The grand council chamber of Solmaria was a towering, opulent hall of white stone and golden banners. A long marble table stretched down the center, with the kingdom's most powerful seated in a semicircle. The stained-glass windows painted soft colors across the floor, though no one noticed. The room was heavy with tension.
At the head of the table sat King Raphael of Solmaria, a grizzled yet regal man, sharp-featured with silver hair and ice-blue eyes. Beside him was Queen Evelynn, poised and keen, her gaze calculating beneath a veil of gentle grace.
To the king's right stood Holy Sister Lady Elara, Solmaria's highest-ranking priestess. She exuded a calm authority, her crimson eyes sharp against her ivory robes.
Further down was Sir Cedric, the kingdom's high commander, armored in ceremonial white and gold. Around them sat the assembled noble council:
Lord Albrecht, an elder statesman with a penchant for cautious pragmatism. Lady Mireille, ambitious and sharp-tongued, renowned for her influence in the southern provinces. Lord Vareon, the youngest member, optimistic and brash. Duke Renard, cold and calculating, loyal to the crown but known to voice harsh truths. Baroness Calla, polite but detached, her political sway subtle yet potent.
A young knight, Serena, subordinate to Cedric, finished relaying the report from Cindralis in careful detail. The room hung in heavy silence as her voice faded.
Lady Elara was the first to speak.
"He has done what he vowed. The summoned hero fought for us."
A murmur of agreement followed.
King Raphael broke the quiet. "Your thoughts on these events?"
Lord Albrecht stroked his beard. "A grim affair… but the boy and his party have earned their place. They subdued both cult and demon."
Lady Mireille scoffed. "Subdued, yes — but at what cost? Cindralis is in ruin."
Lord Vareon countered quickly. "Better a ruin of a minor city than the fall of the entire kingdom."
Cedric gave a firm nod. "Agreed. Tactical sacrifice."
Baroness Calla interjected softly. "And yet… he is a summoned hero of Eldoria, not ours."
Elara's crimson gaze swept the room. "A summoned hero is forged by fate, not birthright. Those granted the title by the gods lack the same desperate, necessary resilience. Summoned heroes are born from survival and trial — a weapon sharpened by the world, not privilege."
Duke Renard tapped the table. "He's still unseasoned. Compared to our Holy Knight, Selvanna Dawnblade, and her party, he lacks control."
Cedric grimaced. "True. But Selvanna was absent when Cindralis fell. We relied on the summoned hero — and he proved his worth. However…"
Lady Elara finished for him. "He bears one of the Seven Deadly Sins."
The room went deathly still.
Lord Vareon blinked. "The… what?"
Lady Mireille sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "New blood."
Elara addressed him patiently. "Since ancient times, there existed seven cursed weapons embodying the cardinal sins. Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Sloth, Pride, and Wrath. Those who wield them become avatars of that sin, whether knowingly or not. Knowledge of them was purged from the world, save for us, the royal families, and the Holy Church."
She gestured to a tapestry depicting a faded battle. "Everyone sins. It is inevitable. But one who bonds with these weapons is a danger — for they are consumed by the sin they embody."
Her gaze sharpened. "Leon, the summoned hero of Eldoria, is the wielder of the Blade of Wrath."
Whispers rippled around the table.
Elara continued, "Wrath is the most volatile of all. It feeds on anger, betrayal, injustice. In battle, he will grow stronger, but so too will his fury. And when his mind breaks — and it will — the cost will be catastrophic."
King Raphael's expression was grim. "Then he is both asset… and threat."
"As all summoned heroes have been," Lady Elara whispered.
Lord Vareon's expression hardened. "Then should we even allow him to live?"
Lady Elara held his gaze. "We still need his strength for the war against the demons. Especially now. The ceasefire is unexplained — we don't know what the demons are planning, but this reprieve will help us recover. And in the unlikely event the hero turns traitor… we are not without protection."
She rose slightly from her seat, voice steady. "While the Seven Deadly Sins' weapons are elusive — changing form and vanishing from records with every new wielder — the Goddess did not leave the world defenseless. She blessed the world with the Seven Heavenly Virtues."
She lifted a hand, reciting them solemnly:
"Chastity. Temperance. Charity. Diligence. Patience. Kindness. Humility."
Elara's voice deepened. "And those virtues too became weapons — seven sacred relics capable of countering the Sins. The Holy Church keeps them hidden, safe, until they are needed. One of those weapons is wielded now by our champion, Selvanna Dawnsworn."
She let the words settle. "As long as one of the virtues remains active, we can contest the darkness."
The nobles exchanged wary glances, the implications clear.
At that moment, a knight entered briskly and bowed. "Your Majesties. Holy Sister. The Holy Knight Selvanna has arrived in Solmaria."
A ripple passed through the room.
King Raphael gestured. "Bring her to us."
The council chamber's heavy air remained, now brimming with anticipation.
* * * * *
The double doors of the council chamber opened with a weighty groan. Every pair of eyes turned toward the entrance as the knight captain announced her arrival.
"Presenting Holy Knight Selvanna Dawnblade, wielder of the Virtue of Diligence."
Selvanna stepped through the threshold with a quiet authority that commanded immediate respect. Her armor shimmered like polished ivory, inlaid with celestial symbols. A mantle of midnight blue trailed behind her. The sword at her hip radiated faint golden light.
She was a woman of sharp, serene beauty — long platinum hair cascading like moonlight, storm-grey eyes steady and unreadable. There was neither arrogance nor meekness in her bearing, only calm resolve.
Behind her followed her party:
Aeron Kestrel, her second-in-command, a broad-shouldered warrior with fiery red hair and a sardonic smile.Seris Alune, an elven cleric with pale green hair and gentle, knowing eyes.Calen Drayce, a magic user clad in layered azure robes, eyes always half-lidded as if seeing far beyond the room.
Selvanna bowed to the council. "Your Majesties. Holy Sister Elara. Council."
King Raphael inclined his head. "Selvanna, your timely arrival honors us."
She straightened, gaze sharp as it settled on Lady Elara. "I was summoned concerning the events in Cindralis."
Elara gestured for her to approach. "You've heard some details. We've summoned you to brief you directly, and because a matter of grave import has surfaced."
Selvanna crossed the room in measured steps.
"The summoned hero."
Lady Elara gave a solemn nod. "Leon, bearer of Wrath's Blade."
A faint flicker crossed Selvanna's expression. It wasn't fear — it was calculation.
"I would request to meet this hero," she said. "Before the war resumes, before rumors shape my judgment. I wish to see him for myself."
Queen Evelynn smiled thinly, but it was King Raphael who spoke, his voice firm. "Denied. The hero will be summoned to Solmaria soon enough. You will meet him then, on our terms."
Selvanna's brow twitched, but she inclined her head. "As you command, Your Majesty."
The Holy Knight and her party turned, the council murmuring behind them as the heavy doors closed once again.
In the hallway, Aeron grunted. "So we're not meeting the kid who broke a demon herald and half a city yet, huh?"
Selvanna's grey eyes narrowed. "Not yet. But fate brings its players together soon enough."
*
*
*
The war room in Eldoria's royal palace was thick with tension. Heavy tapestries of red and gold muffled the sounds of the bustling city beyond the tall, stained-glass windows. At the long table sat King Edric, sharp-eyed and austere, his dark crown gleaming under the light of the chandelier.
Before him knelt Alden Greystorm, Captain of the Royal Guard and Edric's most trusted knight, clad in his engraved steel armor.
Alden finished his report with grim efficiency. "—The hero and his party, the Crimson Vow, succeeded in repelling the cult and slaying the Blood Herald. Cindralis stands, though heavily damaged. Leon's power… surpassed all expectations."
King Edric leaned back in his chair, a pleased glimmer in his golden eyes. "Good. He grows stronger."
Alden rose to his feet. "Your Majesty, if I may… Leon's progress is remarkable, but I must ask — why give the slave girl to him? It seemed a risky move."
The king waved a hand dismissively. "A calculated risk. A chain."
Alden's brow furrowed. "To bind him?"
"To ground him," Edric clarified. "A summoned hero in a foreign world — it's too easy for them to lose themselves, to grow reckless or detached. The girl was meant to be an anchor. A connection."
Alden mused aloud, "Because in his world, slavery is a horror. By giving him a slave, you forced him to confront it directly — to either discard her, or to see her as a person. And if he chose the latter…"
Edric's lips curled into a thin smile. "Then we have a hero tethered to our world, through empathy. Through guilt. Through sentiment. Either way, she shapes him."
Alden nodded slowly. "It was a gamble."
"A fifty-fifty chance," the king admitted. "But he proved naïve. Idealistic. He chose to protect her."
The room fell silent for a long moment.
King Edric's gaze sharpened. "Yet I wonder if it's truly justice he seeks… or the raw need to defy what he despises. Wrath's blade does not choose the righteous."
Alden's lips pressed into a line. "And what of the demon child, Velis?"
Edric's eyes narrowed, a shadow crossing his face. "A dangerous variable. One I intend to understand… soon enough."
The king steepled his fingers, the room darkening as the weight of their shared plans and secrets thickened the air.
*
*
*
The Grand Hall of Cindralis was a fortress of stone and flame. Its vaulted ceilings arched high overhead, crimson banners bearing the sigil of a blazing forge hammer hung proudly from the walls. At the head of the chamber sat the royal family of Cindralis.
King Arden Vaelor, a stern, broad-shouldered man with a mane of ash-grey hair and piercing dark eyes, sat upon the flame-wreathed throne. Beside him, Queen Selyra Vaelor, elegant and sharp-eyed, her long dark hair braided with silver threads, watched the room with calculating grace. At the king's right hand, Prince Caelum Vaelor, young, proud, and headstrong, fidgeted restlessly.
Before them stood a line of advisors, scribes, and guards, reviewing scrolls and missives detailing the events of the last bloody week.
A steward's voice carried through the hall. "It has been seven days since the hero, Leon of Eldoria, and his Crimson Vow repelled the cult's assault. The hero remains unconscious, though his party has been stabilized and granted residence within the royal quarter's guest halls. They await his recovery."
King Arden grunted. "They fought well."
Queen Selyra nodded. "Reports claim their coordination was extraordinary. Even amidst chaos, they held their line."
Prince Caelum scoffed. "Tch. And yet among them, a child of unknown origin. Strong, too strong for one so young. And that slave girl — a former Night Reaper, if the reports are true."
A hush fell over the hall at the mention of the name.
"A Night Reaper… a name whispered in the dark," Queen Selyra murmured. "A legend of assassins loyal only to coin. Said to be slaves, all of them. That one would fall in with the hero is… revealing."
Caelum's gaze hardened. "And what of this Kieran? He knows too much. I say we kill him before he brings danger upon us."
Queen Selyra raised a slender hand. "Foolish. You know nothing of the courts beyond these mountains. Kieran is a scion of one of the most infamous noble factions in the human kingdoms — a faction tied not to one land, but five."
Prince Caelum paled slightly. "You mean…?"
She cut him off with a cold glance. "A name best left unspoken in public halls."
King Arden's deep voice rumbled. "We'll watch them. All of them. When the hero wakes, we will meet them in person. See with our own eyes what kind of force this Crimson Vow truly is."
A steward bowed. "A maid has been assigned to tend to the hero and his companions. They are monitored closely."
King Arden leaned back, his voice final. "Good. Let them rest. The storm ahead will decide what kind of men and monsters they are."
*
*
*
The sun had long since set over the mountain fortresses of Dravengard, leaving only the crimson glow of the forge fires to paint the night. The distant clash of sparring weapons echoed faintly through the streets of stone, and high above it all, upon a secluded balcony of a towering manor, a solitary figure sat in quiet contemplation.
The figure, a tall man clad in black, trimmed crimson robes, gazed out across the warrior kingdom's skyline, the glow of molten forges reflecting in his cold, sharp eyes. In one hand, he held a porcelain cup of tea, steam curling into the evening air.
Before him knelt a woman, her face hidden beneath an intricate ivory half-mask, raven-black hair spilling over one shoulder. She wore the practical leathers of an adventurer, though the sharp gleam in her eye marked her as far more than that. A killer in service to shadows.
"My lord," she began, her voice quiet but unwavering. "The Crimson Vow's reputation grows by the day. They've achieved S-rank status in Eldoria, routed a cult, slain a dragon, and survived a battle with a Blood Herald. Leon's power is rising. The summoned hero and his party have become symbols."
The man said nothing, simply took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea.
The woman's gaze flickered, uneasy at the silence. "And what of… him?"
Still, the figure said nothing. Only a small, cold smile crept across his face.
At length, the man spoke, his voice deep and low, laced with quiet menace. "He will not escape his past. No matter how far he runs, or how brightly he shines now. The boy will come home. Sooner or later."
Another sip of tea.
"A pity," the man mused softly. "He and his little band have done well. A summoned hero. An S-ranked party. A dragon slain. A cult dismantled. A demon killed. A kingdom saved. All very impressive."
He chuckled to himself, a dry, humorless sound. "He's made it through life rather… positively, all things considered."
The masked woman remained motionless.
At last, he spoke again. "Leave them be for now, Selira. Taking his party would spark tensions I'm not yet inclined to navigate. The war will come soon enough, and after it does… I will collect what belongs to me."
Selira bowed her head. "As you command, my lord."
The figure let out a final, quiet sigh, the wind carrying his words into the darkened sky.
"Good luck surviving this. Our reunion waits at the end of it."
The wind answered with a hollow whisper, and the tea's steam curled into the night.