Absolute Sovereignty-Chapter 29: Lord of The Silverstram

The road to Silverstream wound through rolling hills, the landscape a patchwork of fields and forests.

The air, carried the scent of pine and damp earth, carried a chill that hinted at the approaching winter. Kaelen rode at the head of the small company, flanked by Commander Lyra and Garron, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

He had left the Silent Guard with clear, brutal instructions: prepare to die.

He hadn't meant it as a jest, or an empty threat, or even to instill fear in their hearts. He had spoken a truth they did not yet comprehend. Kaelen knew the rites he would put them through, the ancient, brutal trials designed to forge warriors of unmatched skill and unwavering loyalty.

And he knew, with chilling certainty, that any who underwent those rites without the resolve to face their own mortality would surely meet it.

The trials were not merely a test of strength, but a test of spirit, of their willingness to sacrifice everything for the sake of Caldris. It was a path of blood and shadow, a path that would either break them or forge them into the weapons he needed.

The journey was long and arduous, the horses' hooves beating a steady rhythm against the hard-packed earth.

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As they rode, Kaelen noticed the subtle shifts in the landscape, the gradual decline in prosperity as they moved further away from the relative affluence of Vernal Keep. The farms became smaller, the fields less fertile, the buildings more dilapidated.

The whispers of the Voidwell echoed in his mind, a persitent reminder of darkness within him, a reminder of his power but also of the cost of control, whispering again and again the need to "consume."

They passed through small villages and hamlets, where people stopped to stare at the passing procession.

Kaelen was a rarity to spot for most of Caldris outside its capital, his reputation as the "drunkard prince" having preceded him. He had always kept his... exuberant lifestyle confined within the protected walls of Vernal Keep, his presence in the outer provinces a novelty, a curiosity.

He had let rumors grow, to hide the fact that he still had a semblance of mind and intellect, his earlier blunders more of a protection, it seemed. It gave him exactly the cover that he needed, a farce that fooled many, into lowering their expectations.

But now, he could no longer hide.

Finally, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting shadows across the land, they reached their destination: the estate of Lord Marsai, the provincial lord of Silverstream.

The estate, a large manor house surrounded by fields and forests, was a far cry from the more luxury empahsised palaces of Valdrathar. Its walls weathered and worn, its gardens overgrown and untamed, yet still standing proud.

Lord Marsai, unlike the lords of most other kingdoms, lived a life only slightly better than that of his common folk. His power lay not in vast wealth or armies, but in the respect and loyalty he commanded from the people of Silverstream, a respect born not of fear, but of shared hardship and mutual understanding.

But it was, by all accounts, a fragile respect, one that was now constantly challenged by the Crimson Hand's growing influence.

The estate guards, seeing the prince and his company approach, immediately rushed inside to inform their lord. Kaelen and his companions dismounted, handing their reins to a waiting stable boy.

A few moments later, the guards returned, their expressions a mixture of surprise and apprehension. They gestured towards the manor house, inviting the prince and his entourage to enter.

They walked through the large, unkempt gardens, the overgrown pathways that spoke insistently of the estate's neglect. The manor house, once grand and imposing, now bore the marks of time and hardship, its walls weathered, its windows cracked, its paint peeling.

It was a reminder of Caldris's decline, a reflection of the kingdom's dwindling resources and its precarious position within the Dominion.

The guards led them through a series of low lit hallways, their footsteps echoing on the worn flagstones, until they reached a small, cluttered study. The air was ripe with the scent of old books and pipe tobacco.

Lord Marsai, a thin, wiry man with a kind face and tired eyes, sat behind a large oak desk, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

He raised his head as they entered, his gaze settling on Kaelen, a flicker of surprise still lingering in his eyes. "Ah, Prince Kaelen," he said, his voice warm and welcoming despite the obvious strain in his features.

"You are a rare sight in these parts."

Kaelen nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "I've never really had... business here, Lord Marsai," he replied, his voice low and thoughtful. "Not until now."