The moon hung low over the city of Stonewatch, its pale light barely piercing the thick clouds that rolled in from the western mountain range. Thunder crackled in the distance as a wounded and battered General Darion Bragg descended upon the castle grounds on his bloodied storm eagle, Ironbeak. The once-majestic beast limped through the air, feathers scorched, blood dripping from gashes carved by Zephyra's legendary claws.
The guards at the gate immediately recognized the general and rushed to his side, catching him before he collapsed onto the marble steps of the keep. His armor was cracked, his halberd lost in the battle against Lucas Carter.
"Get the physicians! Now!" one of the captains barked.
Darion, breathing heavily, muttered through clenched teeth, "Take me to Lord Agram. Immediately."
The throne room of Stonewatch Keep was an opulent display of gold-threaded banners and obsidian pillars, a testament to the city's arrogance and misplaced grandeur. Seated atop a carved throne of darksteel was Lord Malrich Agram, a man past his prime yet adorned in silken robes embroidered with sigils of conquest.
His eyes narrowed as Darion was brought before him, half-carried by the guards.
"What is this mess?" Agram growled, rising from his seat. "You went to secure the mine, not return as a beaten dog!"
Darion, despite the blood seeping through his armor, straightened. "Greystone is stronger than we believed. Their lord, Lucas Carter, has power... strange power. Legendary beasts, elite warriors. I barely escaped with my life."
The hall went silent.
Lord Agram's face twisted with disdain. "You mean to tell me a backwater baron has cowed my general? You shame your uniform, Darion!"
The general dropped to one knee, coughing blood. "He fused with a dragon. His companions are no mere peasants. They are warriors. The army he commands... it is organized. Trained. Loyal."
Agram snarled, turning to his war advisors who lined the sides of the throne room. "Prepare the army. We march on Greystone. I want the mine secured, and Carter's head mounted on my walls."
A grim murmur passed through the chamber.
"My lord," one of the advisors said cautiously, "should we not consider diplomacy first?"
Agram glared at him. "He assassinated my envoys and injured my general. What diplomacy is left?"
Later that night, after physicians were summoned and Darion was placed under care in the west wing of the castle, Lord Agram returned to the throne room. But he did not sit on his throne. Instead, he stood in the center of the chamber, his hands folded behind his back, awaiting a presence that was already there.
A chill crept through the air as shadows coalesced at the edge of the throne room. A figure emerged from them, hooded and cloaked in dark silk. His face was pale, angular, his eyes glowing faintly with a predatory intelligence.
"You failed," the figure said, his voice a whisper and a command at once.
Agram dropped to one knee, lowering his head. "I apologize, Prince Varion. I underestimated the boy."
The second prince of the Western Kingdom of Dresthar sat himself casually on the throne, as though it were his own.
"The name Lucas Carter is becoming... troublesome," Varion mused. "Even the shadows whisper of him now."
"I will assemble our full army," Agram offered quickly. "With your blessing, we will raze Greystone."
Varion studied him, silent for a moment. Then he said, "Do you know what your problem is, Agram? You still think you rule this city."
The lord's head bowed further. "Forgive me. I serve the Kingdom of Dresthar, and by extension, you."
Prince Varion stood, revealing a ceremonial dagger at his hip and a black ring with the Dresthar sigil—a serpent coiled around a black sun.
"You serve me," Varion said coldly. "And I serve the throne. Or what's left of it."
His expression darkened as he turned to the massive stained glass window behind the throne.
"My father, the king, still breathes... but he does not rule. Poisoned. We all know it, yet no one acts. My brothers squabble, and my sisters are naive. But I... I build."
He faced Agram again.
"Greystone is the first stone in my foundation. Lucas Carter does not know it yet, but he sits atop a throne that belongs to me. We will take it from him—brick by brick, blood by blood."
Agram lifted his gaze. "And if he resists?"
Varion smiled. It was not a pleasant expression.
"Then we remind him why the shadows serve House Dresthar."
He turned, disappearing once more into the swirling darkness.
Lord Agram remained kneeling, his body trembling not from fear, but from anticipation.
Back in Greystone, Lucas stirred in his bed, unaware of the eyes now watching from the western kingdoms. A storm was brewing on the horizon, and at its heart stood a prince with ambition black as night.