“Please, don’t do anything irrational, your Majesty.” In a barely observable room of the Royal Castle of Asphade, General Rhaegor sat amidst the chaos left behind by King Aythore’s earlier outburst as he whispered to the silent room.
The room current condition was a result of the king’s frustration—a broken table lay tilted against the wall, shattered glass glinted in the light of flickering torches, and scattered food and overturned chairs added to the disarray.
Rhaegor’s leg bounced incessantly, his anxiety betraying his normally stoic demeanor. His mind replayed the intense discussion with the king.
Ryedale, a distant city in the Western continent, had suffered an attack eerily similar to the one that devastated Eldham. A letter had reached Asphade, explaining that these demons were hitting weak spots first.
The king had not taken the news well.
King Aythore had raged, his voice echoing through the chamber. He slammed his fists against the table, swept items off shelves, and stormed about as though searching for a scapegoat.
Though Rhaegor had braved countless battlefields, the king’s fury was a storm he could not weather without unease.
“How dare this happen again, Rhaegor? How?!” the king had shouted, his face flushed with anger. “First was Eldham, and now news from Ryedale saying they’d experienced something similar even before us? Are we blind to the threats around us?”
Rhaegor had stood stiffly, enduring the tirade. “Your Majesty, the situation—” Your journey continues on empire
“Do not tell me about the situation, General!” Aythore bellowed, cutting him off. “Our people are dying, our cities are burning, and we sit here sending letters and holding meetings!”
The king had continued to pace, his anger radiating like heat. Eventually, he’d stopped, staring out the window with his hands gripping the ledge. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by his heaving breaths.
After a moment, Aythore had turned, his expression calmer but his voice firm. “I need time to think.” Without another word, he’d left the room, leaving Rhaegor alone amidst the destruction.
Now, as Rhaegor sat in the aftermath of the king’s wrath, his thoughts swirled. The letter from Ryedale posed a dilemma.
Should they send a contingent to investigate, stretching their already limited forces thinner, or focus on fortifying their defenses at home?
The decision rested on the king’s shoulders, and Rhaegor could only wait.
The door creaked open, and King Aythore strode in, his posture commanding. The traces of his earlier fury were gone, replaced by the composed authority of a monarch.
“General Rhaegor,” the king addressed him, his voice calm but resolute.
Rhaegor immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head in deference. “Your Majesty.”
Aythore approached, his boots clicking against the stone floor. He paused in front of the general, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Rise.”
Rhaegor obeyed, his posture straight and attentive.
Aythore clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly. “I’ve made my decision,” he began. “While it’s tempting to send aid to Ryedale, the reality is that we lack the manpower to address threats so far from home.”
Rhaegor nodded subtly, understanding the weight of the king’s words.
“The other kings and Family Lords have sent warriors to support us,” Aythore continued. “Their assistance is crucial in protecting our kingdom. If we divert even a fraction of our forces to Ryedale, we risk leaving ourselves vulnerable to another attack.”
“Then… we won’t investigate Ryedale?” Rhaegor asked cautiously.
Aythore’s expression hardened. “No, but we won’t ignore it either. I’ll ensure the letter reaches the other rulers. Someone will take up the cause. For now, our priority is securing Asphade and preventing another such attack.”
The king’s gaze locked onto Rhaegor’s. “Return to your post. Oversee the distribution of our forces. Make sure every town, village, and city is protected.”
Rhaegor saluted crisply. “Understood, Your Majesty.”
With a nod, Aythore dismissed him, sinking into the only chair left standing in the room. He leaned back with a weary sigh, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him.
General Rhaegor exited the chamber, his mind focused on his task. He returned to the command center, where maps of the kingdom were spread across a large table.
Red pins marked areas already fortified, while yellow pins indicated towns and cities still awaiting reinforcements.
“Status report,” Rhaegor barked, addressing his officers.
One of them, a captain with red hair and eyes, stepped forward, saluting. “Sir, reinforcements are readied and are waiting to be sent to the northern villages and the southern regions. The eastern towns are also waiting for troops.”
Rhaegor nodded, his eyes scanning the map. “Prioritize the eastern towns. I want them covered before sunset tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir!”
Rhaegor’s gaze lingered on a particular pin marking Eldham. Though the town was no longer under threat, its destruction served as a grim reminder of the stakes. He made a mental note to allocate extra patrols to the surrounding area.
The castle courtyard buzzed with activity as soldiers prepared to depart for their assigned posts.
Wagons loaded with supplies lined the cobblestone paths, and mounted messengers rode in and out, delivering orders.
Rhaegor stood on a raised platform, addressing the assembled troops. “You are the shield of this kingdom,” he declared, his voice ringing with authority. “The people of Asphade look to you for protection. Do not fail them.”
The soldiers saluted in unison, their faces resolute.
One by one, the units began to move out. Cavalry units galloped toward distant towns, while foot soldiers marched in disciplined formations. The sight was both reassuring and sobering.
As the last group departed, Rhaegor remained in the courtyard, watching until they disappeared from view.
Back in the chamber, King Aythore sat alone, staring at the remnants of his earlier outburst. His thoughts were heavy, weighed down by the knowledge that the safety of his kingdom was never guaranteed.
He reached for the letter from Ryedale, reading it once more. The desperation in its words was palpable, and though he’d made his decision, the thought of leaving the city to its fate gnawed at him.
“May the gods guide us,” he murmured, folding the letter and setting it aside.
For now, all he could do was hope that his choices would lead to survival—not just for his kingdom, but for the world at large. “They won’t forsake us.”