Morning came.
The city was alive with noise. Streets bustled, conversations overlapped, and news spread like wildfire.
A headline dominated the morning chatter:
"Merlion Soldiers Slaughtered by Frings' Cousin"
In the crowded taverns, people gathered not for drinks—but for gossip.
"What? How could they do that? The Merlion family was so kind. They even invited them to the banquet," someone said.
"Nah, it's just payback. I'm sure the Merlion family started all of it," another replied.
Tok, tok, tok.
"Rethrus. Rethrus!"
Gerard's voice came through the door along with a series of knocks.
"Hmm? What?" Rethrus opened the door groggily.
"Look—here." Gerard pointed at the newspaper in his hand.
Rethrus scanned the headline. His eyes widened.
"See? You were right. Something was going to happen," Gerard said with a grin.
Which is weird because it's about killed human beings.
"Yeah… but I never thought it'd be this extreme," Rethrus replied.
"Hmmm... I wonder what the two families are doing right now," he muttered to himself as he sat down, scanning the headlines. The tension in the air felt thicker than the ink on the pages.
Frings' Mansion
Lord Frings paced rapidly through the lavishly adorned room. His footsteps echoed, but the silence around him felt oppressive. His assistant stood nearby, nervously glancing between Frings and the door.
"My Lord, we can't find your cousin," the assistant reported, his voice tight with unease.
Frings' fists clenched at his sides, his face twisting with frustration.
"Damn it, how could you do this, Fergus?" he muttered under his breath. "You're making it very difficult for me."
He turned sharply, walking faster now, his mind racing. "Where the hell could you be hiding?"
Tok, tok, tok.
"Come in!" Frings barked, his patience wearing thin.
Dante stepped in cautiously, holding out a letter. His hands trembled slightly as he handed it over.
"My Lord, a letter... from the Merlion family."
Frings snatched it from him, tearing the seal with practiced haste. He unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the words quickly. His breath caught in his throat as he read the message:
For Frings Costamado,
I hope this letter finds you well, though I doubt it shall bring you peace.
It has come to my attention that your family has chosen a most regrettable course of action. You and I, once allies in the eyes of this city, now stand on the precipice of an inevitable reckoning. What I offer here is no jest, no empty threat—only the cold weight of what must be done.
I need not remind you of the hospitality extended to your house. I invited you into my home, into my family's fold. Yet, in return, you have repaid me with bloodshed and deceit.
Fergus Costamado, your cousin, has brought this upon himself. His actions—craven, thoughtless—have cast a shadow over this city and over everything we have built. I shall not allow this insult to go unanswered.
Therefore, I demand that you deliver to me the head of Fergus Costamado by the fall of night. There will be no parley, no mercy, no negotiation. You will make this choice with the dignity that is expected of those in your position.
Fail to comply, and we shall walk the path of war. I promise you, the cost of such a choice will be beyond what either of us could have anticipated.
I will await your response, though I suspect you already know what must be done.
Karlvistos Merlion
Lord of House Merlion
Frings' jaw tightened as he crumpled the paper in his fist. The words seemed to burn in his hand.
How dare he? Frings thought, seething. "A threat from from him"?
Frings took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His mind shifted quickly to strategy, thinking about how he could handle this. He knew the death was part of a larger plot—something planned—but it didn't matter now.
The insult, the challenge to his authority—that was what stung the most. His pride, the reputation of his family... no one threatened him like this.
"Wait, does he think he can threaten me?" Frings fumed.
"I run this city, not him. We've beaten them before. We'll do it again."
He crushed the letter in his hand and slammed it onto the desk, his thoughts turning violent.
"He wants war? Fine. I'll give him war."
Frings spun around, his voice cold as ice.
"Dante! Prepare the men, and hire mercenaries. Let's end this once and for all."
"Yes, sir!" Dante responded quickly, already heading for the door.
"Alton!!" Frings called out sharply.
Alton rushed in, standing at attention.
"Send letters to every family in the city.
Tell them;
"Turn on your barriers, make sure you stay out of this fight. If the King finds out that Aurelia is in chaos, we'll be giving him a reason to send a General here to take control of the city. We cannot afford that."
"Yes, sir," Alton replied, nodding as he quickly made his way out to carry out the orders.
Frings stood alone, the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. His heart pounded as the words of Karlvistos echoed in his mind.
Couriers sprinted through cobbled streets, personal parchments in hand, Costamado's crimson seal stamped onto each message. By midday, every noble estate in Aurelia had received Lord Frings' urgent request.
At the Velmire Estate, sunlight poured through stained glass as Lord Halren Velmire stood in his study, reading the letter in silence. His brow creased.
"He wants us to seal our lands? Keep out of it?" his butler asked.
Halren turned to the window, watching the city's streets stir with anxious whispers.
"Frings is desperate," he said. "And desperate men make foolish wars. We will do as he asks—for now."
In the upper district, the Quentari Villa stood serene, ivy-covered walls hiding the heated conversation within.
Lady Ysolde Quentari laid the letter on the table and sipped her tea.
"He's smart enough to warn us, but not wise enough to avoid bloodshed," she murmured.
Her daughter, arms crossed, asked, "Will we help them?"
"No. If Merlion sees us take sides, we invite his wrath. And if the king hears of it…"
She let the silence speak. "Seal the villa. No guests. No involvement."
Meanwhile, in the stone-walled Gravenhold Keep , Baron Edric Graven read the letter as the morning sun cut through the cold.
"No negotiations," he muttered. "Of course there aren't."
"What now, my lord?" a guard asked.
"We stay out of it. Close the gates. But keep the watchmen sharp."
He looked south, toward the smoke trails of the city's taverns.
"This won't be a long fight. It'll be loud. Fast. And very, very messy."
By noon, magical barriers flickered to life over every noble estate.
The city hadn't gone silent—but it had begun to hold its breath.
Everyone waited to see who would draw the first real blood.