Control Comes from Within

On this day, winter had decided to unleash its fury on the capital in the form of a relentless and bone-chilling wind that bypassed any protection offered by warm clothing. Thankfully, the royal palace was well-insulated and enchanted to provide the comforting warmth that only magic, or a well-lit fire, could provide. The king and queen were busy, and were not to be disturbed for any reason for the next few hours. The maids and servants who usually tended to their section of the palace at this time of day wisely chose to perform their duties elsewhere, though a few guards remained close by, either in the slim chance that an emergency occurred, or if the monarchs required something for their meeting.

All of those factors combined meant that Olyn Degrachaff, Jyvra Academy professor and wife of the most exemplary marquis this side of the kingdom… was stuck babysitting.

She rolled her eyes as her youngest niece shoved the small beetle in her face, or at least attempted to, and began describing its qualities to her, as if she couldn’t spot them for herself. Though she was being somewhat uncouth, having forgotten how younger children could be at times.

She thanked the Mother that the ones at the academy at least had a modicum of restraint.

“Aunt Olyn, what do you think?”

Her older niece’s face turned towards her, her face showing well-concealed anticipation at the answer. For all her denial, the girl was becoming more and more like her mother with every passing day, both in appearance and demeanour. Even the way they kept their hands folded together was identical.

“Darling, why don’t you play with your pets over there? I’ll come over once your sister and I are done talking,” she said to little Mazhaan, softly tousling the girl’s already silky-soft hair, who had already moved on from the beetle and onto a…why was there a spider in her hands?!

“Okay, On-toe-lin!” The little girl giggled while trundling off and covering up her mouth, turning an action that would be considered cute by most into something almost nauseating, as she had forgotten the spider was still in her clutches and held it practically on top of her mouth.

“Sorry, dear, what were you saying?” She turned back to Olyria, the sight of the spider having emptied her mind of their prior discussion.

“Have you heard anything about Marquis Beld’s bastard son? He’s been making waves in certain circles, something about farming, and I wanted to see if you had heard anything that I hadn’t. That vile harpy –”

Olyn interrupted her niece before she said something that made her the subject of gossip. Even in the palace, there was always someone listening. Who knew when the right set of lips could be bribed or threatened into revealing something they shouldn’t?

“I have, in fact, heard of that Beld boy,” she said conversationally. She lowered her voice as she leaned in to pour herself a fresh cup of tea, “Watch your words, Ria. Everywhere.”

As she returned to her former position, she kept talking. “Apparently, he’s discovered some new method for farming grains that almost doubles their yield, and it works non-magically as well. There’s even some who claim his father, the good duke, is debating whether or not to legitimize him.”

“A bastard turning into a noble heir…it sounds like something out of one of those cheap romance novels,” her niece said scathingly, taking a sip of her tea.

“Oh?” She smiled. “And how exactly do you know what is inside those cheap romance novels, my dear?”

The girl nearly choked on her tea as she coughed incessantly, her cheeks turning a bright red that had nothing to do with how hot the tea was. She cast a pleading look to her aunt, which Olyn rolled her eyes at.

“You were fortunate no one else was around to witness such an amateur blunder, girl. Be grateful I’m not going to hold this over your head,” she said, taking another sip of her tea and rendering mercy onto the poor girl.

Olyria sighed in relief. “Thank you, Aunt Olyn.”

“Though speaking of cheap romance novels…what has been going on with our little villager turned mage?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” the girl’s mood, which had just turned to something good, immediately swung back down, as her grimace resembled someone who had just unsuspectingly taken a bite out of a lemon.

“That fool did something impulsive and now father keeps complaining about how it set a bad precedent for the future.”

“Impulsive? He didn’t seem the type when I knew him,” Olyn said doubtfully.

“The idiot made an ash house at the festival.” the girl deadpanned.

“Hmm, that’s rather odd…” She trailed off as she was lost in thought.

“Anyways, it’s likely we’ll never him again, and father said it was ultimately a good thing, in the end. His attitude made it clear he doesn’t respect nobles, which is why father decided it was best to be rid of him, and gave him over to the beastfolk.”

“Sigh, what a shame. I made quite a bit of money when he transferred to Svenia Academy. I should look into sponsoring more promising youths. One percent of tuition fees is worth the risk. But, it’s too bad about that young man. I was looking forward to seeing what other surprises he was capable of,” Olyn remarked.

“Enough about him,” Olyria said. “Who do you think would be a better match for Judwin, the third daughter of the….”

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Elsewhere in the royal palace…

The king stood in front of a large slab of natural glass, the edges lined with reflective gems and etched with runes too small to be seen by the naked eye. The slab was as wide as he was, and dwarfed over his height by nearly five feet. Their legends claimed it was originally used by the giants, but any evidence of such tales had been lost to time. Unlike the volcanic glass that turned the academies into a final point of retreat and a stronghold against the monsters, this glass was formed naturally over time from lightning strikes endlessly hitting some far-off elven shore for years at a time.

His queen stood to the side, out of view of the slab, and did some last-minute touch-ups to her face, magically straightening her teeth, though she was never seen by anyone other than him. She claimed it was a part of her process, and he decided to leave well enough alone. She was there merely in an advisory role, though she would be eligible for his seat in the event of his death, as all the advisors were, to maintain the chain of communication.

The gems in the slab began to glow, lighting up its edges, before they all dimmed to a softer brightness, and the king saw that he had once more been projected to the council chamber, his vision taking in the same surroundings he had seen scores of times.

The slabs projected whoever stood in front of them (as well as their senses) into a nondescript stone cave, whose location was unknown, and hadn’t been found even after thousands of years.

The projections of most of the other council members began to appear as well, though most of them were far more lax about it than he was. While decorum said they should remain standing for the duration of the meeting, over the years, most of them had begun to sit or lie down during the council meetings.

While the function of the council was to end any threats to their world prematurely, in truth, they had never had an incident that required their intervention, at least, not while the king was a member. Their lack of purpose had no doubt led to the loosening of traditions.

They normally met once a year on the winter solstice, via their projections, though they could call an emergency meeting if a truly dire situation arose. For the most part, they tried to avoid mentioning political matters, though time had worn away those considerations, and now they merely used the council meetings to discuss any sensitive topics that could not be trusted to messengers or formations.

“Anything urgent to discuss?” one of the elven elders asked to the room at large.

When nobody responded to her inquiry, she moved on.

“Very well. As it has been, the Wall continues to stand, though the number of reinforcements the monsters have received in recent years is…slightly concerning.” she mentioned calmly.

“Have they manifested any new abilities or base forms?” the patriarch of the crow tribe asked.

“None that we can tell, but they may just be keeping them concealed from us. Be on the lookout during your battles. Nobody wants a second coming of Valathen,” the elven elder said, citing the worst disaster in history.

The tamer Valathen, having attempted to tame an injured vorander, was instead driven mad and ran off with them instead, where he lived among them for ten years and was believed dead before emerging in public again, this time standing with an army of voranders as it rampaged throughout the western half of the elven lands, spilling rivers of blood and

Tens of thousands died, including civilians, as a result of his actions, but he was eventually slain at a high cost. It took the efforts of a renowned time mage to discover what he had done while living among the monsters. The time mage shared the man’s memories as he saw them through a projection, and what Valathen had done had changed voranders forever.

Somehow, the monsters had learned the secrets of taming through Valathen, allowing the monsters to dominate and breed with any beasts they believed would add to their strength, leading to the monsters gaining the appearance and features of various beasts.

As if they weren’t formidable enough already.

The king agreed at the subtle reminder. Nobody wanted a repeat of an incident like that.

“How fares the effort to clean up the seas, Elder Mong?” The elven elder directed her question to the turtle-headed beastfolk.

“Poorly, as it always has. The sea tribes insist they are capable of handling the problem themselves, yet they report high casualties and request more supplies every time the subject is broached.” He shook his head in disappointment.

A different elven councillor spoke up, weighing her words as she spoke them. “If nothing changes, do you believe the matter of the seas will require the intervention of the Progen –”

“No.” A deep voice resounded out.

All those in attendance turned to the projection of a reptilian beastfolk, though his features were veiled by shadows and his voice unnaturally low. He was clearly obscuring his identity magically, though it could be argued the act was necessary.

After all, what if the wrong person were to discover who exactly this person was, who could speak to the last true dragons alive?

“The Progenitors have made their intentions clear. They will not act unless the Barrier falls, or an equally large threat appears.” The reptilian beastfolk said.

Although the identity of the dragonkin (a ridiculous and needlessly pompous title) was not known to anyone, the other council members were well known to each other, as each one had been afforded a seat on the council due to their expertise in their specific field, whether that field was politics, education, magic, or martial might.

“I seem to recall informing the council, in the recent past no less, about finding remnant traces of spatial magic in a destroyed spawning ground. Surely collaboration between monsters and an unknown perpetrator is cause for their insight, if not their involvement?” the headmaster of one of the academies put forth.

But it seemed the dragonkin was not of the same mind as him.

“My statement still stands. The Progenitors believe we are capable of dealing with most issues, and will not stunt our development by coddling us and cleaning up every mess that occurs.”

“You would sacrifice the lives of innocent children in the name of growth?” another headmaster whispered, this one having recently replaced her predecessor due to old age and its accompanying illnesses.

The dragonkin sighed before continuing. “It is unfortunate but necessary that the weak give way to the strong. Perhaps your time would be better served teaching your students more potent magics than sending them to die pointlessly, or whining about the consequences of your own actions.”

It was a hard truth to hear, and an even harder one to accept, but he was right. The strong justified their own existence, proving themselves more worthy of resources and investments than the weak and indolent. The king believed that everyone deserved a chance to demonstrate their qualities, if only so that no stone was left unturned, but once a person had used up their chance, that was the end of any leniency given to them.

The newly instated headmaster and council member apparently did not share the same views as the dragonkin, as she began cursing at him profoundly and proficiently.

“If there is nothing else, we can end today’s meeting here,” the elven elder said.

The majority of the projections winked out of existence at her words, leaving only two still in the chamber.

“Be honest with me, King Elpis,” the elephant beastfolk said. “Does that boy possess honor or not?”

Even the mention of that boy mage put the king in an irritable mood. It was one thing to be casual and informal, and the king had even enjoyed the novelty of someone speaking to him like that, but outright disrespect? That could not be tolerated. It was why he had changed his mind about attempting to keep the boy bound to the kingdom. The king could see it in his eyes.

That boy, no, that young man cared nothing for politics or the kingdom. He barely kept up the pretense that he was interested at all. He wanted something else, though he had no idea what exactly that was.

“Is that not what his upcoming trial is meant to determine? I have no doubt you will find your own eyes far more compelling than my tongue. Enjoy the rest of your day, Chief Phuon.”

And with that, the king’s vision reverted from a dank cave to a thick slab of glass leaning against an empty room, his wife standing to the side.

Even through the enchantments and the thick stones of the palace walls, he could feel the barest breeze of the winter chill. The slab’s functionality required it be placed as far east as possible, which meant the winds were at their fiercest in this room.

He turned to his wife slowly, and she read his expression in but a moment.

They would be warmed up soon enough.