thief of fate-Chapter 102: meeting

In a spacious room overlooking a calm sea, the three monarchs gathered around a round table made of black stone, etched with ancient names of their kingdoms.

King Taril was the first to speak, his eyes fixed on the map before him:

"My kingdom hasn’t faced any attacks. No cities, no villages, no supply routes... nothing."

Queen Elyria responded coldly as she flipped through a document in her hands:

"Neither has ours. Our lands remain completely untouched. The only target... was the arena."

King Yaram lifted his gaze, his face lined with the wrinkles of worry and contemplation. His silence lasted longer than usual, until he finally looked down at the map without saying a word.

Elyria continued, her tone harsh and devoid of emotion:

"Simply put... those who survived deserve to remain. Either through strength... or luck."

Taril suddenly raised his head, his brows furrowed:

"Is that how you speak of the dead? Of those who fought to protect us?"

She replied with cold finality, without lowering her gaze:

"We do not rule with emotion, Taril. This is no funeral. This is a council of monarchs. What happened was a test... and those who survived, passed it. As for the dead... they were either weaker, or less fortunate."

A moment of silence hung in the air. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Then Yaram spoke, slowly... but firmly:

"She is right."

Taril looked at him with muted shock, while Yaram continued, his tone calmer than they expected:

"The purpose of the tournament was clear from the beginning... to see who is worthy. And the Arkanis, with their savagery, gave us a golden opportunity."

He leaned over the map and pointed at the charred ground that once held the arena:

"This land... has become a field of purification. It tested the strong and the weak. What remains is what we must build upon."

Taril slowly shook his head, caught between rejection and acceptance.

Elyria whispered with deadly calm:

"Sometimes... the worst disasters reveal the greatest potential."

The three stared in silence... each realizing that what lay ahead was nothing but the beginning of a greater conflict.

Finally, Taril spoke, his voice calm yet edged:

"I won’t argue the cruelty of your words, Elyria... for the world no longer rewards gentleness. But don’t forget... beneath the ashes, there may still be embers we have yet to see."

Elyria did not respond. She seemed to have already anticipated his words, while Yaram remained focused on the map before him.

Taril continued, his tone now more resolute:

"We must now, above all, determine... who proved themselves in this massacre."

Yaram tilted his head:

"Valerian, Raine, Sigard, Zenith... Kyle, though he lost, fought Dyrus with remarkable courage. And we must not forget Claire Lucard, who faced death and survived."

Elyria leaned slightly forward:

"Valerian... the boy everyone thought was just a meaningless heir, fought bravely, and stood face to face with that thing... Raine, his body burned into a star... did you see what he did? Nothing remained of his opponent but bones."

Taril nodded in agreement:

"Raine... I hadn’t followed him closely before, but what he did defies comprehension. Scientists still haven’t determined how he drew such vast energy. He’s a living weapon."

Yaram spoke suddenly, as if whispering to himself:

"And we will have to keep a close eye on him."

He looked up at the other two monarchs:

"We’re not talking about ordinary heroes... but potential threats. We need a new system of monitoring and assessment... these individuals must not be left unguided."

Elyria added, her tone now more serious:

"Which brings us to the matter of forming a special royal alliance. We select an elite group of the survivors... train them, monitor them, manage their paths. Rebuild a unified force from among them."

Taril responded:

"Like a royal unit... but independent from our armies, directly under our authority."

Yaram agreed as he intertwined his fingers:

"And the talents must be catalogued now, before they scatter among the common folk. Even noble houses have begun moving to recruit them."

Elyria took a small scroll from her file and tossed it on the table. It unrolled slowly, revealing a long list of names:

"These are the most prominent known survivors... some injured, some temporarily missing. But they succeeded in staying alive."

A moment of silence passed before Taril spoke in a guarded tone:

"But we must be cautious... it’s not enough to monitor heroes, but also those whose loyalty is in doubt."

Yaram raised an eyebrow:

"You’re talking about some guards? Or the knights who fled?"

Taril replied directly:

"One of my top aides... disappeared moments before the attack. He had enough information to protect himself. Perhaps even to pass it on."

Elyria showed a hint of surprise, which quickly faded behind her stern mask:

"Spies... among us?"

Taril said:

"More than we think. This war was no accident. The timing, the location, the presence of all three monarchs... I don’t believe for a second it was a coincidence."

They exchanged looks.

Yaram finally spoke, as if settling the matter:

"Then... the procedures are as follows. First: a royal committee to screen the survivors and determine their ranks. Second: formation of a core unit of the strongest, by our direct recommendation. Third: pursuit of anyone proven guilty of negligence or conspiracy."

Taril interrupted:

"And fourth... establish a predictive system. If Evelyn hadn’t been there... the losses would’ve been greater. We must train those with special abilities, no matter how rare."

Elyria nodded quietly:

"Even those we don’t fully trust... must be used with caution. The next war... will be greater."

Yaram said:

"It’s not a matter of if it happens... but when."

Then he stood slowly, gazing at the two monarchs.

"I suggest we hold monthly meetings from now on. This time, we cannot wait for the next catastrophe."

Taril stood:

"Agreed."

Elyria rose last, her tone firm:

"And let us begin selecting the new leaders... for the world needs new faces... and people stronger than those who nearly consumed us."

Behind them, the sea grew darker, as if night itself bent to listen to the plans of monarchs who would not remain silent in the face of the coming war.

When the meeting ended, the grand doors opened slowly, and the three monarchs exited the hall in solemn silence, accompanied by a small number of personal guards and advisors.

Elyria boarded a luxurious carriage pulled by a genetically-altered beast. Without looking back, she whispered to one of her guards:

"Begin preparations. The announcement will come in three days... and it will be loud."

Taril mounted his trained black steed, his face etched with deep contemplation. He didn’t look like someone who had just finished a discussion, but rather someone who had started a new war in his mind.

As for Yaram, he paused for a moment at the stone palace steps, watching the sunset, until he heard a voice behind him:

"Did they let you leave alone, brother? Or will I have to protect you again?"

Yaram turned slowly, smiling faintly as he saw Raphael, his younger and fiercer brother, standing there with arms crossed, his heavy armor gleaming under the fading sunlight.

"Raphael..." Yaram said as he approached, then continued in a quiet voice:

"I was going to ask about you, but I figured you’d be on the front lines, as always."

Raphael chuckled lightly, walking beside him:

"We were busy preventing the chaos from spreading beyond the coast... the Arkanis didn’t reach us, but some slipped through like wildfire."

They walked slowly through a stone corridor leading to the royal carriage yard, until Yaram whispered:

"Raphael... if you had been there... would you have stood your ground against that creature? The one called Irkalos?"

Raphael stopped suddenly, turned to him with a calm gaze that held no arrogance, and said simply:

"I am the shield that will never be scratched."

Then he turned and continued walking. Yaram waited for an explanation, until Raphael pointed upward:

"That creature... didn’t move by chaos alone, but with a pattern. Every strike preceded by a microscopic energy-pressure wave, reshaped in a field surrounding his body."

Yaram frowned, understanding only part of it, but Raphael clarified:

"He feeds on the fear he creates, but he doesn’t do it unconsciously... it’s as if he’s conducting experiments, testing reactions from those around him."

Raphael approached a carriage draped in royal blue, and as he opened the door, he said:

"And that’s why... if I face him, I won’t fight with strength alone. I’ll fight with analysis. With the map I’ve drawn from every strike he dealt... every glance... every death he left behind."

He then looked back at his brother, his voice gaining that unmistakable tone that brooks no argument:

"When we see him again... I’ll be ready."

He said it and entered the carriage, leaving Yaram standing there, amidst the dusk smoke and the sound of horses and wheels, pondering the brother he once thought was merely a warrior... but who had now become a mind sharp as a blade.

Yaram whispered to himself with a quiet smile:

"Perhaps... this war didn’t just show us our enemies, but also who we can count on when everything falls."