crown of self-interest

Verdant Communion, the Abyssal Collective, the Iron Dominion—they were all pawns on his board, each moving exactly as he intended. They might not realize it yet, but their fates were already sealed. The map before him, with its jagged lines and sprawling territories, was more than just a representation of land. It was a battlefield, and Zaros had already begun his conquest.

His eyes glinted with cold determination as he considered the possibilities. The Verdant Communion, with their connection to nature and their sacred forests, would fall in due time. Their magic was powerful, but it was symbiotic, reliant on the balance they shared with the natural world. Zaros had no such constraints. His magic, born of pure ambition and willpower, would tear through their ranks like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

But first, he would need to sow discord among them. The tribes of the Verdant Communion were not as united as they appeared. He would find the cracks in their foundation, exploit their weaknesses, and watch as their carefully maintained harmony shattered.

As for the Abyssal Collective, they remained an enigma. Their ability to manipulate the Void and bend the fabric of reality itself intrigued him. If he could harness that power for himself, his ascension would be complete. Yet they remained hidden in the shadows, refusing to engage directly with the world above. Zaros knew they were watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. But he would not wait for them to make the first move.

He would draw them out, force them into the light where their secrets could be laid bare. The Voidcallers, as they were known, wielded a dangerous power, but Zaros had no fear of the unknown. He had already conquered death and defied the natural order. The Void was just another frontier to be mastered, and he would do so without hesitation.

And then, there was the Iron Dominion. Their mixture of technology and magic made them a formidable force, but their reliance on machinery made them vulnerable. Zaros had seen their kind before—so focused on their inventions and devices that they forgot the true nature of power. Their cities might be fortified with metal and magic, but Zaros would find a way to infiltrate their defenses. He always did.

He leaned over the map, his fingers tracing the lines of each territory. His mind was already calculating the moves he would make, the alliances he would break, and the forces he would bend to his will. Every civilization, every faction, would either kneel before him or be destroyed.

A faint knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Calista stepped back into the room, her face as impassive as ever, though Zaros could see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Everything is in motion, as you requested,” she said. “Our agents are monitoring the Verdant Communion’s borders, and we’ve begun surveillance on the Abyssal Collective.”

“Good,” Zaros replied, his voice low and measured. “Ensure they know we’re watching them. I want them to feel the pressure building, to sense the inevitable. But do not move against them yet. Let them simmer in their fear.”

Calista nodded. “And the Iron Dominion?”

Zaros smirked. “They’ll come into play soon enough. Their arrogance will be their downfall. They think their machines make them invincible, but all machines have weaknesses. We’ll find theirs.”

There was a pause as Calista observed him, her cold demeanor cracking just slightly. “And the intruder?” she asked quietly, as if the question itself might invite danger.

Zaros’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing into icy slits. “Whoever they are, they’ve overstepped. But their time will come. I will make an example of them.”

Calista inclined her head. “Understood. I’ll continue the search.”

Zaros gave a dismissive wave. “See to it. I want no surprises.”

As she turned to leave, Zaros remained at the table, his thoughts once again drifting toward the intruder. Their defiance, their calm in the face of his overwhelming power, was not something he would easily forget. No one crossed Zaros Valen without consequences. They had made themselves a target, and Zaros always hit his mark.

Turning back to the map, Zaros extended his hand over it, his magic surging as he invoked a spell. The territories illuminated in faint, shimmering light as his will began to weave through the ley lines of the world. He could feel the pulse of life in each region, the magic that connected every living being to the land they called home. And he could feel where the pressure needed to be applied, where the subtle threads of influence could be pulled to break alliances and force the hand of his enemies.

Power thrummed through his veins, a living force that responded to his every thought and desire. This was what he had fought for, what he had sacrificed for—complete and total control. His dominion was inevitable, and the world would bend to his will, or it would break beneath the weight of his ambition.

As the spell faded and the map returned to its mundane state, Zaros straightened, his eyes glinting with the promise of what was to come. His empire was growing, and soon, all would fall into place. The Verdant Communion, the Abyssal Collective, the Iron Dominion—none of them would escape the fate he had planned for them. And neither would the fool who dared to challenge him in his own citadel.

Zaros Valen was not a man to be trifled with. He was a force of nature, a conqueror, and soon, the world would tremble beneath his heel.

And so, the threads of defiance began to unravel, one by one.