The War Room

"I wish Your Majesty, King Sebastian Ether, to abdicate the throne in favor of Prince Randall Ether."

Gasps filled the air behind him, and Foster felt both the binding vow over his heart and the one on his forehead crack and heat, but the reactions he got from those in attendance ate the lion's share of his amused attention. Every royal family member sat slack-jawed for several heartbeats before August broke the equilibrium and doubled over in his seat, snorting and crying, laughing uncontrollably. Monica, being near August, found it contagious and had a hard time containing her own fits of giggles. Randall looked as if a spell malfunction was taking place in his brain, and the king, the queen, and the little shit crown prince were all shrieking their various grievances.

It was quite the sight—Foster would've been struggling to keep the smile from his face if the binding vows had not heated to a staggering degree. The vows, derived from a higher-order of Zyph known as soul magic, were spells passed down from one ruling monarch to the next. He felt the brands scorching his soul as they warred for dominance. The cracks grew more expansive, and the glow was so bright that the knight's vow emitted visible light through his cloak. It was all he could do to just keep from showing the pain on his face—unwilling to show any weakness before Sebastian at all.

Suddenly, the balance broke, and, unfortunately, the Knight's vow won. The cracks in the glowing brands healed, and the glow returned to normal. Thankfully, it didn't kill him, though the damage to his soul would likely take several weeks to recover fully. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Monica's eyes flash gold as she scanned him for the damage he knew was there. Her amusement was suddenly gone, and her face was now a confusing mix of irritation and concern. He ignored her pointed stare and refocused on the king.

"Watch yourself. You toe the line of treason. The binding vow cannot accept your wish. Choose another." From the look on his face, the king was seconds from calling for his sword. Foster decided not to push his luck. It was not that the king or any of his flunkies were much of a match for him, but the vows still bound him, so escape would be tricky.

"I jest, Your Majesty. All I ask is the annual budget allotted to a dukedom paid out in rare alchemic ingredients of my choosing. That should be a much easier task for you." Foster attempted a placating smile—it wasn't his fault it turned into a smirk.

"If that is all, Foster Grey, you are dismissed. Have a list of your requests ready by tomorrow. You may use your usual room in the castle until you receive payment. After which, you are hereby banned from the palace until further notice. Take that time to think about your little 'jest.'" The brand on Foster's forehead and a portion of the one over his heart turned to motes of light and floated toward the king. They then formed a glowing ring on his thumb in its whirling ancient language of power.

With his business concluded, Foster nodded to each of his friends before waltzing back the way he came and setting off to locate his accommodations in the castle.

~~~

Several minutes later, Foster turned the knob of his old room. As it shut behind him, he didn't forget to ward the lock and place a powerful strengthening barrier on the door to keep it from being kicked in—not that anyone in the palace was foolish enough to kick in the door of the Hero. Still, he wouldn't be in this room long, and it would be bad if anyone found out. Considering the building's splendor, it was a relatively small room, but the king was often as unaccommodating as possible when it came to Foster. Still, this room had been his home for the years before he befriended August and began crashing in one of the spare rooms in his wing. Not too long after that, he and Monica started their nightly escapades, and he occasionally slept in her bed. That was, of course, until the king found out and banned him from those parts of the palace—August and Monica's wings both. Now that he thought about it, he seemed to be banned from the palace quite often. Monica, the rebellious little minx that she was, decided to stick it to her dad and placed a close-range warp anchor in the small room usually relegated to him—hidden behind an illusory wall.

Illusions typically could only fool one or two senses at most. Otherwise, they were too complex and taxing on the caster. Monica was different. She could fool every sense at once, including non-traditional senses like the ability to sense a presence or the Zyph in an area. It took someone as sensitive as Foster to pick up on her illusions, and even he could not always be wholly accurate.

Foster pulled open the linen closet and stepped in. Nobody ever seemed to notice it wasn't as deep as it once had been. This particular illusion was Monica's crowning magical achievement, combining illusion, abjuration, divination, and her specialty—molding the higher-order attribute of reality. It was a masterclass on combining different schools of magic and then effectively and efficiently applying higher-order attributed Zyph. Foster thought it a shame the magic community would never see the revolutionary formulae.

For everyone other than the lucky few, the closet's back wall would look and feel ordinary. Foster stepped through what should've been solid. The subtle scattering of gray mist that quickly reformed into a mundane wall behind him hid all traces of his ever being there. The other side of the illusory wall was dark without the ambient light coming from the bedroom. He imbued some Zyph into the magic lamp in front of him, illuminating the small space. It was rather dull save for the metallic gold warp anchor inlaid in the marble floor. The traditional circle formula of the close-range warp anchor held a few key modifications he and Monica came up with. Among those changes, one used higher-order soul divination to check the user's identity, and another reduced and dispersed the spatial fluctuations created by warping—allowing for warps that were largely untraceable and undetectable even by mages skilled in the use of spatial Zyph. 

The formula had three concentric rings connected by a spiral fractal. One large spiral leads to several smaller ones, each leading to even more spirals. They all held a rune in the center, the largest being the central spiral holding the rune for space. Foster had done the inlay himself. Using his mastery over Earth Zyph first to carve the marble, then to fuse the gold directly to the stone, making it a permanent fixture. Gold wasn't the best Zyph conductor, but it was enough for a warp gate leading to a location within the same city. It used to lead to a closet in Monica's tea room—but with the death of the first queen and the announcement that the second queen's only son was most likely to inherit the throne—they changed it to a place she had later dubbed the War Room.

Foster stepped onto the circle and watched it hum to life. The gold became a glowing midnight blue as spatial Zyph flooded the formula. The area around him flashed black, and he felt the ethereal breeze that always accompanied warps. Then, he suddenly found himself on an elevated stone platform in the receiving hall of the War Room etched with an identical gold inlay. This room hosted several other warp anchors leading to different locations throughout the Ether Kingdom, some even outside Ether's borders, each installed by Foster himself. The receiving hall was the only way in or out of the War Room, and the location of every anchor was a secret that only the original members knew. He stepped off quickly to avoid getting bounced back to his old room and marched straight for the lounge.

Contrary to its name, the War Room was not just a single small room used for strategy. It was a collection of underground halls and chambers halfway across the Capital below a warehouse in the industrial district. It started as a gift to the royal siblings from Foster and a few mutual friends of his and the royals, who, at the time six years ago, were still grieving the loss of their mother. Foster and the other members of their friend group decided the royal trio needed a home away from the depressing halls of the palace.

So, they pooled their resources and bought the property with a shell company owned by their collective fake identities, then splurged the rest of their budget on making it as luxurious as possible. Fully staffed by carefully screened and highly trusted individuals, all of whom had sworn a binding vow of secrecy, the War Room sported a relaxed air for all its occupants. They had a lounge, gambling hall, kitchen, dining hall, library, training room, ballroom, and yes, an actual war room. Each member also had access to their own living quarters, a study, and several extra rooms they could use as they saw fit. Since its conception, the War Room has grown in members and morphed over time into a secret society of powerful, like-minded individuals from all over the Ether Kingdom.

What once started as a retreat from the stress of life in the royal court for six young adults had grown into the most influential group in the country with over thirty members, each individual being highly prominent in their own right. Together, the War Room cast a large shadow over everything from information brokering and economics to magical research and politics. When they first began the transition from hangout spot to underground society, they used to be completely exclusive—now they occasionally hosted guests and even the rare party. The enchanted rooms protect the identity of the staff and members from visitors to prevent information leaks. To receive an invitation to the War Room was one of the highest honors in the kingdom, its name whispered in every salon and gentlemen's club in Ether as an elusive object of fear and respect.

To Foster, it was home. No matter how many people joined, the War Room would always be the magical clubhouse he built with his friends as a place they could be themselves.