Newfear

Amidst the wreckage, amidst the destruction, all eyes suddenly turned toward the three families: Vanheim, Starkov, and Blackmirth.

They were not mere spectators, nor were they just names among a terrified crowd. They were the force that would reshape the kingdom, the cornerstone of the coming order. Their eyes did not reflect fear; instead, they gazed beyond the hall, toward the future that would be born from the ashes of this night.

As for the others, their reactions varied. Some realized they had to bow before their necks were broken, while others still clung to illusions, grasping for something that no longer existed... like a drowning man reaching for a shadow that could never save him.

But in that moment, everyone understood one undeniable truth.

The Arcadia they once knew... was no more.

Talia stepped forward into the center of the hall, her footsteps echoing against the marble floor as if announcing the birth of a new era. The gathered nobles watched her with tense eyes... some breathing heavily, others barely able to hide their trembling. In the middle of it all stood the three families, not just noble names but the pillars upon which the new kingdom would be built; the Blackmirths, the Starkovs, and the vanheims, each standing firm, as if the world itself had paused in anticipation of her decision.

As she approached, Duke Satheron Blackmirth lifted his head, his gaze steady... not pleading, not defiant, but clear, like a man who understood the game that had just ended before his eyes. He was a man of a lineage that had never recognized any king except the prophesied heir, yet his voice, when he spoke, was calm, carrying the weight of a man unafraid of the truth.

Satheron: "My wife..."

His tone was measured, yet something hidden lurked within it, as if an internal battle had ended before it even began. His gaze swept over those present, as though he were addressing everyone, not just Talia.

Satheron: "I want you all to know that I was loyal to the throne, loyal to King Irvin, even though House Blackmirth has never recognized any king except for the heir foretold by prophecy. That is why I leave the judgment of my wife, Ronessa, to you, Lady Talia."

Silence settled for a moment.

Across the hall, Marchioness Atris Starkov observed the exchange with an expression that held both respect and caution. She measured every word spoken, every step taken. She was not entirely certain of her place in this new balance, but she knew one thing for sure... her family had finally obtained what it deserved, and there was no turning back.

She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice carrying the calm of a storm before it strikes.

Atris: "I intended to speak with you tomorrow, Lady Talia... but since we're gathered here, I might as well say what I have to say now."

Talia glanced around, a faint tension creeping into her, then took a deep breath as Marchioness Atris continued in a voice filled with confidence.

Atris: "We welcome you to the Council, Talia. The three of us agree that you are worthy of it. And I am I'm sure that Lord Hartley won't mind "

"Of course..."

It was the voice of Count Julian Hartley. His tone was firm as he stepped forward, his strides steady, coming to stand beside them. Then, he spoke directly to Talia.

Julian: "I've heard a lot about you from Lucas. You'd be a welcome addition... at least more useful than This psychopath."

Julian pointed to Viscountess Silvia, who remained silent, a cold smile on her face. A ripple of light laughter spread through the audience, the once-tense atmosphere beginning to ease. Meanwhile, Talia, still processing what was happening, felt something she had never truly experienced before... recognition of her skill.

Atris took a step closer, her voice softer this time, yet carrying undeniable weight.

Atris: "So... do you accept, Red Owl?"

Talia looked up at her, a faint smile playing on her lips, her fingers nervously tracing over one another.

At that moment, Dion placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, attempting to ease the tension that had overtaken her. He tilted his head slightly toward her, as if to silently tell her that this was what she had been waiting for... she had to seize it.

Dion, in a whisper: "Come on..."

Before she responded, time seemed to freeze in that moment. Talia's thoughts were clashing in her mind, as if she were sinking into a sea of conflicting emotions. The weight of the moment, the responsibility that would come with her decision, felt heavy. Her heart was racing, yet she knew this was what she had been searching for her entire life.. the opportunity to prove herself, to be part of something greater than herself. The moments of silence that passed were enough to reorganize her thoughts, and though fear squeezed her heart, a mysterious sense of strength began to rise from deep within. This was a moment she wouldn't have had if she had backed away. So, with all her might, she spoke the words that escaped her lips as if they were a step toward the destiny she had been waiting for.

And then.

Talia: "Yes... of course. I would be grateful."

Then, after a moment of silence, Atris nodded her head and spoke in a calm yet firm voice.

Atris: "A wise decision... But, don't forget, we must exercise utmost caution. This land still needs its balance, and we will not allow it to be torn apart by the ambitions of others."

Some faces in the hall tightened, and a few nobles murmured under their breath, unable to voice their concerns aloud. But everyone understood the message clearly. Her words were not just about the fair distribution of power; they were a declaration that control would be absolute, even over what was once thought untouchable.

Aetris: "We are the ones rebuilding this land now. But, Talia, do not overlook those who might seek to betray this order. Power must remain concentrated…

Talia nodded, but deep down, she knew that what they faced was not just the threat of traitors. It was something far more complex... something growing in the shadows, in the eyes that still held traces of fear and greed, in the hearts that had yet to accept the collapse of the old world.

Talia: "I understand. We will not allow weakness."

Her words were not just a response; they were a promise... or perhaps a warning.

And in that moment, only the echoes of a fallen past remained in the hall.

In the background, the shattered throne stood as a witness to the end of an era that had not just fallen with King Blstir's death, but had taken with it a vast web of political intrigues. Outside, the people watched this transformation from behind windows and closed doors... some with anticipation, others with dread.

Was this the beginning of a new era of hope… or merely the birth of another tyranny?

The winds howled through the region, carrying whispers of coming change. And as Talia stood there, surrounded by watching eyes, she knew she stood at a crossroads. The power she had seized was merely the beginning of a long journey filled with uncertainty and doubt. But she was prepared to face it all, even if she had yet to decide what that power truly meant for her.

In the end, it seemed Arcadia had reached a decisive turning point. A new stage had begun, but no one knew if the long-awaited change would lead to a better future, or if doubt would continue to haunt them forever.

As the kingdom shifted, Sir Elliot... one of the old regime's key figures... felt the weight of his conscience. On a quiet evening, before vanishing from sight entirely, he appeared before Raymond in the throne hall and confessed his crimes in full. His words were filled with remorse and humiliation, each syllable carried by the winds of guilt. But Raymond, after hearing his confession, simply offered a sharp glance before granting him clemency. Yet mercy was only the beginning of his downfall... he was stripped of his title and exiled to distant lands unknown to any.

The final fall.

In the darkening hall, as the cries of fallen nobles echoed under the weight of their inevitable fates, no one noticed the arrival of a new figure.

With quiet steps, he slipped through the chaos, past anxious faces, wary glances, and the corpses strewn across the floor. There was no fear in his eyes, no regret, no hesitation. Only an abyssal emptiness, as if his soul had left his body long ago.

Marquess Leon Cypher, a pillar of the royal court, could have disappeared. He could have bargained, could have even fought for his life. Yet he chose another path. He entered the hall like a ghost, unseen until he stood behind Raymond.

Raymond did not notice him immediately, but he felt something... an odd sensation, as if a heavy shadow had entered his space. He turned slowly, and when his gaze fell upon the man, his expression twisted with surprise.

Everyone had fled, had denied, had clung to life by any means… So why, by all that was holy, was this man standing here with such calm?

Raymond stared at him for a long moment, as if his mind refused to believe what he was seeing. This man was not accused, was not even a suspect. No document bore his name, no confession mentioned his treachery. So had he come to confess? Or had he simply… chosen to end it?

The murmurs of the nobles who had now noticed his presence filled the air... low whispers of suspicion and unease... but Leon paid them no heed. He stepped forward with quiet confidence until he stood directly in front of Raymond.

Raymond looked into his eyes and found nothing. No plea, no apology, no justification. Only emptiness, as if life itself had been hollowed out from within.

This silence… was unsettling.

Raymond, who had spent days hunting traitors, punishing them, delivering justice, now found himself face to face with a man who did not even try to defend himself. This was not the confrontation he had envisioned. There was no shouting, no denial, no fear, no pleading, no defiance. It was more infuriating than anything else.

Raymond: "What?… Why are you here?"

Leon did not answer immediately. He simply shrugged, as if asking… why not?

A silence passed… A trial without a judge.

Leon Cypher stood there, in the center of the hall, amidst the wreckage, the screams, a world crumbling around him... but he saw none of it.

He saw only the void.

Raymond, breathing heavily, his hands trembling with fury, stared at him as if trying to grasp his very existence. From the moment Leon entered the hall, he had been an enigma, and now, he was something even closer to a living nightmare.

This indifference could have been defiance. But Raymond did not feel that. Instead, he felt that the man before him was already dead, that all he saw now was the husk of someone for whom nothing mattered anymore.

Then, in a quiet voice that cut through the hall like a cold blade, Leon spoke.

Leon: "I was the one who incited your father…"

Silence fell.

It was not a silence of awe, but a silence of crushing weight, as if the very air in the hall had turned into stones suspended above their heads, waiting to collapse.

Raymond did not move. His eyes did not blink. But something deep inside him… shattered.

There was no explanation, no need to ask."What do you mean?" because Leon continued his words, his voice as cold as the wind blowing over ruins.

Leon: "I caused your mother's death... and also your friend."

This time, silence had no place. Raymond erupted like a raging storm. It was no longer just anger; it was closer to an emotional collapse, a wave of internal turmoil crashing against his first moment of realization.

His fist struck Leon's face with such force that blood splattered, yet Leon did not fall.

Another blow.

And another.

He should have fallen, he should have screamed, begged, defended himself. But he did none of that.

He remained standing, as if made of something stronger than bones, as if he were ash untouched by the storm.

Raymond, who had lived his whole life for revenge, felt... just for a moment... something he could not understand.

It was not a sense of victory. It was a sense of sinking.

Raymond: "Why… why are you saying this now?!!"

Leon lifted his gaze to him, empty eyes, the eyes of someone who had seen the end before it even began.

Leon: "Because the truth no longer matters. Nothing does."

Raymond looked at him, panting, his fist still clenched as if ready for another strike, yet he did not deliver it. There was something in Leon's voice that made him pause. Something like emptiness... the kind that only comes after a person has lost everything.

Raymond: "You!... You know that I will kill you, don't you?!"

Leon smiled.

A smile... but not the kind Raymond had expected. It wasn't defiance, nor was it mockery. It was the smile of a man who had lost everything, even hope. The smile of a man who had realized the truth too late.

Leon: "I was dead before I came here."

His voice was calm, as if the words themselves were a farewell to something that had already ended, as if he were passing judgment on himself before others could.

Leon: "You destroyed the only thing that gave my life meaning."

He looked at Raymond, his voice devoid of anger or regret, only a cold certainty, as if speaking of an undeniable truth.

Leon: "The throne… it wasn't just ambition. It was my right. Something promised to me since childhood, something I saw before me every night when my mother stroked my hair, whispering with her weary voice…"

He paused for a moment, as if the words were too heavy. Then, he whispered, turning his head slowly, as if his voice was no longer addressing Raymond but a ghost that only he could see.

Leon: "You know? My mother used to whisper to me every night when I was a child, despite her illness, despite the pain that was consuming her…"

Silence. Then his voice came, faint, trembling, as if, for the first time in his life, he was about to break.

Leon: "My little prince…"

Something flickered in his eyes for a moment. It was not a plea, nor fear... it was a memory.

Leon: "She saw me as a prince… even when I was just a frail, sickly child with nothing but her words. Those words brought me back to life, made me believe I had a right…"

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if his body had become heavier than he could bear.

Leon: "But now? Nothing remains. Even her dream, even the child she saw as a prince… is dead."

He smiled bitterly, but it was a sad smile, the smile of a man who realizes that everything he believed in was nothing but a fragile illusion.

Leon: "I believed that my destiny was the throne, that I was not born to be a mere follower or just another name in a lineage, but to have my name remembered as a ruler, a king. But you… you came and overturned the table, shattered the game before I could reach its end. You didn't just defeat me; you stripped me of any meaning in my existence."

He looked at Raymond, his eyes devoid of hope or resistance.

Leon: "Do you know what's worse than defeat? Realizing that everything you worked for, everything you dreamed of, existed only in your mind. That you were never anything more than a pawn... not in someone else's game… but in your own delusions."

He lifted his chin slightly, as if something inside him had finally broken beyond repair.

Leon: "And now, there is nothing left. No throne, no mother to wish, no meaning… nothing but nothing."

The air was thick with cold, as if time had stopped in that moment. Raymond stood firm, his gaze fixed on Marquis Leon Cypher, who stood before him like a shadow, devoid of everything. He had decided to have the guards take him away, to lock him in a prison where his fate awaited him within dark walls, isolated from the world. That was the end Raymond had decreed, and his judgment was final.

Raymond: "Take him away from my sight. Lock him up!"

Raymond's voice was calm, but there was something in it... something simmering, as if his eyes had not yet had their fill of hatred for the man who had caused his suffering.

But what happened next was faster than any reaction the mind could comprehend.

As the guards approached the marquis to bind his hands with cold iron, there was no sudden movement. His body remained still, as if he were observing everything around him, unhurried. But in a single instant, before anyone could realize it, his hand moved toward the sword of the guard to his right.

As the guards neared him, the Marquess's eyes were empty, as if he had abandoned everything, even his own life. Everything around him began to fade, and the moment seemed to embody the end of a long journey of disappointments and betrayals. There was only the deep silence that surrounded him, and his mind was drowning in an absolute void.

In that moment, his hand moved without hesitation, as if his body had already made its decision. He drew the sword from its sheath in a swift, fluid motion, as if his hand knew exactly where it was. There was no confusion, no hesitation... just a precise, deliberate action. As if the sword had become a part of him, the only tool left at his disposal.

Artis, : "Marquess!!"

It was not an act of desperation, nor an attempt to escape or fight. It was simply surrender, as if the marquis had accepted his fate before it even arrived.

In a swift motion, he angled the sword toward his throat, its tip pressing downward. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he drove the blade inward. The sound was soft, as if the world had gone silent the moment the steel pierced flesh, and the blood burst forth rapidly, staining the sword with a dark, fatal touch.

The sound was quiet, like fabric being torn, then swallowed by the suffocating silence as blood spilled onto the blade, leaving its dark mark in the air.

The body, once filled with life, was now just a heavy mass on the ground, blood seeping slowly over the sword as if reluctant to leave, lingering as if in shock itself.

At that moment, Raymond turned sharply. His eyes locked onto the scene that had, in a fleeting moment of indifference, turned into a massacre. The body remained in place, but he felt that what he was witnessing was not just a battle... it was a dark transformation. Something greater was unfolding, something unimaginable.

Shock filled him, as if pulling his soul into deep darkness. A whisper echoed in his mind, "Was I the one who started this? Was this all part of his plan?"

And the answer lay in the silence.

Not just an attempt to escape, but a final defiance of fate.

As his body collapsed to the ground, the blood pooled around him, spreading rapidly to cover the space. The earth absorbed everything, as if taking more than just his body... taking a piece of his soul, the part that had remained trapped in his past.

And in that silence, a distant whisper lingered.

"My little prince…"

But now, as his body faded into nothingness, did he still hear it?

Or had the void swallowed even that?

There was no answer. Only silence.