Silk clung to Jo'val's trembling skin, feeling less like the garments of a Queen and more like those of a condemned murderer. Tears cut warm, wet tracks down her cheeks. Behind her, a slave in the emerald-studded collar of the Council's Val'dora fumbled with the intricate lacing.
Tor'val stepped into the ruined upper chamber of the Val'dora. His severed wrist was bound tightly, covered with a golden stump that spoke of elevation and status. His eyes swept over his daughter, while his mind salivated at the intoxicating thought of control that he now may yet wield. It showed in his shoulders, pulled back as if a God walking among mortals.
"I can't do this!" Jo'val suddenly choked out, her voice shattering the quiet of the room as she pulled away from the slave's hands. She turned to her father, her eyes wide with fear. "You killed him! You killed O'nor!"
Tor'val's eyes darkened. He snapped his gaze to the now terrified slave. "Leave us," he barked.
The slave scrambled backward, bowing her head submissively before fleeing the chamber, pulling the wooden doors shut behind her.
Tor'val stepped toward his daughter, searching the silence for the exact leverage needed to calm her fraying mind.
"We killed him," Tor'val corrected, his voice dropping to a smooth whisper. He began to slowly walk around her, his golden laced sandals scraping softly against the stone as he wrapped his presence around her trembling frame like a serpent pulling on a snare. "But the people will never accept that truth."
Jo'val shook her head, a fresh wave of tears spilling over her eyelashes.
"They watched him stand up to shadows and husks," Tor'val murmured, circling into her periphery. "They saw him bring down a dragon from the sky. The people want to see him as a hero, Jo'val. They worship him even in his passing."
Jo'val opened her mouth, a desperate protest forming on her tongue, but Tor'val stepped in front of her. He raised his remaining hand, pressing a single finger firmly over her quivering lips.
"And what of his child?" Tor'val pressed, leaning in close where his presence felt like a cloth over her fears. "What happens to your baby if we walk out onto that balcony and tell them that the man who fought back the dark was butchered by our own hands?"
Tor'val slowly pulled his finger away, giving a nonchalant, dismissive shake of his head. "No... we can honor him through his son. We will build up the boy as the future king, forged from your shared blood, while we rebuild Beh-REET in an image he would be proud of."
Jo'val looked up at him. Her eyes whimpered in the dim light, carrying the broken look of a defeated child.
"But Father..." she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of the deception. "What of Kal'nor and Dak'nor? What do we tell the people about his family?"
"The truth!" Tor'val spat the words, the crack of his voice echoing off the ruined stone and making Jo'val flinch. He slowly stepped back recomposing himself and pushing away his venom for the 'Nor name.
Tor'val turned his back to his daughter raising his hands and gesturing grandly with his golden stump as he wove the greatest lie the Mountain would ever know. "Kal'nor was negligent in the affairs of his sons"
Jo'val stared at him, the horror of the lie paralyzing her as he continued. "O'nor is a martyr and the rest of his bloodline nearly brought upon us the end of days."
Slowly, the shaking in her hands subsided. With a slow breath, Jo'val reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Follow me, daughter," Tor'val whispered, a triumphant smirk pulling at his lips. "We will usher in a new world, built for your beloved."
Tor'val turned and led her out of the chambers, their sandals clicking in unison as they walked down the ruined halls toward the grand balcony overlooking the gardens.
As they neared the stone archway, a Dragon-Oath guard snapped to attention.
Tor'val paused, leaning slightly toward the guard as Jo'val walked ahead into the light of the afternoon sky.
"The slave who attended my daughter?" Tor'val whispered into the guard's ear, his voice stripped of emotion. "She speaks lies upon our First Dragon to my daughter. Bring her to me tonight."
The Dragon-Oath face grew hard as steal and gave a slow nod of confirmation.
Tor'val stepped past the guard and out onto the stone balcony of the ruined Val'dora. Below, the gardens were choked with the battered survivors of Beh-REET. Thousands of terrified faces looked up towards them.
"People of the Mountain!" Tor'val's voice boomed, lined with grief that echoed off the stone. "The darkness has been broken! But the cost... the cost is a debt our people can never repay."
A weeping hush fell over the wounded masses.
"The Council is dead," Tor'val declared, letting the words hang in the summer air.
He gripped the stone railing with his remaining hand, leaning over the edge as if the weight of the tragedy was too much to bear. "Dak'nor, Son of Kal'nor and Brother of O'nor our First Dragon, opened the door to the Void! He brought this blight upon our world. A traitor to the Stone and to all that is our people!"
Jo'val swallowed hard, her fingers whitening on the railing as if they could crack the stone.
Horrified gasps rippled through the courtyard.
"But all was not lost," Tor'val roared, his voice swelling with practiced reverence. "His brother stood against him. O'nor took control of the Dragon-Oath! He fought the shadows. Just as he brought down a dragon from the sky, he challenged and won against the Shadows. The cost, however, was his life.He gave it to seal away the dark! He is the First Dragon, and through his sacrifice, we breathe!"
Many soldiers collapsed to one knee, weeping into their soot-stained hands. Wounded survivors clutched one another, their voices tearing as they wailed. Even the Anai, now flanking the soldiers of Beh-REET, bowed their heads as a hushed chant of "Tan-AH-ee" rang from their ranks.
Among the Anai, Naamah stood at their front. Her leg and head were roughly bandaged, both fabrics blooming a fresh red. The Anai warrior was entirely unveiled, her beautiful face exposed to the open air.
They were all desperate for an anchor in the aftermath of the apocalypse. When Tor'val raised his golden stump, the people stared, desperate for direction.
Tor'val turned his gaze toward the Dragon-Oath. "Our First Dragon harnessed the Void and gave it to his men. He did not leave us in ruin, but in salvation."
Then he turned his gaze toward the Anai, extending his golden stump in a gesture toward the crowd. "Look upon the Anai! They bled with us today. They are allies... because the First Dragon made it so."
Naamah's blue eyes did not soften at the praise. She glared with an intensity that threatened to burn holes into the side of Tor'val's face. Her blood-stained fingers reached up to the torn, silken fabric of her veil resting uselessly around her neck, twisting the material in a calculating grip.
"The old ways have burned!" Tor'val shouted back to the people, dismissing the Anai as he pulled the crowd's attention. "From his ashes, we forge a new age! The child my daughter carries holds the blood of our First Dragon! His blood will rule as King and carry the future of our people. We will no longer fear the dark—we will command it! The Void is now our birthright, a weapon gifted by the First Dragon to his heirs to forever hold the shadows at bay!"
Tor'val raised his golden stump higher, the polished metal catching the light of the sun.
"Duty is the mountain, and the man is but dust if he fails the stone*.*"
"Duty is the mountain!" A single Dragon-Oath screamed back.
Then another joined the chanting.
"Duty is the mountain!"
The chant rolled across the ruins of the Val'dora garden. Naamah and the ranks of the Anai stayed silent.