Saturday, July 30, 4 S.E.
Braedon entered the Throne Room and found himself coming to a near-instantaneous halt after his first dozen paces inside.
First, he’d had to push through the inept simpletons that had tried to deny his passage, spouting some moronic idiocy about ‘protocol’ and ‘right to ascent’ as if his foolish sister weren’t already trying to snatch his Divines-given birthright from under him, and then he had to restrain himself from flattening her simpering ‘companions’ when they’d jockeyed and puffed their chests in an attempt to stall him.
The buxom red-haired dragonblood had been decent fare, but the skinny Mender and the half-Lycanus had been utterly insufferable. If not for the enforced codices against violence in the palace, he’d have enjoyed brutalizing them for their audacity and dragging them back to the Throne Room by the hair. The lack of respect and decorum in Dawnhaven had grown worse by the day—tainted by the influence of upstart Terrans and the Dusk-Lord’s baffling favoritism toward them.
Now, coming to the very Throne Room that was his by rights, he was confronted by the image of his older sister—his own Royal flesh and blood—finishing a kiss with one of the native simians as if he were an equal to Haelfenn perfection of form. Braedon’s [Sunflare Core] ignited in furious disbelief at the display, and he very nearly stormed over to slap his kinswoman into her right mind, until he saw the accursed Dusk-Lord standing there with that terrifying smile on her face.
Bloody witch, he thought to himself viciously, I hope you can hear every word. The moment I ascend, you’re out on your ass.
Ceruviel’s smile only widened at his thoughts, and Braedon pointedly ignored her, turning instead to the calm statue that was Uriel Aventus. The Dawn-Lord was his Armsmaster, his tutor, and his protector—he was safe from the damn Duchess as long as Aventus was present, but Braedon knew the Knight of the Luxan Spear well: he would only act if Braedon did not push the proverbial line of decorum.
So many limitations. So many games. How did none of the fools realize they were dooming their species?
Terra was a ripe land for Conquest, but they were so concerned with coddling the brutish simians that called it home that they had lost sight of their objective. His father had sent them to this wild, newly Integrated land to establish a new Kingdom—not to simper every time a Terran found themselves on the receiving end of a deserved whipping. It was idiocy of the highest order.
“{Aylar!}” he called as he advanced, finally having had enough of holding his place. “{What is the meaning of this? The Throne Room is forbidden until a Monarch ascends in Dawnhaven.}”
His sister met his gaze with a flat stare while folding her right hand over her left before her in a strangely out of character look of ladylike calm, and instead of answering him she turned, smiling adoringly at the Terran she’d been allowing to paw her like she was captivated by the defilement—then prowled toward the austere gilded throne that sat waiting at the far end of the hall, flanked by the Eagles of House Eldormer.
Braedon’s anger turned to candid disbelief as his sister approached the Throne, stared down at it, and then promptly turned back to him and slammed herself down with an echoing clank of her warplate and defiant fold of her arms. Almost the second she did, a System chime sounded—followed by the ringing of a bell that filled the air as much as the mind, and Braedon’s vision was abruptly interrupted by a blue System Screen.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
DOMINION ESTABLISHED
[Unclaimed Sector 117] has been officially claimed by the Cultivator Aylar Taleria Lux Fortuna Eldormer, as befitting her success in the [Rite of Ascension]!
[Unclaimed Sector 117]’s renaming has been postponed!
[Unclaimed Sector 117] has been temporarily redesignated by an Administrator as [Dominion 5]!
In keeping with the Laws of the System, eligible [Challenger]s may contest this claim for 168 hours, beginning now!
Once a [Challenger] issues a contest, it must be resolved before the next contest is issued. In the event no [Challenger]s appear, or no contests are successful after the 168-hour window passes, Aylar Taleria Lux Fortuna Eldormer will be considered the incontestable ruler of [Dominion 5]!
Braedon stared at the alert in building disbelief as he read it, and his head spun as he processed what he was seeing. His sister had completed the [Rite of Ascension]? Aylar had claimed the Throne? Braedon’s eyes snapped up toward Aylar, and he growled under his breath at the audacity of his kin. Claiming the throne was one thing, but keeping it was wholly another. Perhaps she had finished the Rite, as the reports had claimed, but the Right of Challenge was his by birth, and he’d be damned if he let his soft-hearted sibling lead them all down the path of destruction.
“{Your Highness,}” Ilyna murmured as she finally caught up to him, the Haelfar woman’s cheeks faintly flushed by the effort. “{It may be best to withdraw for now.}”
“{Withdraw?}” Braedon asked incredulously, while looking at his sister. “{Aylar is right there, Ilyna. I intend to press my challenge!}”
“{We do not yet know the full scope of things, my Prince,}” his Seneschal said calmly. “{It would be prudent to wait until—}”
Braedon held up a hand to silence her, his blood thundering hot in his ears, and stormed forward before she could say anymore—marching toward the Throne with his shoulders squared and his hands clenched into fists. As he approached, he saw the Reds in the Royal Guard tense, saw hands drift toward hilts, saw helmets shifting to watch him—but he paid them no mind.
Fools and softhearts, the lot of them. I’ll purge them all, along with Ceruviel and her pet Terran, when this is done.
Braedon was forced to a halt, however, a solid ten feet from the throne—by none other than Ceruviel’s loyal hound, the false Archon Achilles. The man who had been pawing at Aylar stared at Braedon calmly, right hand outstretched, and an infuriating little smile on his features.
“{Such a distance is close enough to Her Majesty, Prince Braedon,}” the Terran said calmly, his accent oddly perfect for the dialect of Haelfennyr he spoke, and leaving Braedon momentarily surprised. How had a Terran learned to speak their language, let alone an ancient Royal dialect, so perfectly? It must have been Ceruviel’s handiwork.
“{You have no right to stop me, Terran,}” Braedon said with a growl, accelerating his [Sunflare Core] in his dantian. “{I will ask the Guard to move you if you do not move yourself.}”
“{You are welcome to try,}” the Terran said steadily, his blue eyes unflinching, his expression still calm—so calm, in fact, that it gave Braedon reason to pause. Why was he so confident?
The Prince’s gaze shifted at the thought, and he alighted on Ceruviel Latherian, watching the exchange with her hands clasped at her spine.
Of course. He knows the Duchess will protect him.
Braedon almost sneered at the cowardice, but didn’t push the matter. He didn’t need to be in his sister’s face, after all. Perhaps it was better this way. If he made the challenge now, nobody would be able to contest that it had happened, just in case the System didn’t validate it openly.
“{Aylar!}” he called past the Terran, causing the simian’s expression to flicker as Braedon’s voice boomed past his ears. Served him right, the pawing bastard. “{By my right of blood, by my inheritance, by my lineage as an Eldormer—}”
Ilyna’s voice abruptly rang out, crying a “{Wait!}” to Braedon that he ignored.
“{—I, Braedon Decimus Lux Meridius Eldormer, hereby Challenge you for the Throne of [Dominion 5]!}”
There. Now I’ve got you.
Braedon’s satisfaction was short-lived, however, when Aylar actually smiled at him following the pronouncement, and Ilyna finally caught up to him. His gaze snapped to the Magistrix, and she looked between him and Aylar with a faintly stricken expression. What the hells was the matter with her?
“{She’s—she’s not alone,}” Ilyna said urgently. “{She’s been betrothed!}”
“{What?}” Braedon asked incredulously, and looked back at his sister, who very deliberately proceeded to reveal her left hand, and the oversized signet ring that sat on what Terrans called the ‘ring finger’. Braedon’s eyes honed in on the object, and he immediately recognized the stylistic Haelfenn runic ‘L’ emblazoned on its surface.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
On instinct, his eyes snapped to Ceruviel, but it was her pet Terran that spoke.
“{On behalf of my future wife,}” the false Archon said in a tone Braedon would have almost sworn was amused as the Prince turned to face Leonidas, “{I, Leonidas Achilles, accept your Challenge, Braedon Decimus Lux Meridius Eldormer.}”
Ilyna groaned at his side softly, and Braedon turned to her incredulously.
“{Ilyna, master yourself. This is good for us. I can eliminate an oppositional piece and win my throne from—}”
“{He underwent a Tribulation, my Prince,}” Ilyna cut across, her voice both bitter and resigned. “{You hurried off before I had the chance to warn you. This Terran was recognized during his First Temper by a Tribulation, and he survived.}”
Braedon’s eyes slowly slid back to the Terran, Leonidas, and suddenly the calm certainty in the native’s eyes took on a very different meaning. A First-tier Tribulation? The only person he knew of that had undergone that was—
“{Alurien Starsword,}” Ceruviel said with undisguised cold amusement, finishing his thought out loud. “{I believe Achilles has been deemed by many Haelfenn to be his spiritual successor. I think this will be a most fascinating match-up, Braedon.}”
Before Braedon could rebuke the insufferable woman for her breach of protocol, almost as if it had been waiting, a new System window appeared before him. Judging by the reactions of others in the room, it appeared before all of them. His, however, was likely somewhat different.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
DOMINION CHALLENGE
A [Challenger] has appeared to contest Aylar Taleria Lux Fortuna Eldormer as the ruler of [Dominion 5]!
Braedon Decimus Lux Meridius Eldormer has declared his intent, through right of blood and lineage, to battle the Queen-Potentiate for the Throne. As per the Laws of the parent Kingdom of Eldormer, and in lieu of a valid Monarch’s override, the [Right of Representation] has been triggered by Leonidas Achilles Romulus Paendrag, as the [Queen-Potentiate]’s recognized betrothed!
As the [Challenger], you have the right to specify the contest time and date, limited to within the next 72 hours!
Please specify your desire now.
Braedon read the alert, then read it again, before turning his gaze to the Terran as the annoyingly taller man looked back at him. The fact that the simian was almost half a head above him bothered Braedon more than he wanted to admit. He was used to looking down at the natives, as was proper for his station.
That, however, was not the most pressing detail of what he’d just realized.
“{Paendrag?}” Braedon demanded, ignoring the height to focus on that revelation. “{You’re related to the Iron Duke?!}”
“{Certainly,}” the Terran said mildly. “{He is my Grandsire.}”
A ripple of shock passed through the assembled Royal Guard, and Braedon turned to Uriel and Ceruviel with a feeling of vindication, only to find serene faces staring back at him. In the Duchess’ case, he could understand. The old witch was notorious for her games, but Uriel? The Dawn-Lord didn’t even appear fazed.
“{You knew?}” the Prince demanded in potent accusation.
“{Of course we did,}” Ceruviel said scathingly. “{Not that it matters. If someone’s bloodline were all that spoke to their character, Braedon, we’d have already lined up behind your foolish backside as the future King. Character is proven by deeds. One cannot control whom they are related to.}”
Braedon turned to Uriel instinctively, but the Duke of Morning met his gaze with steady calm and simply inclined his head while speaking in his measured, unruffled manner.
“{I was made aware of Earl Latherian’s relationship with the Iron Duke following his Tribulation in the Arena,}” Uriel elaborated with disarming calm. “{However, given his parents hold a leading position in the Unity Coalition, small as the faction is; I nonetheless chose to err on the side of evidence over assertion of guilt by association. Thus far, Earl Latherian has done nothing to violate the conditions of my allowance for him to stay in the city.}”
Braedon stared at Uriel as if he’d grown a second head, and then turned finally to Aylar, hot anger hardening into cold disgust.
“{And you knew this as well?}” he demanded of his sister in revulsion. “{Of all the creatures to defile yourself with, you choose the blood-kin of one of the Terrans’ most vile mass murderer?}”
Aylar’s features tightened at his words, and for a moment, Braedon almost thought he saw their mother’s fury in how her face contorted. It very nearly gave him pause until she spoke, and the spell was broken by her comparatively musical and feminine voice. Their mother had always been… gruff, for a woman.
“{I was fully aware of my intended’s lineage, Braedon,}” Aylar said with a ripple of cold anger, very intentionally brushing her thumb over the ring that the Terran had given her to mark their engagement. “{I chose to accept the man he is, not the lineage he carries. We are not so backward as to hold someone’s origins as a point of contempt, little brother, else half the Royal Guards in this room would be considered improper for their station!}”
That elicited a visceral reaction, and Braedon glanced around to see more than one of the gilded defenders straighten at it, all outrage largely dissipated by the skillful underscoring that many of them were from otherwise inferior bloodlines.
“{I do not mean to be obtuse,}” Leonidas himself said, and forced Braedon’s attention back to him, “{however, Your Highness—}” the man somehow made the title sound mocking “{—you still need to specify the time and date for the [Challenge].}”
Braedon clenched his fists at the casual way the false Archon goaded him, and turned back to the System window.
“{Maximum timeframe,}” he said immediately.
The System chimed, and then abruptly, the Terran spoke again.
“{Oh? It is requesting that I specify the location. Marvelous.}”
Braedon looked at the Terran flatly, and Leonidas smiled.
“{Dawnhaven Arena,}” the false Archon stipulated a moment later.
Only then, with the answer given, did the System screen morph once more.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
Please specify your victory condition for the [Challenge].
Braedon narrowed his eyes at the seemingly simple question, looked at the Terran, looked at his sister, and then reviewed what he knew.
First, the Terran had completed an Initiate-rank Tribulation, but that also meant he was only at Initiate rank.
Second, the Terran was at best close to his Adept rank, while Braedon was on the cusp of Elite.
Third, the Terran would no doubt be protected by Ceruviel in any instance after this, and would prove a thorn in his side permanently if he wasn’t swiftly eliminated.
That, more than anything else, decided his answer.
“{The Victory condition will be Death,}” Braedon declared flatly, turning his cold gaze on Aylar after he declared it, and feeling satisfied when his sister’s expression paled slightly.
“{I accept the condition,}” the Terran said a moment later, causing Braedon to look at him in genuine surprise.
Leonidas simply looked back at him with a faint smile, and Braedon was forced to look back at the System window when it updated—apparently for everyone, if the suddenly audible chime was any indication.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
DOMINION CHALLENGE
As per the Laws of the parent Kingdom of Eldormer on [Altera], and in lieu of a valid Monarch’s override, the contest has been finalized!
[Time]: 71 Hours, 57 Minutes
[Location]: Dawnhaven Arena
[Challenger]: Braedon D.L.M. Eldormer (Self)
[Defender]: Leonidas A.R. Paendrag (Representative)
[Victory Condition]: Death
[Reward 1]: Rule over [Dominion 5]
[Reward 2]: 500 [Aetherium]
[Reward 3]: [Legendary Title]
May the best Cultivator emerge victorious!
Braedon dismissed the prompt and turned on his heel, pausing only to look back at Aylar.
“{When I emerge victorious,}” he said coldly, “{you and everyone else will have a single chance to beg for mercy, Aylar. One. Single. Chance. Once that moment passes, I will not be so kind.}”
In response, his sister simply lifted her chin, and closer to him, the Terran let out a quiet chuckle, which only served to solidify his intent to crush the upstart like a rat. He could have done it that day, but he wanted to be cautious. If Ceruviel found some underhanded method to catalyze the Terran’s growth to his Adept tier, tradition would demand Braedon wait for the Tempering to complete.
Besides, the new window gave the Prince time to see to his own elevation.
We’ll see how confident you are when I return as an Elite, monkey.
Ilyna fell in with him silently as Braedon left the Throne Room in a far more composed manner than he’d entered, refusing to meet the eyes of the Reds in Aylar’s Royal Guard. His sister was safe from his wrath, for now, because killing her at that juncture would only complicate things. The Challenge was public, and that meant he needed to see it through, lest he lose the support of the traditionalists. However, it was only a minor inconvenience.
He’d soon wipe the floor with that Terran upstart and take back what he was owed by right of blood and birth.
All hail King Braedon Eldormer, he thought to himself viciously, just as he had before leaving for the false Rite Dungeon. I’ll see you soon, sister.
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