The kingdom of Elyndor did not mourn its king.

It held its breath.

The sky above the capital remained unnaturally still, as if even the winds feared to move without permission. Five towering pillars of energy surrounded the royal palace, each one pulsing with ancient power—green, gold, blue, silver, and crimson.

They had always been there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And now…

Awake.

King Vaelor was dead.

No illness. No warning. No final words.

Just silence.

And in that silence, the throne became the most dangerous place in the world.

The royal hall stretched endlessly, its marble floor reflecting the five figures standing beneath the throne.

Five brothers.

Five heirs.

Five futures… that could not exist together.

At the center stood Aeren Vale.

His hands trembled slightly, though he tried to hide it. His eyes—soft, almost too soft for a royal—were fixed on the empty throne. There was grief in them.

Real grief.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Aeren said quietly, his voice echoing across the hall. “Father wouldn’t have wanted us to fight.”

A low chuckle broke the silence.

It came from the right.

Draven Korr leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, flames flickering faintly around his fingertips like restless thoughts. His eyes glowed—not brightly, but dangerously.

“Father,” Draven repeated, amused. “Is gone.”

He pushed himself off the pillar slowly, stepping forward.

“And the throne doesn’t care what he wanted.”

Aeren’s jaw tightened.

“This is still our home.”

Draven smirked.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping into something colder. “This is a battlefield now.”

Near the far edge of the hall, standing beside the reflection of a shallow pool embedded in the marble floor, was Kaelor Veyne.

Silent.

Still.

Watching.

The water beneath his feet shifted ever so slightly, reacting to his presence. Or perhaps… to his thoughts.

His expression didn’t change.

Not when Aeren spoke.

Not when Draven challenged him.

Not even when the tension in the room thickened enough to choke on.

He simply observed.

Calculated.

Remembered.

“Can we eat first?”

The voice shattered the tension like a stone through glass.

All eyes turned.

Boros Halvyn sat casually on the steps leading to the throne, holding what looked like a half-eaten pastry. Crumbs scattered across the polished floor without care.

“What?” he said, shrugging. “This whole ‘who becomes king’ thing feels long. I didn’t even get breakfast.”

Draven stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re serious?”

Boros nodded, chewing loudly.

“Very.”

Aeren sighed softly, rubbing his forehead.

“Boros… this isn’t the time.”

Boros looked genuinely confused.

“When is it ever not time to eat?”

And then…

There was the fifth.

Or rather…

There wasn’t.

Because Nyxarion Dusk was not present.

Or at least—

No one could see him.

The royal doors slammed open.

The council entered.

Elders, generals, advisors—faces lined with fear they tried to disguise as authority.

“The kingdom cannot remain without a ruler,” one of them declared. “The people are already restless.”

Draven smiled faintly.

“They should be.”

The elder ignored him.

“All five of you have a claim. But only one can ascend.”

A pause.

Then—

“The Trials of Dominion will begin at dawn.”

Silence fell again.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

Aeren stepped forward.

“There has to be another way—”

“There isn’t,” Kael said.

The first words he had spoken.

Calm.

Sharp.

Final.

Aeren turned toward him, hurt flickering across his face.

“Kael—”

“Power doesn’t negotiate,” Kael continued, his gaze unwavering. “It decides.”

Something in his tone made the room colder.

Draven’s smirk widened.

“Finally,” he muttered. “Something interesting.”

That night…

The palace felt different.

Long corridors whispered with tension. Shadows stretched longer than they should. Even the air seemed to carry secrets.

Aeren stood alone on a balcony, staring at the distant forests of Elyndor. The Verdantis pillar glowed softly in the distance, its green light calming… but not enough.

“You’re thinking too much.”

Aeren didn’t turn.

He knew that voice.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But at least I’m thinking about us.”

Kael stepped beside him.

The moonlight reflected in his eyes, but it didn’t soften them.

“There is no ‘us’ anymore,” Kael said.

Aeren shook his head.

“There has to be.”

Kael looked at him for a long moment.

And for just a second…

Something human flickered beneath the surface.

“Belief,” Kael said softly, “is the first thing people lose when power enters the room.”

Somewhere deeper in the palace…

A shadow moved.

Not seen.

Not heard.

But present.

Nyxarion Dusk watched.

And for the first time…

He smiled.