Absolute Sovereignty-Chapter 6: Roots of The Storm

The scent of honeysuckle wine still clung to Kaelen's clothes as dawn spilled through the narrow chamber windows. He sat at his desk with a throbbing head—though the pain lay distant beneath the constant hum of the System in his vision:

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[Memory Stability: 10% (Garron's Loyalty Anchored)]

Nearby on the floor, Garron snored, half-buried under the drapes he'd torn from the wall during his drunken stumble. Kaelen watched the slow rise and fall of his friend's chest, noting even the twitch of his fingers—as if, even in sleep, Garron were poised to laugh or fight.

Alive.

The single word settled over him like a stone.

Kaelen unrolled a battered map of Aurathos, its edges frayed from years of neglect. In just nine days the Grand Conclave would begin—a veritable nest of a scheming emperor and royals, treacherous nobles, and lurking Shadows. In his first life, he had been nothing more than a punchline. Now, he intended to walk into that nest as a threat.

But a threat, he knew, needed teeth.

"Wake up," Kaelen said, nudging Garron with his boot. "We've work to do."

Garron groaned, shielding his eyes from the light. "You're a demon. A fig-wine demon."

"And you're my second-in-command. Demons don't take naps."

Together they descended to the training yard, where the discordant clang of steel punctuated the morning air. Caldris' soldiers drilled with wooden swords; their movements were sloppy, their morale even lower than the crumbling keep's foundations.

"They're worse than I remembered," Garron grumbled.

"Because you've not watched them die," Kaelen replied quietly.

Memories surged—boys burning under dragonfire, their screams lost beneath Drakhar's war horns. As Kaelen stepped into the yard, the soldiers straightened stiffly at his approach.

"Spar with me," he commanded, tossing Garron a blunted sword.

Garron blinked in surprise. "You hate sparring."

"Today, I don't."

Their first clash was chaotic. Garron fought like a tavern brawler—wild swings and brute force—while Kaelen deflected each attack with the smooth precision of decades honed in Voidwell battles.

"You're holding back," Garron accused between breaths.

"Because you're predictable."

"Says the prince who trips over his own boots!"

Kaelen feinted left, swept Garron's legs, and sent him sprawling into the dirt. "Dead."

Garron grinned through gritted teeth. "Again."

They continued until the sun climbed high, and with every exchange, Garron's swings grew sharper and his footwork more confident. The soldiers, once dismissive, now gathered to watch their "useless" prince repeatedly disarm his friend.

[Soul Sight Activated: Garron – (Latent Fire Affinity). Loyalty: 89% (Unwavering)]

For a moment, Kaelen paused at the word "Fire." In his first life, Garron's magic had flared too late—a fleeting inferno barely holding back assassins as Kaelen fled. Now, the spark remained dormant. But it wouldn't be for long.

Later that evening, Kaelen found Garron in the armory, diligently polishing a dented breastplate.

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"Since when do you clean armor?" Kaelen teased.

"Since you turned into a drill sergeant," Garron replied with a grumble. "What's next? Morning jogs?"

Kaelen set a small velvet box on a nearby table. Inside lay a ring—a band of black iron etched with Zalathi runes, set with a shard of volcanic glass.

"A courting gift?" Garron smirked. "I'm flattered, but you're not my type."

"It's a focus stone. For fire mages."

Garron's smile faltered. "You know I'm terrible with magic. I couldn't even light a candle for the priests."

Without another word, Kaelen slipped the ring onto Garron's finger. "Try."

At first, nothing happened. Garron frowned in concentration. Then, a subtle flicker—a wisp of smoke danced along the gemstone. Suddenly, the shard glowed red-hot.

"What the hell?" Garron yelped, shaking his hand.

"Your magic has been there all along," Kaelen explained calmly. "Dormant, yes—but the stone will draw it out."

[New Objective: Train Garron to Beacon-tier within 30 days.]

[Reward: Soulcraft Progress +20%, Corruption -0.3%]

Garron stared at the smoldering gem. "Why?"

"Because I need you alive," Kaelen said simply. "And Caldris needs more than one monster to survive."

In the secrecy of the wheat fields beyond Vernal Keep, they began training. Garron's early attempts were erratic—flames sputtered into ash and singed his sleeves—but gradually, the fire started obeying his will.

"Focus," Kaelen urged as he circled his friend. "It's not a sword. It's an extension of your will."

"Easy for you to say, soultaker," Garron muttered, sweat mixing with the grime on his face.

Then, a surge: flame erupted from his palms, incinerating a nearby scarecrow. Garron whooped, the ring's gem blazing like a miniature sun.

"Did you see that?!" he exclaimed.

Kaelen simply nodded, a hidden smile playing on his lips. "Adequate."

"Adequate? I'm a damned phoenix!"

[Soulcraft Progress: 31/100]

[Garron's Fire Affinity: 15% (Ember-tier)]

As dusk fell, the pair collapsed into the grass amid the lingering scent of charred wheat. Garron flexed his soot-stained fingers, watching sparks dance across his knuckles.

"Why now?" he asked quietly. "Why help me?"

Kaelen plucked a stray stalk of wheat and twirled it absently. "The Conclave is a trap. The emperor wants me cornered, desperate. But if they see strength in Caldris—in us—they might hesitate."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we burn them first."

Garron laughed, his voice warmer than his fledgling flames. "You've gone madder than a Drakhar dragon."

"Madness is the only sanity left," Kaelen replied, rising to his feet. "Come on. We have one more stop."

Beneath Vernal Keep's wine cellar lay a vault sealed for centuries. Kaelen pried open its rusted door, revealing an arsenal hidden beneath layers of dust—axes of blackened steel, bows strung with silverthread, and armor etched with spirit runes.

Garron whistled. "The Silent Guard's stash?"

"Their legacy," Kaelen confirmed. He tossed Garron a dagger whose blade shimmered with residual magic. "Take what you need. Sell the rest to fund our journey."

"You're really preparing for war."

"I'm preparing to survive."

As Garron rummaged through the relics, Kaelen knelt before an ancient chest. Inside lay his mother's armor—a breastplate of dawnstone, scarred yet unyielding. His fingers traced the Verath crest, and for a moment, the memory of her laughter glowed faintly at the edges of his mind.

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[Memory Degradation Halted: Maternal Bond Stability +5%]

Later that night, in the solitude of his chambers, Kaelen pored over the Conclave missive. Emperor Kaelith's seal glared up at him—a serpent consuming its own tail.

The System flickered once more:

[Primary Objective Updated: Survive the Grand Conclave.]

[Recommended Preparations:]

1. Forge Eryndel Alliance (In Progress).

2. Strengthen Garron's Fire Affinity (In Progress).

3. Acquire Velarion Enchantments (See Selene of Velarion).

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter."

Garron stepped in, a fresh burn marking his cheek and a mischievous grin lighting his face. "I found a buyer for the relics—a scholar from Eryndel. He wants to meet tomorrow."

"We will," Kaelen replied.

Before leaving, Garron lingered. "You know... you're still a prick. But you're our prick."

"High praise," Kaelen quipped.

As the door closed, Kaelen allowed himself a single, quiet moment to savor this small victory.

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[System Note: Bonds Stabilized. Proceed.]

The storm was coming. But tonight, the roots held firm.