crown of self-interest

Across the vast continents of the world, from the floating Skyward Cities to the deepest reaches of the Abyssal Collective, the news spread like wildfire: Zaros Valen, the supreme sorcerer of Verathen, had slain the Council of Elders. It was not simply the fall of a local governing body; it was a seismic shift in the balance of power that reverberated through every kingdom, faction, and civilization.

In **Aetherborn’s Skyward Cities**, where the very skies were molded by aetheric power, the floating islands trembled in the winds. The Great Houses convened in their crystalline halls, the light of the sun refracted through the towering glass spires casting long, fragmented shadows on the ground. The shock of the council’s fall reached even these distant heights, sparking fierce debates and whispered warnings.

“He killed them all,” murmured Lord Eiryn of House Solis, his voice barely audible above the crackling aether around them. “If the Council was not strong enough to contain him, what makes us think we are?”

Lady Drusilla of House Galeon responded with cold precision. “We must not underestimate him. Zaros is no ordinary man. His ambition is fueled by powers we cannot yet comprehend, powers that could very well rival even our command of the skies.”

**The Verdant Communion**—the great migrating forests, where the ancient trees themselves wielded magic—felt the loss as deeply as any. In the heart of the Elder Tree, the great lifeblood of their civilization, the druids and nature-bound sorcerers gathered in solemn circles. The communion’s symbiosis with the world left them attuned to every ripple in magic’s flow, and Zaros’s actions were a thunderous blow against the natural balance.

“The earth weeps for the Council,” said Elder Leafis, his voice like rustling leaves. “He has upset the delicate balance between life and death. His path will only lead to corruption.”

The *tribal leaders* murmured in agreement, but some harbored fear. “Can we stand against such power?” one of them asked, eyes wide with dread. “What chance do we have if Zaros chooses to turn his gaze upon us?”

But it was not only the peaceful and nature-bound who trembled at the news. In the farthest reaches of the **Iron Dominion**, the Technomancers worked tirelessly in their underground forges. Here, magic was melded with machine, and power came from industry and innovation. The forges of steel and fire rang with hammers, but the workers' usual pace had faltered. In the great capital, **Lord Voss**, the Iron Emperor, watched as the news reached his court.

“This... sorcerer,” Lord Voss began, his eyes narrowing as he clenched a metallic fist, “has grown bold. But he is flesh, and flesh can be broken. His magic is ancient; our technology, more advanced. We must prepare our defenses, but if he comes for us, we will meet him with steel and fire.”

The Iron Dominion, though proud, knew well the power that Zaros commanded. Some whispered that even their greatest technomancy might fail against a man who wielded not only arcane mastery but the terrifying might of illusion and necromancy.

From the **depths of the Abyssal Collective**, the Voidcallers, hidden in their shadowy realm, stirred. Void Lord Damos, a figure wreathed in the very essence of the Abyss, stood before his most loyal servants, his hollow eyes gazing into the void.

“He killed the Council,” he rasped, his voice echoing as if from another dimension. “He has touched the Abyss, whether knowingly or not. The veil between realms grows thin.”

The Voidcallers, though enigmatic and dangerous, had always watched from the shadows, manipulating space and time from the edges of existence. But Zaros’s growing power was undeniable. They were no longer sure whether he was their enemy—or a being they should seek to ally with. The very fabric of reality seemed to bend under his influence.

Beneath the seas, in the **Sunken Empire of Aeloria**, the Deep Monarch’s court stirred with the news. The currents themselves whispered Zaros’s name, and the tide of unease swept through the capital of the empire. The Deep Monarch, an ancient being who had ruled the sunken empire for millennia, felt the tremor of magic that reverberated even in the depths of the sea.

“Zaros Valen,” the Deep Monarch said, his voice carrying through the currents, “has grown beyond what we imagined. His dominion of the surface now threatens to extend even here. We must keep him from discovering the depths, lest he bend the oceans to his will as well.”

The Sunken Empire, masters of hydromancy and deep sorcery, knew the dangers that came from underestimating such power. Yet even they felt the rising tide of fear that Zaros’s unchecked might now brought to the world.

On the **surface of Verathen**, the common folk lived in the shadow of the towering capital. The streets were filled with whispers, fear creeping through the cracks of every stone building. People spoke of Zaros like he was a legend, a monster who had single-handedly brought down the most powerful figures in the city.

Some merchants packed up their goods, fleeing Verathen in hopes of finding refuge far from the sorcerer’s reach. Others watched in silent dread, praying that their families would remain unnoticed by the man whose power seemed boundless.

Even in the hidden courts of **the Phantom Court**, the spectral monarchs whispered among themselves. Their realm, beyond death, had felt a disturbance. Zaros had begun to tread dangerously close to their domain, his control over necromancy rivaling even the lords of death.

“He may become a threat to even us,” one of the monarchs murmured, the shimmering form of a forgotten king. “His command over life and death has begun to blur the lines. We must watch him closely.”

Finally, in the hidden enclave of the **Chronomancers**, where time itself was bent to the will of its keepers, alarms rang out. **Master Echron**, the eldest of the timekeepers, stood with his apprentices before the great hourglass that held the threads of reality.

“Zaros has upset the natural order,” Echron muttered, his hands shaking as the sands of time rippled unnaturally. “He has made himself a pivotal force in the fabric of fate. We must be prepared for the consequences.”

The **world trembled** at the news of Zaros’s actions, each civilization, each faction, understanding that they had now been thrust into a dangerous new era. The council was gone, and in its place, Zaros Valen’s shadow loomed ever larger, threatening to consume all that lay before it.

Kingdoms, empires, and hidden enclaves began to take sides, some preparing for war, others hoping to forge uneasy alliances. Yet no one could ignore the truth: Zaros had revealed his true strength, and the world would never be the same again.