crown of self-interest

The days that followed the collapse of the Skyward Cities were a time of turmoil. The once-great islands, floating high above Xynarith’s surface, had now descended into chaos. Flames ravaged the noble districts, and the Great Houses, once held in reverence, were either reduced to ashes or embroiled in desperate attempts to maintain control over what little remained.

From the vantage point of his citadel, Zaros watched as the Aetherborn’s influence crumbled before his eyes. He could see their glowing ships moving across the skies, their shimmering light flickering like dying embers. Though they tried to regroup, the Aetherborn were no longer the force they once were. The skies themselves seemed to reject their rule, with arcane storms ravaging the very islands they had once controlled.

Zaros stood at the edge of his chamber’s open balcony, his robes billowing in the cold wind that swept through the high spire. His staff, pulsing with the faint glow of the runes etched into its surface, was at his side. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, where the remains of the floating islands loomed like a broken crown.

Behind him, Calista approached with quiet steps, her presence a constant shadow at his side. “The Aetherborn are sending emissaries from the remaining houses,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with tension. “They seek assurances that their remnants will be spared.”

Zaros didn’t turn to look at her. His eyes remained focused on the flickering lights of the once-great cities. “They have no bargaining power,” he replied, his voice as cold as the wind that whipped around them. “Their civilization is already in ruins. The only thing they can offer me now is complete submission.”

Calista stood beside him, her gaze also fixed on the distant flames. “Do you think they’ll agree?”

“They will,” Zaros said with certainty. “When faced with extinction, even the proudest of Houses will bow. And those who don’t… will be removed.”

For a long moment, there was silence between them. Only the sound of the wind and the distant rumble of collapsing islands filled the air. Calista shifted her weight slightly, her expression unreadable.

“And the Verdant Communion?” she asked, her tone more cautious now. “They’ve remained silent since the fall of the cities. Do you think they’ll move against us?”

Zaros’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “The Verdant Communion is weak. They hide behind their forests, clinging to their outdated beliefs in balance and symbiosis. They may think themselves untouchable, but when the time comes, their trees will burn just as the Skyward Cities have.”

Calista nodded, though her unease was clear. “Still, they’re an unpredictable force. Their magic… it’s different. More primal. They could prove more difficult to break than the Aetherborn.”

Zaros turned his gaze to her at last, his eyes cold and calculating. “Everything breaks, Calista. Even nature itself can be bent to one’s will. The Verdant Communion will fall when I choose for it to fall, just like the rest of them.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then inclined her head in acknowledgment. There was no arguing with Zaros, not when he spoke with such conviction. And though she had her doubts about the Communion’s power, she knew better than to question him openly.

“The emissaries will arrive within the hour,” Calista said, turning away slightly. “Should I prepare the chamber for their audience?”

Zaros waved a hand dismissively. “Send them to the lower halls. Let them grovel in the shadows where they belong. I have no interest in meeting them personally.”

“As you wish.”

Calista left the balcony, disappearing into the interior of the citadel. Zaros remained where he was, his mind already racing ahead to the next steps in his plan. The Skyward Cities had fallen, and with them, one of the greatest threats to his domination of Xynarith. But there were still others who would need to be dealt with—the Verdant Communion, the Iron Dominion, the Abyssal Collective. They were all pieces on a board, waiting for him to move them into position.

But before any of that could happen, there was still the matter of the ritual he had begun before the Aetherborn’s collapse. The power he had summoned was vast, more than even he had anticipated, and it needed to be contained, harnessed properly, before it could be unleashed upon the world.

As he considered his next move, a sudden pulse of energy rippled through the air. It was subtle, barely noticeable at first, but Zaros’s keen senses immediately picked up on it. His eyes narrowed as he felt the familiar, unsettling presence of something watching him.

He turned slowly, scanning the horizon for the source of the disturbance. For a moment, he saw nothing but the distant flames and the swirling clouds of arcane energy that still lingered in the sky. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement—a figure, cloaked in shadows, standing on a nearby rooftop.

Zaros’s gaze sharpened. He knew that figure. The intruder from the night of the ritual, the one who had dared to challenge him in his own sanctum.

“Bold,” Zaros murmured to himself, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Very bold.”

Without hesitation, he raised his staff, summoning a wave of arcane energy that shot across the distance between them. The beam of magic sliced through the air with deadly precision, aimed directly at the shadowy figure.

But just as the energy was about to strike, the figure vanished, dissolving into the shadows as if they had never been there at all.

Zaros lowered his staff, his smile fading. “Clever,” he muttered. “But you won’t evade me for long.”

He turned away from the balcony, his mind already calculating how best to deal with this new threat. Whoever the intruder was, they had shown themselves twice now—once during the ritual and now again in the aftermath of the Aetherborn’s fall. That kind of persistence suggested they were more than just a simple nuisance. They had a purpose, a goal that involved him directly.

As he descended the spiral staircase leading down from the balcony, Zaros’s thoughts raced. Could the intruder be working for one of the rival factions? The Verdant Communion, perhaps? Or the Abyssal Collective? Both were known for their use of covert agents and manipulation.

Or, perhaps, the intruder had their own agenda entirely.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Whoever they were, they would soon learn the cost of opposing Zaros Valen.

By the time he reached the lower halls of the citadel, where the Aetherborn emissaries waited, Zaros had already formulated a plan. The emissaries would be dealt with swiftly, their submission secured. Then, he would turn his attention to the shadowy figure who had dared to challenge him.

And when he found them, they would regret ever crossing his path.

The halls of the citadel were dark and cold, the only light coming from the flickering torches mounted on the stone walls. The Aetherborn emissaries, draped in tattered finery that spoke of their fallen status, stood huddled together near the entrance, their faces pale and drawn.

Zaros approached them slowly, his presence imposing, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “You’ve come to pledge your loyalty,” he said, his voice a smooth, dangerous whisper. “Good. Let us begin.”

The emissaries glanced at each other, fear evident in their eyes. One of them, an older man with a deep scar running down his cheek, stepped forward and bowed deeply. “We... we wish only to serve, Lord Valen,” he stammered. “The Great Houses have fallen, but we... we can still be of use to you.”

Zaros’s smile widened slightly. “Of course you can.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But know this: the moment you cease to be useful, the moment you even think of defying me... I will burn the rest of your precious cities to the ground. Do you understand?”

The emissaries nodded hurriedly, their fear palpable.

Zaros smiled, satisfied. “Good now lets talk about your place in the new world"