wind, while canals carried clear water beneath arched bridges of polished stone. Beyond them, the city climbed upward in layers of cream, bronze, and sun-baked red. Domes crowned the skyline like sleeping moons.

Minarets pierced the haze. Towers shimmered above crowded markets, bathhouses, gardens, schools, and courtyards where fountains sang softly against the desert heat. Dar al-Saltana was more than a city; it was a jewel of the south, the heart of Sifia’s pride, and every road that touched the Sultanate seemed to bend toward it.

Through the front gate walked a man dressed in blue. His name was Zayyan ibn Rafiq, and wherever he stepped, the city seemed to notice.

He wore layered blue attire trimmed in gold and black, the cloth fitted for movement but rich enough to announce his station without a word. A dark mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes visible beneath the shadow of a rounded, turbaned helm. His arms were guarded by polished bracers, his boots were high and armored, and around his waist rested a sash of deep magenta, tied over leather and metal plates worked with careful designs. At his side hung a curved blade, elegant and cruel, its edge catching the sunlight with every stride.

A second weapon rested near his hip, shorter, waiting for the sort of work that did not deserve a celebration. Zayyan was an Immortal.

Even in Dar al-Saltana, where warriors, scholars, merchants, and nobles from every corner of the Sultanate crossed paths beneath the same sun, that name carried weight. The Immortals were soldiers of Pria heritage, rare bloodlines shaped by old magic and older discipline.

They fought with steel, but steel was only half of them. Their magic moved through their bodies like breath through a flute, sharpening their reflexes, strengthening their strikes, and allowing them to mimic the abilities of those they faced in combat. A Battledancer could turn a battlefield into theater. An Immortal could watch the dance once and respond to it with something deadlier.

As Zayyan passed beneath the gate, the guards straightened. Then, one by one, they bowed. No command was given. The bow came naturally from men who understood what walked past them. Zayyan did not slow. He only gave the slightest nod, respectful but urgent, and continued into the city.

The same thing happened in the market streets. Merchants stopped mid-sale. A woman selling figs lowered her head. A water-carrier stepped aside and bowed with both hands pressed to his chest. Children stopped chasing each other between stalls and stared wide-eyed until their mothers pulled them gently back. Even nobles traveling in shaded litters leaned forward when they saw the blue-clad warrior moving through the avenue, and their servants shifted aside without complaint.

The reverence was palpable, sharpened by memory. The Immortals had defended caravans from monsters, broken warlords in the desert passes, and stood between the Sultanate and ruin more times than common songs could count. Yet Zayyan barely saw any of it.

His pace quickened as he moved through the heart of Dar al-Saltana. The city was alive around him, beautiful enough to tempt any traveler into forgetting the troubles of the world. Copper lanterns swayed above the streets, and perfume drifted from open shops.

Spices crowded the air with cumin, cardamom, saffron, and roasted lamb. Musicians played beneath colored awnings, their strings dancing over the murmur of trade. Above it all, the palace waited at the far end of the royal avenue, rising higher than the city itself, with white walls, blue tiles, golden domes, and towers that watched the desert like ancient judges. Zayyan’s hand tightened around the sealed message tucked beneath his sash.

The wax bore the mark of the western watch. That alone would have been enough to demand the Sultan’s attention, but the words inside were worse.

By the time Zayyan reached the palace steps, sweat had darkened the cloth beneath his armor, though not from the heat. Two palace guards crossed their spears before the entrance, then froze when they recognized him. Their eyes dropped. The spears lowered.

“Lord Immortal,” one of them said, bowing deeply. Zayyan did not return the courtesy this time. “Take me to the Sultan,” he said, his voice low behind the mask. “Now.”

The guard’s face changed. Whatever he heard in Zayyan’s tone stripped the ceremony from him at once. He turned and hurried inside, while the second guard opened the great doors.

Zayyan stepped into the palace, carrying news that would shake every dome, tower, and market square in Dar al-Saltana before the sun fell.

The Sultanate did not know it yet, but peace had begun to crack.

Zayyan was given clearance without delay.

The palace guards led him through the inner halls of Dar al-Saltana, past blue-tiled walls, hanging lamps, marble archways, and courtyards where clear water ran through narrow channels carved into the stone. The palace was quieter than the city outside, but no less alive.

Servants moved with practiced grace. Eunuchs stood near carved doors with their hands folded. Palace scribes carried scrolls pressed against their chests. Everywhere Zayyan went, heads bowed.

At last, they brought him to the Sultan’s private chambers. The doors opened, and there stood Sultan Malik al-Rashid.

He was not dressed for court. There was no crown upon his head, no jeweled robe heavy enough to remind lesser men of their place. He wore a simple white and gold garment, loose in the Sifian fashion, with a dark sash around his waist and a ring on nearly every finger.

His beard was carefully trimmed, his eyes sharp beneath tired brows. Even without ceremony, he looked like a man who had been born beneath banners. When he saw Zayyan, the Sultan stepped forward himself.

“My friend,” Malik said. Zayyan lowered his head, but before he could kneel, the Sultan took his hand and kissed it. The guards standing near the doors looked away, not out of shame, but reverence.

It was no small gesture for the Sultan of Sifia to honor any man in such a way. However, Zayyan was an Immortal, and among the old families of the Sultanate, the Immortals were not treated as common soldiers. They were living relics of Sifia’s survival, steel-bound descendants of Pria blood, men and women who had given their bodies to magic and war so that others could sleep beneath quiet roofs.

Only after the kiss did Zayyan kneel. “My Sultan.”

“Rise,” Malik said gently. “I have told you before, you need not kneel when there are no courtiers here to impress.” Zayyan rose, though his posture remained formal. “Forgive me. Habit is harder to kill than men.” For a moment, the Sultan smiled.

“Then I pray you never lose it,” Malik said. “A man with your habits is useful to have near the throne.” The warmth between them lasted only a breath.

Then Malik noticed the urgency in Zayyan’s eyes. The Sultan’s smile faded. “You came through the city like fire through dry grass. What news rides so quickly that even an Immortal does not stop to drink?”

Zayyan reached beneath his sash and removed the sealed letter. The wax was dark red, stamped with the mark of the western watch. He held it out with both hands. “This arrived from our spies in Isthia,” Zayyan said. “I was ordered to bring it to you myself.”

Malik took the letter. The room seemed to tighten around them.

He broke the seal with his thumb and unfolded the parchment. His eyes moved across the words once. Then again, slower. By the third reading, his face had changed entirely. Zayyan said nothing. The Sultan lowered the letter.

“The old king is dead,” Malik said. The words landed like stone. For a long moment, no one in the chamber moved.

“Leonardo is gone?” Zayyan asked quietly. Malik nodded, though the motion looked as if it cost him something. “His son has taken the throne. Jeshua has called his bannermen. There are rumors he means to wage war against the Sultanate.”

Zayyan’s jaw tightened beneath his mask.

Malik turned away from him and walked toward the open balcony. Beyond it, Dar al-Saltana gleamed beneath the sun, golden and proud, unaware that the world had shifted. The city bells rang in the distance. Merchants shouted. Birds circled over the palace gardens. Life continued, careless and bright.

The Sultan stared out at his capital, but his eyes were elsewhere. “Leonardo,” he whispered. A tear slipped down his face before he could stop it. Zayyan lowered his gaze.

Malik did not hide it. He simply let the tears fall. “He was older than me,” the Sultan said, his voice roughening. “Always acting as if wisdom had chosen him personally and left the rest of us to stumble in the sand.” A faint, broken smile crossed his face. “I was the only man in all the Three Kingdoms who could call him Leo and live without apology.”

Zayyan remained silent.

“We were boys when we met,” Malik continued. “He came south with his father, stiff-backed and proud, already rehearsing how to be king. I hated him at first. He corrected my posture during supper.” He gave a quiet laugh, though it trembled at the edges. “Can you imagine? A prince of Isthia correcting the son of the Sultan in his own palace?”

“He sounds brave,” Zayyan said.

“He was arrogant,” Malik replied. “Then he became brave. Then he became my friend.” The Sultan looked down at the letter again.

For a few breaths, Malik al-Rashid was not the ruler of the Sultanate. He was only a man who had just learned that a piece of his youth had been buried across the sea of sand. “May God receive him with mercy,” Malik said. “He was a better king than this age deserved.” Zayyan bowed his head. “I am sorry, my Sultan.”

Malik wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then folded the letter carefully. When he turned back, grief still marked his face, but the softness had begun to harden into something colder.

“Do not be sorry,” he said. “Be ready.”

Zayyan straightened. Malik walked to the center of the room and handed the letter to him again. “You have done well. Sifia owes you more than thanks for carrying this quickly.”

“I serve the Sultanate.”

“No,” Malik said. “Today, you may have saved it time. Time is worth more than gold when kings begin sharpening their madness.” He turned to the nearest guard.

“Summon my advisors,” the Sultan commanded. “All of them. Wake the vizier if he sleeps. Pull the generals from their feasts, and I want every border report from the last thirty days placed before me before sunset.” The guard bowed deeply. “At once, my Sultan.”

“And send riders to the southern garrisons,” Malik added. “Quietly. I will not have Dar al-Saltana trembling because of rumors.” The guard hurried from the chamber. Malik looked once more toward the city, his jewel in the desert, his oasis of towers and domes.

Then he looked back to Zayyan. “If Jeshua wants war,” the Sultan said, his voice low, “he will learn that Sifia does not kneel because a new king has inherited his father’s crown.”

Sultan Malik al-Rashid awaited his advisors in the council chamber.

He sat at the head of the long cedar table with the letter resting beneath his hand. The seal had already been broken, but the wax still clung to the parchment like dried blood. Zayyan stood behind him, silent and still, his blue attire catching the low firelight from the bronze lamps around the room.

Outside the windows, Dar al-Saltana gleamed in the afternoon sun, beautiful, golden, and unaware that the men who governed its fate were being called to speak of war. The advisors arrived quickly, understanding the gravity of Sifia’s current situation.

When Sultan Malik spoke, people served. He was loved by his people, respected by his soldiers, and obeyed by his court because his command carried the weight of a man who never wasted it. Malik al-Rashid was generous in peace, warm in friendship, and patient in council, but when the matter turned to war, the softness left him.

Sifia had known peace with Isthia for many years, but peace with one kingdom did not mean peace everywhere. The Sultanate had bled in a thousand smaller ways. Pirates hunted the Strait while raiders slipped out of the desert. Bandits strangled trade roads, and insurgents rose in forgotten corners, whispering rebellion beneath ruined towers and old wells.

Skirmishes flared along the frontier like sparks in dry grass. Through all of it, the Immortals had led the Sultan’s response. They rode where banners could not arrive in time. They kept the desert roads open and the frontier breathing. That was why Malik did not look panicked. He looked ready.

The Grand Vizier, Hakim al-Farouq, entered first, followed by the generals, the treasury master, the court mage, the Keeper of Roads, and the heads of the palace intelligence network. Each bowed before taking their seats. No one spoke until the Sultan lifted his eyes. “The old king is dead,” Malik said.

The room stilled. “Leonardo IV has passed. His son, Jeshua, has taken the throne of Isthia. He has called his bannermen, and our watchers report rumors of war against the Sultanate.” A low murmur moved around the table.

General Rafiq al-Hadir, commander of the western armies, leaned forward first. He was broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, and scarred across the left side of his jaw from a desert skirmish near the old ruins of Shammar. “How reliable are these rumors?” Malik slid the letter across the table. “Reliable enough that Zayyan carried it himself.” All eyes shifted to the Immortal.

Zayyan gave a single nod. “The report came from the western watch, near Krammak.” That name darkened the room.

Krammak was a small town, but no one in the council chamber mistook small for unimportant. It sat at the border between Sifia and Isthia, where the two continents nearly touched. To cross from one land into the other, travelers had to pass through a narrow strip of land surrounded by jagged cliffs, old bones, and stories too ancient to bury. The priests of the Old Religion had given it its name centuries ago: the Valley of Death.

It had earned its moniker. Many men had died there, from both Isthia and Sifia. Due to the long peace, such bloodshed had not happened in years, and Krammak had become a beacon of trade. It allowed safe passage between Isthia and Sifia.

“Then Krammak is the first throat they will try to cut,” said Hakim. Malik looked to General Rafiq. “How many men can we move without alarming the capital?”

“Quietly?” Rafiq asked. “Five thousand within three days. Ten thousand within a week if the roads remain clear. More if Your Majesty gives open orders.”

“No open orders,” Malik said. “Not yet.” The second general, Faris al-Samar, commander of the desert garrisons, tapped two fingers against the map. “The garrisons are holding. Tired, but holding. We have had raids near the southern dunes, but nothing organized. The Immortals broke a bandit confederacy outside Qalat Nadir last month. The frontier is safe for now.”

“For now is a bird with weak wings,” Hakim muttered. Malik ignored the comment, though a few advisors glanced toward the Vizier. “How many Immortals are ready for immediate service?”

Zayyan answered this time. “Thirty-seven in Dar al-Saltana. Twelve stationed near the Strait. Nine in the eastern desert. Six already operating near Krammak. More can be recalled, but it will thin our response elsewhere.”

“Recall half,” Malik said. “Leave enough to keep the roads protected. I will not have villages burned because we stared too long at Isthia.” The Keeper of Roads, a thin woman named Samira al-Kattan, opened her ledger. “The roads to Krammak are intact, but the western route is narrow. If we move too many soldiers at once, supply wagons will slow the march. We can send grain, arrows, bolts, lamp oil, and medicine ahead tonight under merchant markings.”

“Do it,” Malik said. “No banners.” The treasury master cleared his throat. He was a round man with careful hands and a voice that always sounded as if every word had been counted before use. “The treasury can sustain a border mobilization for several months without raising taxes. A full war would be different.”

“How different?” Malik asked.

“Painfully so,” the treasury master replied. “The trade houses will complain. The ports will demand exemptions, while the merchant princes will suddenly remember their loyalty only after they have calculated the price of it.”

The Vizier spoke once more. “My Sultan, why the secrecy? A show of force would rouse the crowds.”

Malik responded, “There is no reason to cause panic. It will slow the flow of trade, and we need trade now more than ever.”

For the first time since entering the chamber, Malik smiled, though there was no humor in it. “As for the princes, remind them that Isthian soldiers do not ask for tariffs before burning warehouses.” A few of the advisors nodded.

Malik turned to the naval minister. “And the Strait?”

“Our navy remains in position,” the naval minister said. “The western fleet is stationed along the Strait, with patrols rotating between the sea forts and the harbor chains. The pirates have gone quiet since the last campaign, but quiet pirates are still pirates. If Isthia moves by land, the Strait remains secure. If they try to disrupt our ships, we will see them before they see our coast.”

“Double the patrols,” Malik said. “I also want Immortals stationed among those ships.”

“Yes, my Sultan.” The court mage, an older Pria-blooded woman named Layla bint Sadeed, had not spoken yet. Her blue eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, not enough to frighten the others, but enough to remind them that blood remembered what history tried to forget. Malik looked to her. “What have our spies learned of Jeshua?”

Layla folded her hands. “The reports are strange.”

“Strange? That’s worrying,” Hakim said. Layla did not look at him. “There are claims that Jeshua has healed the sick with magic. True healing. Lame men standing and blind eyes clearing.” The chamber fell silent again. General Faris frowned. “Impossible.”

“Many impossible things are only things men have not survived long enough to understand,” Layla replied. Malik’s face hardened. “Is he Pria?”

“No,” Layla said. “Not by any bloodline we know, but the magic described is not possible, even for a Pria. It is not the magic of their priests, nor their relics, nor the battlefield charms their knights sometimes carry. It is something else entirely.”

“Light magic,” Zayyan said quietly. Every face turned toward him. Layla studied him for a moment. “Perhaps.” Malik’s hand tightened on the arm of his chair. “Healing the sick will make the people love him.”

“And fear him,” Hakim added. “A king who can heal is one step away from convincing fools he was sent by heaven.”

“He already believes that. He claims to be the true Son of God,” Malik huffed. “The Old Religion has caused us many problems.”

For a moment, the Sultan looked down at the map of the Three Kingdoms. Isthia lay to the north and west, proud. Oredae watched from its old republic across the sea. Sifia stretched wide and sunlit beneath his fingers, from Dar al-Saltana to the desert villages, from the Strait to Krammak, from oasis towns to lonely wells where children still slept beneath roofs his soldiers protected.

“We speak of armies,” Malik said, “but I want the homeland secured first. Every town beyond the desert is to be warned without being frightened. Increase patrols along the wells. Send riders to the villages nearest the western roads. I want grain stores counted, gates inspected, and watchmen doubled in every settlement between here and Krammak.”

Samira nodded quickly, already writing. “And Krammak?” General Rafiq asked. Malik leaned back in his chair. The chamber seemed to wait with him.

“Krammak will be bolstered,” he said. “Send soldiers, engineers, healers, and two Immortals by nightfall. No traveler enters from Isthia without being searched. No armed company crosses the Valley of Death without my permission. If this is as I fear, we will demand that Isthian traders give up their arms.” Hakim’s old eyes narrowed. “That will be seen as provocation.”

“Provocation?” Malik said. “We have already been provoked. This letter is the very essence of provocation.” The Vizier said nothing.

Malik stood, and every advisor rose with him.

“For many years, Sifia has honored peace with Isthia,” the Sultan said. “I grieve for Leonardo. I grieve for the friend I knew before crowns turned us both into kings, but I will not let grief blind me, and I will not let his son mistake our patience for weakness.” He looked to Zayyan.

“You will ride to our garrison in Verdance.” Zayyan lowered his head. “Yes, my Sultan.”

“Verdance guards the meadow roads that feed into Krammak. Take who you need and give the meadows my regards. Choose one Immortal from the palace guard and one from the desert companies. I want eyes on every road leading to the Valley of Death before sunset tomorrow.”

“It will be done.” Malik turned back to the council.

“No bells or public decree. Dar al-Saltana will sleep tonight believing the Sultanate is still safe. Let them have that mercy for one more evening.”

His voice dropped. “But by dawn, I want Sifia awake beneath the surface of the peace they have loved for so long.” The Sultan placed his hand over the broken seal.

“If Jeshua means only to wear his father’s crown, then we will offer condolences and peace. But if he means to bring war through the Valley of Death, then let him find death waiting there before he ever sees the jewel of the desert.”

Voyager - "Fealty" 9

✍📕The Third Estate — Mon, 25 May 2026 22:36:52 GMT

The Great Hall of Isthia had not seen such splendor in generations. Crimson banners bearing the golden lion of House Mistral hung from towering marble pillars, while candles burned like captured stars along the walls. Every noble house of consequence had answered the summons of their new king. Lords in jeweled doublets, knights wrapped in polished steel, bishops clutching relics of the Old Religion. The kingdom had come to witness history.

And at the center of it all sat Jeshua. Not upon the throne lazily, nor like a boy drowning beneath a crown too heavy for him. He sat as though the throne had been carved for his very frame before the world itself was created. White hair draped over royal armor touched with silver and ivory. His glowing blue eyes seemed almost soft tonight, almost merciful.

The great bannermen stood closest to the dais. House Forsyth, masters of the western vineyards and river trade, their wealth rivaling entire provinces. Lord Cedric Forsyth stood proud in dark green velvet, old and broad-shouldered, his sons behind him like iron statues.

House Habersham, wardens of the northern frontier where monsters descended from the frozen hills. They were a hardened and stern people, their banners black and white, their soldiers carrying wolf pelts even within the warmth of the hall. Centuries ago, they had shielded the Kingdom from Oredae’s northern advance, and since then, few bannermen had commanded more respect.

House Calloway, richest of them all. Sols flowed through Calloway lands like water through a mountain stream. Their fleets controlled half the eastern coast, and their armies were said to rival the Crown’s itself. Once, the Calloways had wanted the throne, but Queen Brynn had stood against them and made it clear she would go to war before allowing it. The Calloways, rich as they were, had not wanted to risk ruin.

Around them stood dozens more bannermen, lesser lords, landed knights, and sworn captains, though tonight they felt like candles beside bonfires. The people adored him already.

Outside the palace gates, crowds gathered daily just to glimpse him. Mothers carried sick children through the streets hoping for a miracle, and those who were crippled walked again. Blind men wept as sight returned to their eyes. Fever vanished from the dying with nothing more than the raising of Jeshua’s hand.

No poultices. No prayers from weary priests. Only the King. And so the whispers had become certainty. The Lamb had come. One elderly bishop, unable to contain himself, stepped forward, clutching the Book of the Fathers with trembling hands.

“The scripture speaks plainly,” he declared before the court. “And the people shall know His voice, and the nations shall kneel before the Son, for the light of God shall dwell within Him.”

A murmur spread through the hall like wind through dry grass, but Jeshua simply smiled. The court erupted shortly after into chants.

“Long live the King!”

“Long live the Lamb!”

“Long live Jeshua!”

Even the nobles joined them eventually, though some slower than others. They all bent the knee, swearing their fealty to their new King. High above the hall, seated beside the empty throne once occupied by Leonardo IV, Queen Mother Casadine remained silent.

Her face betrayed nothing. Years at court had taught her how to wear stillness like armor. Yet her fingers tightened subtly around the armrest as she watched her son descend the steps toward the gathered sick. A little girl was brought before him, frail and shaking from some wasting illness. Jeshua knelt before her gently, placing two fingers beneath her chin.

Blue light bloomed. The child gasped as color returned to her cheeks. Her mother collapsed to the floor, sobbing praises to God Himself. The hall thundered with awe, but Casadine felt cold.

It was not fear, exactly, because fear was simple and predictable. This feeling crawled deeper than fear, like icy water slipping into the lungs. Because she remembered Jeshua as a child. She remembered the way animals used to stare at him. The way servants avoided his gaze without understanding why.

The way Leonardo once confessed, in the privacy of their chambers, that sometimes when Jeshua entered a room, he felt as though something ancient had entered with him. King Leonardo had told his beloved wife that there was darkness in that boy’s heart.

Jeshua turned then, his glowing eyes briefly meeting hers across the hall. For one horrifying instant, Casadine felt as though her son could hear every thought within her skull. He smiled warmly.

The entire court saw the smile of a savior. Casadine saw the smile of something wearing one.

Jeshua remained standing before the throne as the great lords of Isthia gathered beneath him. The banners of House Forsyth, House Habersham, and House Calloway hung above the rest, because everyone in that hall understood power when they saw it. Wealth, soldiers, loyalty, and old blood. These were the men who kept kingdoms standing when crowns became heavy.

Jeshua’s eyes settled first on the Habershams.

“Lord Habersham,” he said, his voice carrying without effort, “your house has long guarded the northern marches. Your men are disciplined. Your riders know hardship. Your walls have stood against monsters, rebels, and winter itself.”

Lord Habersham bowed his head. “We serve the Crown, Your Grace.”

“You will do more than serve it,” Jeshua said. “You will prepare it by mustering your levies and inspecting your armories. Send riders to every fortress under your command. Isthia must be ready.”

A quiet shift moved through the hall. Lord Habersham lifted his gaze.

“Ready for what, my king?”

Jeshua looked across the gathered nobles, letting the silence stretch until every whisper died.

“For war.”

The word struck the hall like a bell dropped from heaven.

The bannermen exchanged uneasy glances. Even House Forsyth’s men, proud and polished as they were, looked toward one another. Calloway’s retainers stiffened. Habersham did not flinch, but the tightening of his jaw said enough.

“With whom?” Lord Calloway asked.

Jeshua turned his head slowly toward him.

“Oredae and Sifia. Both, if they refuse God’s will. I will give them the chance to lay down their weapons and swear allegiance to Isthia.”

A murmur broke out at once. Lord Calloway stepped forward, unable to restrain himself. He was richly dressed, his cloak clasped with gold, but there was no arrogance in his face now.

“Your Grace,” he said carefully, “I speak only out of loyalty to the kingdom. War with Oredae would bleed the eastern roads. War with Sifia would cripple the ports. Our trade routes would collapse. The treasury would suffer. Merchants would flee. Grain prices would rise. Ships would remain docked, caravans would turn back, and within months, Isthia could find itself bankrupt.”

Several lords nodded before they remembered where they were. Jeshua listened without interruption. That frightened Casadine more than anger would have. Jeshua remained calm and stoic, seeming almost respectful of the lord’s concern

Her son stood there patiently, hands folded before him, his face calm and beautiful beneath the glow of those terrible blue eyes. He looked almost pleased by the objection, as though Lord Calloway had merely stepped into a role already written for him.

“Your concerns are heard,” Jeshua said.

Calloway exhaled, relieved. Then Jeshua continued.

“But they are small.”

Unease rippled through the room. No one wanted war. There was no reason for war, especially now that Isthia’s coffers had grown full because of trade. The relief vanished.

“Trade is not God, and coin is not God. Silk, spice, grain, and silver are not the bones upon which this world was made. For too long, Isthia has bowed to agendas and treaties. For too long, we have shaken hands with idolaters and called it peace.”

The bishops along the wall lowered their heads. Jeshua descended one step from the dais.

“The Three Kingdoms will bend the knee before God Himself. Oredae will kneel, and Sifia will kneel. Isthia will kneel first, because Isthia has been chosen first.”

The hall had gone so quiet that the candles seemed loud.

“No false gods will be tolerated within this kingdom,” Jeshua said. “No foreign shrines or hidden altars. No songs to dead spirits or river demons. Those who have strayed will be given mercy. They will be permitted to pray for forgiveness, confess their error, and accept the truth of the Old Religion.”

His voice softened.

“And those who refuse will be removed from the body before they poison it.”

Casadine felt the cold return to her chest. Then Jeshua looked past the great houses, past the lesser lords, past the priests and knights, as if seeing beyond the hall and into every street of Isthia.

“And the Pria…”

The word itself seemed to dim the room.

“The Pria do not belong in Isthia.”

Gasps erupted from every side.

Some were shocked, and others were delighted. Most were afraid to reveal which.

Lord Forsyth looked down. Habersham’s expression hardened into stone. Calloway’s face went pale, because he understood immediately what such a decree would mean. Pria healers, Pria scholars, Pria artisans, Pria merchants, Pria laborers, Pria families who had lived in Isthia for generations. Removing them would not cleanse the kingdom. Instead, it would tear pieces from it.

A lesser lord near the center of the hall stepped forward before anyone could stop him. He was not among the great houses. His cloak was plain compared to Calloway’s, his chain of office modest, his sword old. But his voice rang clear.

“No.”

The hall froze. Jeshua looked at him.

The lord swallowed, but did not step back.

“No, Your Grace. That cannot be law. The Pria are subjects of this kingdom. Many of them have served Isthia faithfully. They work our fields, heal our sick, copy our books, trade in our markets, and defend villages where Crown soldiers arrive too late. You cannot simply cast them out.”

A few nobles looked away, ashamed that he had said what they had not dared to. Casadine’s fingers curled around the armrest. Jeshua regarded the man with an expression almost tender.

“What is your name?”

“Lord Arlen Vey,” the man said. “Of House Vey.”

“House Vey,” Jeshua repeated, as though tasting it. “A small house.”

Lord Vey took that as a slight but remained calm.

“A loyal one.”

“For now.”

Jeshua’s soft demeanor eased the tension. Lord Vey’s face tightened.

“Loyalty is not silence.”

A ripple moved through the room. Someone hissed for him to stop. Someone else whispered a prayer.

Jeshua descended another step. He never took his eyes off Lord Vey, and his face had gone from friendly to serious. He warned the lesser lord.

“That is the last time you protest.”

The warning should have ended it. Every lord, knight, and servant in the room knew it. And so did Lord Vey, but he did not relent. He was determined to stand for the Pria. He stepped closer to the dais, spit onto the polished floor before the king, and lifted his chin.

“You are no king if exile is what you propose,” he said. “You are a butcher wearing scripture.”

The hall seemed to lose its breath. “Lord Vey seems determined to die today.” Habersham did not laugh. His concerned gaze remained fixed on the lesser lord. “Lord Vey has been loyal to the realm,” he said. “This, I did not expect.”

For one perfect, terrible moment, no one moved. Steel whispered from its sheath as Jeshua drew Tempest. The sound was soft, almost delicate, and somehow more frightening than a shout. The blade caught the candlelight, and for an instant the entire hall gleamed along its edge. Lord Vey’s hand moved toward his own sword.

“Do not,” Jeshua said. “You dare attempt to draw your weapon against your king?”

The command was quiet, but Lord Vey stopped. His eyes widened in horror as his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed before the king, trembling, his hands clenched at his sides as though fighting against invisible chains.

The crowd recoiled as Jeshua stood over him.

“Kneel,” he said.

Lord Vey was already kneeling, but somehow the word forced him lower. His forehead nearly touched the floor where he had spat.

Casadine rose halfway from her seat.

“Jeshua,” she whispered.

Only those nearest her heard it. Jeshua did not look back.

He lifted his sword.

“You have doomed your house, Lord Vey.”

Lord Vey tried to speak, but he begged, “My family, Your Grace. Please show mercy.”

The blade fell. The sound was final.

A scream tore through the hall, then another, then nothing but chaos held inside a cage of terror. Lord Vey’s body collapsed at the foot of the dais. His blood spread across the marble, dark and real and impossible to ignore. A moment ago, this had been a court of lords. Now it was a slaughterhouse with chandeliers.

Jeshua looked upon the gathered nobles. He turned his sword slightly, letting the blood run down its edge.

“Let this be the first lesson of my reign,” Jeshua said. “Mercy is offered to the obedient. Judgment is given to the proud.”

His gaze swept across Forsyth, Habersham, and Calloway.

“All houses will send updated levies to the Crown within a fortnight,” he commanded.

Lord Calloway lowered his head first, and the others followed. One by one, the lesser lords followed, bowing not out of faith, but survival. Casadine stared at the blood staining the floor beneath her son’s boots.

The people outside still chanted for the Lamb. Inside the hall, every lord of Isthia had just learned the truth.

“You are dismissed. I pray you follow my command.”

And with that, the lords knelt before their new king.

Jeshua left the throne room without another word.

The chants of the court still followed him through the corridor, muffled now by stone and distance. Long live the King. Long live the Lamb. They echoed behind him like worship trapped in a tomb. A pair of servants hurried after him, their eyes fixed on the floor. One nearly stumbled when Jeshua stopped beside the entrance to his private chambers and held out Tempest.

“Clean it,” he said.

The servant took the sword with both hands, careful not to touch the dark blood drying along its edge.

“And have it sharpened.”

The servant bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Jeshua entered his chambers as if nothing of consequence had happened. The room was warm, lit by a dozen candles, with tall windows overlooking the city of Isthia below. Beyond the glass, the people still filled the streets, singing hymns and crying out for blessings from their new king. Casadine followed him inside.

For a moment, she said nothing. She watched him remove his vambraces slowly, as though court had merely been a tiresome ceremony.

“Lord Vey was a friend of your father’s,” she said at last.

Jeshua did not look at her.

“Many men were friends of my father.”

“Your father respected him,” Casadine said, her voice trembling as if she was trying to hold back her anger.

“My father respected many weak men.”

Casadine’s mouth tightened.

“That weak man told you the truth.”

Jeshua’s eyes lifted. The room seemed to shrink around them.

Casadine felt it, but this time she did not look away. She had carried him in her body. She had held him when he cried as a child. She had watched him grow from boy to prince, from prince to king. Whatever power now burned behind those blue eyes, she was still his mother.

“He spoke out of loyalty to Isthia,” she said. “Not treason and certainly not rebellion. The Pria are woven into this kingdom whether you approve of them or not. Removing them will wound us. War with Oredae and Sifia will bleed us, and killing a man in front of your bannermen will not make them love you.”

Jeshua smiled faintly.

“Love is the least of my concerns, Mother.”

“It should be desired.”

“No,” he said. “Obedience should be desired.”

Casadine stepped closer.

“Mercy is the better path.”

Jeshua laughed.

It was not loud, but rather soft, almost amused, as though she had offered him a child’s prayer before a battlefield.

“Mercy,” he repeated. “That word has made cowards of kings.”

“It made your father beloved,” Casadine continued. “He didn’t have to use fear to rule, and the realm prospered under your father. Now you plan to undo all of that.”

Casadine stiffened.

Before Jeshua could answer, one of the maidens entered with her head lowered.

“Your Grace, the Lord Commander has been summoned.”

The maiden slipped away, and only moments later, heavy footsteps approached the chamber. The Lord Commander entered in full armor, his cloak still fastened from the throne room. He dropped to one knee at once.

“You sent for me, Your Grace.”

He spoke sternly, and his loyalty to the Crown was absolute. Jeshua turned toward him.

“Take fifty men from the palace garrison,” he said. The Lord Commander did not hesitate. “Yes, Your Grace.”

No other movement was needed. His obedience was already absolute.

“Your loyalty will not go ignored.” Jeshua smiled at him. “You will ride to the Vales before dawn. House Vey is to be extinguished. Every remaining blood member. Every sworn sword who refuses to renounce them. Every steward, captain, and household knight loyal to their name.”

Casadine’s face went cold.

The Lord Commander bowed his head lower, without hesitation and without question.

“It will be done, Your Grace.”

“By sunset tomorrow, House Vey will be ash.”

The Queen Mother’s disapproval filled the chamber like smoke, but Jeshua continued to ignore her.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The Lord Commander rose and left as quickly as he had arrived. The moment the door closed, Casadine turned on her son.

“There is no reason for this.”

Jeshua calmly poured wine into a silver cup.

“You killed Lord Vey in front of the entire court,” she said, her voice rising despite herself. “You made your point. His family did not spit at your feet. His children did not defy you!”

“Careful, Mother. Remember your position,” he said.

But Casadine ignored him.

“You do not slaughter people for what they might do.”

Jeshua drank.

Casadine stared at him, horrified by the stillness of his face.

“You call yourself the Son of God,” she said, “and this is your first lesson to the kingdom? Murder a man, then send soldiers to butcher everything that bears his name?”

Jeshua set the cup down.

“You forget yourself,” he said.

Casadine’s anger faltered, but only for a breath.

“I am your mother.”

“You are the Queen Mother,” Jeshua said. “A title given by my throne, not above it.”

The words struck harder than shouting would have. He stepped toward her, and for the first time in her life, Casadine had to stop herself from stepping back from her own son.

“You will not question me in front of my servants. You will not question me before my commanders. You will not plead for traitors after judgment has been given.”

“Lord Vey was not a traitor.”

“He became one the moment he placed his conscience above his king.”

Casadine’s eyes glistened, but her voice remained steady.

“Your father would be ashamed.”

For the first time, something flickered in Jeshua’s face. He leaned closer.

“My father is gone,” he said. “And his kingdom now belongs to me.”

The candles trembled though there was no wind.

Outside, the city continued to sing. Jeshua turned toward the window, looking down at the thousands gathered beyond the palace walls.

“Isthia has grown diseased from compromise. Lords believe they may bargain with the Crown. Merchants believe coin can restrain God. Priests believe scripture may be softened to spare delicate hearts. The Pria believe they may live beneath our roofs while rejecting the truth that built them.”

His reflection stared back from the glass, pale and crowned in candlelight.

“They use magic, a clear affront against the Old Religion, and that ends now.”

Casadine whispered, “You are making enemies of your own people.”

“No,” Jeshua said. “I am teaching them what peace costs.”

He looked back at her.

“By dawn, every lord in Isthia will know what became of House Vey. By tomorrow, every village will know. By the end of the week, every Pria hiding behind old friendships and soft laws will understand that my mercy has boundaries.”

Casadine shook her head slowly.

“This is not mercy.”

Jeshua’s eyes glowed brighter.

“It is mercy,” he said. “Because I could have sent five hundred.”