crown of self-interest

The night was still, and yet the air thrummed with latent energy, as if the very fabric of the world awaited something monumental. Zaros Valen stood alone at the edge of the **Arcane Citadel**, overlooking the vast expanse of his domain. His cloak billowed in the soft wind, the dark fabric blending into the twilight sky. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the horizon, but his thoughts were far beyond the physical landscape. The aftermath of his ascension was still settling across the realms, but already, new ripples were beginning to form.

Behind him, the walls of the Citadel hummed with the power he had invoked not long ago. Runes carved into the ancient stone glowed faintly, a reminder of the ritual that had elevated him from one of the most feared sorcerers to something far greater. The power coursing through his veins was intoxicating—an overwhelming force that made the very world bend to his will. Yet, Zaros’s mind, sharpened by years of manipulation and strategic mastery, remained focused. Power without control was nothing but chaos, and Zaros had no intention of allowing chaos to reign.

His hand tightened slightly on the staff at his side, its twisted wood now pulsating with an aura that mirrored his own transformation. A sense of clarity washed over him. With his newfound abilities, there was no enemy he couldn’t crush, no obstacle he couldn’t overcome. But Zaros did not crave simple dominance. He sought to reshape the world itself, to create something enduring, something that would echo throughout eternity.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. He didn’t turn, already knowing who had entered the terrace.

“You’ve done it, haven’t you?” The voice was low, filled with a mixture of awe and unease. **Eldrin**, one of Zaros’s most loyal subordinates, approached cautiously. His eyes darted nervously to the horizon before focusing on his master. “The power... it’s beyond anything I’ve ever felt.”

Zaros remained silent for a moment, allowing the tension to build. Eldrin was powerful in his own right, a conduit of the ancient magics tied to the very core of the world. But next to Zaros, he was little more than an insect. And yet, there was value in such loyalty.

“Indeed,” Zaros finally said, his voice calm and measured. “The ritual was a success. I am no longer bound by the same constraints as the rest of them.” He glanced at Eldrin, his eyes glowing faintly with the power still coursing through him. “But you didn’t come here to tell me what I already know. What is it?”

Eldrin hesitated, as if unsure of how to proceed. He was one of the few who had been close enough to witness Zaros’s transformation firsthand, and the experience had clearly rattled him. There were rumors circulating among the factions—the **Aetherborn**, the **Verdant Communion**, even the **Iron Dominion**—whispers of Zaros’s growing might. Some spoke of awe, others of fear. And still others were plotting in the shadows.

“Word is spreading,” Eldrin finally said, his voice a touch quieter. “The factions are becoming uneasy. The Aetherborn are calling for an emergency council, and the Verdant Communion has begun reinforcing their borders.”

Zaros let out a soft, amused breath. “Of course they are. Fear is a predictable reaction when one’s understanding of the world is shattered.”

“But it’s not just fear,” Eldrin pressed, stepping closer. “They’re planning something. The Aetherborn are reaching out to the **Chronomancers’ Enclave**, and the Verdant Communion... there’s talk of an alliance with the **Phantom Court**. They fear what you’ve become, Zaros.”

At the mention of the Phantom Court and the Chronomancers, Zaros’s lips curled into a smile—cold, calculating, and entirely devoid of warmth. Fear could be useful, but outright defiance was something else entirely. He had foreseen this. The moment his ascension had tipped the scales of power, the other factions would inevitably try to restore the balance. It was inevitable, and Zaros was nothing if not a master of inevitability.

“They’ll come for me,” Zaros said softly, more to himself than to Eldrin. “They’ll unite in their desperation, and when they do, I’ll break them.” He turned his gaze back to Eldrin, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “And then, when their spirits are shattered, they’ll realize how futile it was to resist.”

Eldrin swallowed, but his loyalty kept him steady. “And what of your allies? The others... they’re starting to question. They sense the shift in your approach, the growing... distance.”

Zaros’s smile faded slightly. “Let them question. Doubt is a tool, just as fear is. They will either prove themselves worthy of the new world I am creating, or they will fall alongside the rest.”

Eldrin nodded, though there was an unmistakable tension in his posture. Zaros could feel it—a small crack in the façade of loyalty. Not enough to warrant concern, but enough to file away for later. He would need to watch Eldrin closely.

“I want to know everything,” Zaros said, his voice taking on an edge of command. “Every movement, every whisper of rebellion. The Aetherborn, the Verdant Communion, the Iron Dominion. None of them will act without my knowledge.”

Eldrin bowed his head. “Of course. I will ensure that our spies are on high alert.”

As Eldrin turned to leave, Zaros allowed his thoughts to drift once more. The power he now wielded was immense, but it was not limitless. There were still threats lurking in the shadows—forces that would seek to challenge him, to test his strength. The Phantom Court and the Chronomancers’ Enclave were no strangers to manipulation and deceit, and they would undoubtedly try to play their hand in this escalating game of power. But they would find that Zaros was not so easily outmaneuvered.

He had learned from the best. He had studied the ancient texts, delved into forbidden knowledge, and mastered the art of illusion and manipulation. His power was more than just raw strength; it was the ability to see every possible outcome, to control the very flow of events as if conducting a symphony of destruction. He had become the ultimate strategist, capable of outthinking and outmaneuvering even the most cunning of enemies.

And now, as the factions began to mobilize, Zaros knew that the time for subtlety was over. The time had come for him to show the world the true extent of his power. No longer would he be a shadowy figure working behind the scenes. He would step into the light, and in doing so, he would cast the world into darkness.

--

Far from the Citadel, in the depths of the **Chronomancers’ Enclave**, a different conversation was taking place. The Grand Hall of Timekeepers was a vast, echoing chamber filled with glowing timepieces and crystalline mechanisms that hummed with the energy of the temporal stream. At its center stood **Chronarch Cassius**, the leader of the Enclave, his face etched with the weight of centuries of wisdom.

“We cannot allow this to continue unchecked,” Cassius said, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had seen ages come and go. “Zaros Valen’s ascension threatens the delicate balance of time itself. His manipulation of the arcane is already warping the flow of events. If left unchecked, he could unravel the very fabric of reality.”

Around him, the other Chronomancers nodded in solemn agreement. **Seeress Elira**, the youngest of the council, spoke next. “He has become something more than human. His mastery over illusion and manipulation is unlike anything we’ve ever seen. He can bend reality to his will, and the effects are rippling through the timelines.”

Cassius’s gaze darkened. “The Aetherborn and the Verdant Communion have already begun to move. They’ve reached out to us for aid, and I believe the Phantom Court is preparing to intervene as well. This is a battle that will determine the fate of not just our world, but all worlds.”

“But how can we fight him?” one of the other Chronomancers asked. “His power is beyond anything we’ve faced. Even the combined might of the factions may not be enough.”

Cassius’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of determination and fear. “We must find a way. If we do not, Zaros will reshape the world in his image, and we will all be bound to his will.”

---

Back in the Arcane Citadel, Zaros smiled to himself. He could feel the ripples of time shifting, the plans of his enemies slowly coming together. They would come for him, thinking they could stop him. But they would find themselves ensnared in a web of his own making.

“They think they can challenge me,” he whispered to the night. “But they are nothing more than pawns in a game they do not understand.”

And so, the stage was set. The war of factions was about to begin, and Zaros Valen, the master of illusions and manipulation, was already ten steps ahead of them all.