CHAPTER 48: CHAPTER 48: COUNCIL

The wind sweeping across the southern trade road was cold and bitter, carrying whispers from the north. The road had once been lined with banners and bustling caravans. Now, only silence and the faint scent of smoke remained.

Lucas Carter, now Scion of the Roaring King, stood at the head of a small convoy. His cloak fluttered behind him as his eyes scanned the vast horizon. The journey to the Council of Beasts had begun.

Kaela rode beside him, Thunderfang keeping a steady pace. Elira followed, her bow resting across her lap as Luna padded alongside their cart of supplies. Malrick was at the rear, mumbling about faulty travel glyphs and limited ink.

"Anything?" Kaela asked.

Lucas narrowed his gaze. "No signs of ambush. But something’s watching."

Elira nodded grimly. "I feel it too."

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the side path ahead. Tall. Hooded. Cloaked in tattered black and silver robes, with a massive molten greatsword slung across his back. A powerful crimson drake prowled beside him, its scales glowing with internal heat.

The convoy halted.

Kaela gripped her axes. "Should I?"

"Wait," Lucas said, stepping forward.

The stranger lowered his hood.

He was young. No older than twenty-two, but with eyes like storm-forged steel—eyes that had seen too much. His silver hair was tied in a rough braid, and a scar ran from his right brow to his cheek.

"Lucas Carter," the stranger said with a polite nod. "Or should I say, Scion of the Roaring King?"

Kaela stiffened. Elira’s hand went to her bowstring.

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The man bowed low.

"Darius Valtor. Former Prince of Virelin. Exiled. Beast Scholar. Genius, according to some. Traitor, according to most."

Elira raised an eyebrow. "You don’t seem humble."

Darius smirked. "I find humility overrated when you’ve been hunted by your own blood."

Lucas stepped closer. "You knew my name. You knew the title. Why are you here?"

Darius gestured toward the path behind him. "Because I saw the flare. The signature of the Dominion Command. That kind of magic hasn’t awakened since the Roaring King fell. And because I know what comes next."

"And what’s that?"

"Chaos," Darius said, voice grave. "The council summit is a trap. Not just political. Something darker stirs beneath the halls of Vel Arden. Something that feeds on ambition."

Lucas frowned. "You’re saying it’s corrupted?"

"I’m saying it’s being prepared."

Angel’s voice buzzed faintly.

{Warning: Subject Valtor possesses unstable signature. Caution advised. Yet... potential compatibility detected.}

Kaela crossed her arms. "You want us to trust a guy flagged as unstable?"

"I don’t want your trust," Darius said. "I want to join your cause."

Elira gave him a wary look. "Why?"

Darius’ eyes softened. "Because my brother sits on the northern throne, wearing a crown forged from blood. And if what’s coming is as bad as I think, your war will need more than beasts and blades. It will need minds."

Lucas considered it. The silence stretched.

Then he turned.

"Walk with us. Not behind. Not ahead. Walk with us. We’ll see if you belong."

Darius gave a half-smile. "Fair enough."

...

They made camp that night beneath the ruins of an old fort. The walls were cracked, but the stones held enough warmth to keep the chill away. Fires crackled, casting shadows over the group.

Lucas sat with a piece of parchment in hand, drafting the diplomatic angles for the summit. Darius sat nearby, sketching runes in the dirt. The Crimson Flame Drake lay curled behind him, its body emitting gentle heat.

"You’re skilled," Lucas said without looking.

"Studied under the High Arcanum before they exiled me. Said my ideas were too dangerous."

"And were they?"

"Only if you’re afraid of turning theory into reality."

Elira watched from a distance, eyes narrowed. Kaela cleaned her axes, but occasionally glanced at Darius.

"What do you know about the Roaring King’s relics?" Lucas asked.

Darius tapped his greatsword, which shimmered briefly before reverting into the drake. "Enough to know the core you carry isn’t the last. There are five. One for each pillar of his empire."

Lucas froze. "Pillars?"

"Power. Wisdom. Heart. Beast. Flame. Each one holds part of the old king’s soul. You carry Beast. Which means the others are waking too. And the wrong hands will want them."

Kaela looked up. "Like your brother?"

Darius nodded. "Especially him."

...

At dawn, they reached the hill overlooking the capital of Vel Arden.

Sprawling stone towers. Floating beast arenas. Crystal domes housing arcane archives.

And above it all, the Spire of Accord, where the Beast Lords would gather.

Lucas stared down.

"We make for the summit at noon. Kaela, Elira—we go in as equals. No bowing. No submission. We represent the blood of kings."

Darius stepped beside him, armor beginning to shimmer with the early glow of his Wyrm Armor. "And what if they don’t accept that?"

Lucas smiled grimly. "Then we remind them why the Roaring King was feared."

Angel chimed again.

{Mission Branch: Council of Beasts – Enter Phase I. Objectives will update based on influence, alliances, or open conflict.}

Kaela stretched. "Let’s see who’s smart enough to stay on our side."

Elira checked her bow. "And who we’ll have to bury."

Lucas tightened his cloak.

"This isn’t just a council. It’s a battlefield with softer floors. Let’s tread loud."

...

Far north, a messenger knelt before a shadowed throne.

"Your brother rides for Vel Arden, my lord. With the Roaring King’s heir."

The figure on the throne—slim, regal, and deadly—smiled.

"Then let the games begin."

...

The fires of war had long cooled, but the embers still glowed in memory.

Lucas Carter stood in the Council Spire’s observation chamber, high above Vel Arden. From the curved glass window, he could see the aftermath of conquest—the patchwork camps of allies and emissaries, the Beast Lords’ banners flying in wary harmony, and the distant shimmer of Greystone’s sigil in the sky, shining like a beacon of hope and power.

Kaela approached from behind, her armor cleaned and mended, though the scar on her thigh still showed through the new cloth. She said nothing at first, only leaned beside him, following his gaze.

"It’s quiet now," she murmured.

Lucas nodded. "Too quiet."

Elira joined them moments later, her steps soft. Luna padded behind her with a faint limp. "Scouts report the northern tribes are starting to move again. Small warbands. Testing our reach."

Lucas rubbed his temples. "They’ll keep probing until someone draws blood. We need to show them what victory costs."

But even as he spoke, his mind drifted to another memory—a flashback, sharp and vivid.

...

It was the eve of the battle. The entire city of Greystone had been alive with purpose.

Lucas stood in the great hall surrounded by his most trusted allies. Angel had just delivered the mission:

[Main Quest: Defend the Rising Star]

Objective: Defend Greystone and repel the invading Stonewatch forces.

Reward: Spatial Beast Companion — Starwing, a flying lemur capable of opening teleportation portals between conquered or allied cities.

The possibilities raced through Lucas’s mind. Strategic mobility. Instant reinforcements. A new era of beast-assisted travel.

Kaela had stepped forward that night, grabbing his arm with fierce resolve.

"This is our future," she said. "We bleed now, or we bleed forever."

Elira added quietly, "And we bleed together. Always."

Lucas never forgot that moment. That bond.

...

Now, back in the present, Angel’s voice echoed through his mind.

{Quest Summary Uploaded. Processing Rewards...}

[Quest Complete: Defend the Rising Star]

Victory: Greystone defended. Commanding presence established.

Bonus Objectives:

Morale exceeded 90% during final charge ✓Unlocked Bloodline Relic of the Roaring King ✓Party Survival Rate: 100% ✓

[Grade: S++]

Rewards Unlocked:

Beast Companion Gained: Starwing (Spatial Lemur - Mythic)

Title: Heart of the Stronghold Skill: Bastion Pulse — Temporarily increases defense, morale, and regeneration in a fixed radius.New System Feature: Beacon Network (connect cities for instant tactical travel)

Lucas inhaled. The scroll of rewards unfurled like a new Chapter.

Kaela peered over his shoulder. "That lemur thing real?"

"Starwing," Lucas replied. "It’s real. And it’s ours. But no one else can know."

As if hearing its name, a shimmer of starlight emerged from within Lucas’s cloak. Starwing blinked its bright eyes and snuggled deeper into the folds of his clothes, remaining hidden.

Kaela smirked. "Secret weapon, huh?"

"Exactly," Lucas said. "Only we know. And it stays that way."

...

Later that evening, Darius Valtor stood alone atop the council balcony, his crimson cloak rippling in the breeze. He watched as new recruits trained in the outer courts, their forms crude but full of fire.

The Crimson Flame Drake slept behind him, breathing softly, its tail flickering with heat.

Lucas joined him.

"You’ve been quiet since we returned," Lucas said.

Darius didn’t look away. "War changes more than just the battlefield. It rewrites futures."

Lucas leaned against the railing. "You regret joining us?"

Darius scoffed. "Not for a second. I was born to wear a crown. But now, I’d rather serve one who earns his with fire and loyalty."

The two stood there for a while.

"You still haven’t told me what really happened with your brother," Lucas said.

Darius’ face darkened. "One day I will. But first, we survive the council."

...

The next morning, the council chamber echoed with the arrival of dignitaries.

Lords, nobles, war-beasts, and emissaries across the continent entered the Spire of Accord. The air brimmed with ancient magic, tension, and ambition.

Lucas wore ceremonial black and silver armor, trimmed with the insignia of the Roaring King. Kaela and Elira flanked him, their weapons sheathed but visible. Darius stood at his left, arms folded, his drake resting behind him like a silent threat.

A herald announced the attendees.

"Lord Victor Caelum of House Caelum, High Heir of Elarion."

Lucas’s older brother entered with a smirk, his gleaming armor and entourage behind him.

"Prince Rodrick Valtor, Wyrm-Blooded Scion of Virelin."

Darius’s brother strode in with regal contempt, his lava-encrusted blade strapped to his back.

"Well, if it isn’t the lucky mongrel and the cursed genius," Rodrick sneered.

Victor chuckled. "Lucas, you always did have a talent for surviving things above your station."

They then turned to Kaela and Elira.

"But your companions," Victor added, bowing mockingly, "are truly radiant. Perhaps they’d consider nobler service."

Kaela rolled her eyes. "Say that again and I’ll relocate your jaw."

Elira smiled coldly. "We don’t serve cowards."

As tensions flared, another presence entered.

Tall. Silver-robed. Unnaturally graceful.

"Announcing Varion, the Hand of the Abyss."

Whispers filled the hall.

"Lucas Carter," Varion said with a thin smile. "The council is watching. So I’ll offer you this once—kneel, become my vassal, and I will elevate Greystone to an empire."

Lucas stared coldly. "I don’t kneel to rot wrapped in silk."

Varion turned to the two brothers. "Victor. Rodrick. You know what I offer."

Both bowed.

"We accept, Lord Varion."

Darius snarled. "Traitors."

Lucas was about to speak when another voice rose.

"Announcing Princess Yveria of the Oracalli Dominion."

A young woman entered, calm, composed, with emerald robes that shimmered with threads of prophecy. A small koala-like beast clung to her shoulder, its eyes wise and shimmering.

"She can see the future," Kaela whispered.

The koala blinked and, to everyone’s shock, spoke in a low, wise voice. "Not all futures, mind you. Only the ones that fear their own truth."

After the council discussion, Princess Yveria approached Lucas privately.

"There is a vision," she said, voice gentle. "Of a king rising without a crown. A roaring flame in his heart. But also... darkness at his heels."

Lucas frowned. "I don’t believe in prophecies."

"You don’t have to," she replied. "They only matter if you let them."

He looked toward his companions.

"Then let the future be earned—not predicted."

...

The council nearly descended into chaos as Lucas and Darius stood their ground.

Only the high judge’s spell of restraint kept blades sheathed.

But one thing was clear:

The next war wouldn’t be about land.

It would be about who shaped destiny.

And Lucas Carter would carve his path with fire, fury, and loyalty—not prophecy.