A thick tension hung in the air of the council chamber, as palpable as the heavy drapes that muffled the outside world. Each representative sat ramrod straight, their faces carefully neutral masks, though the subtle clenching of a jaw or the barely perceptible narrowing of an eye betrayed the guarded unease that permeated the room. No friendly greetings were exchanged, no casual conversations murmured; only the rustle of papers and the almost silent shifting of bodies punctuated the heavy silence, each nation's envoy acutely aware that the words spoken in this hallowed hall could irrevocably alter the delicate balance of power.
Mikael looked at the head of the table and noticed that one person hadn't arrived yet. It was the tradition of the host country's representative to sit at the head of the table and lead proceedings, and as such, the King of Adonis was the chairperson for this gathering.
There were seven nations on the continent of Appolonia: The Kingdom of Archadia, The Empire of Adonis, The Goblin Nation of Gwaltch, The Elven Nation of Tessaloni, The Beast Kingdom of Granoa, the Dwarven Kingdom of Quava, and the Necroleonic Federation. However, Gwaltch and the Federation were not a part of the treaty, although they had the option to participate.
There were supposed to be six, that is, including the Goblin Nation of Gwaltch, but then the Mongul King never showed up, and the others were unbothered by his absence either way.
Mikael looked at the main cast for this afternoon's drama.
Present was the Chancellor of the Elven Kingdom, Lord Klarian Machiavelli.
The Chancellor, Klarian, was a vision of ageless elven grace. His long, silver-green hair had a few streaks of gray and cascaded down his back, framing a face etched with wisdom and a hint of melancholy. He had a laurel wreath adorning his head, and his robes, woven from shimmering forest silks, seemed to shift and change color with the light, a testament to the Elven Kingdom's mastery of nature's artistry.
Across from him sat the Chieftain of the Beast Nation and King of Demi-humans, Bane Rakshura. Rakshura, a silver fox with four silver tails, a hulking figure of a man, radiated raw power. His broad shoulders and thick limbs spoke of a life lived close to the earth, while his piercing amber eyes hinted at the cunning mind beneath. He wore simple leathers, adorned with feathers and beads, a stark contrast to the finery of the other delegates. He also had a circlet set with a glittering ruby that rested on his brow. He glared at the elven Chancellor, who returned his gaze, glancing at him with contempt.
For years, the Elven Kingdom of Tessaloni and the Demi-Human nation of Granoa had existed as uneasy neighbors, their shared border a constant source of tension. The Elves, with their isolated and reclusive nature, had long neglected a portion of the border that linked the two territories, leaving it vulnerable to exploitation by nefarious forces. Traffickers and slavers took advantage of this laxity, using the porous border to enter Tessaloni and then branch into Granoan territory, where they would kidnap and enslave countless Demi-Humans. The Elves, oblivious to the suffering of their neighbors, turned a blind eye to these atrocities, further exacerbating the animosity between the two nations.
The strained relationship between Tessaloni and Granoa had long been a powder keg waiting to be ignited. That spark came in the form of a cataclysmic event that destroyed the Elven capital city, during which the two princesses of the respective kingdoms vanished. The Granoans, already seething with resentment towards their Elven neighbors, were quick to accuse them of colluding with the humans responsible for the disaster. The Elves, in turn, countered with accusations of their own, claiming that the Granoans had orchestrated the entire ordeal out of petty vengeance. The situation teetered on the brink of all-out war, with both sides refusing to back down.
It was only through the intervention of this very Council that war was narrowly averted. The Council's mediation helped to cool tensions, but the bad blood between Tessaloni and Granoa remained. The wounds of the past still lingered, and the disappearance of the two princesses remained a mystery, fueling speculation and mistrust. Mikael, ever the shrewd observer, had his own suspicions about the whereabouts of the two princesses, and though he wasn't 100% sure, he kept it to himself for the time being, knowing that such information could be a valuable bargaining chip in future negotiations.
The King of the Dwarves, Vontimr Borin, a stout and sturdy dwarf, sat next to the elven king with his arms crossed, his braided beard resting on his chest. His face, weathered like granite, was impassive, betraying nothing of his thoughts. He was clad in heavy, practical armor.
This time around, there was a change. The Necroleonic Federation had not participated in the war and had managed to stay neutral, not favoring either side. The Queen of the Federation, Queen Yallaine Al'Vlad, had only come to observe the first meeting and hadn't been seen in their midst since. However, they had sent a representative – a girl who appeared to be no more than thirteen years old, although she was a vampire and could be the oldest in the room. Her being here meant that she was in the immediate royal family. This allowed Mikael to narrow it down. He had some level of information about the southernmost country where the sun barely shined, that was home to the sons and daughters of the night. He also knew some information about the royal family and about the queen's offspring. He knew that Sharone, Kojo's companion back in Archadia, was one of them, though he didn't know the exact circumstances that led her to the kingdom. He'd suspected her since the moment he saw her at the tournament, but he trusted his niece's eyes, so he let her be for the time being. They didn't actually think they could actually hide that information from him?
"Honestly, what's that boy doing picking up all these people? What's his political agenda?" Mikael wondered.
Anyway, through the information he was able to glean, this was the youngest of the Queen's children, a princess of the nation of ghouls, vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The young princess Xevia was a vision of gothic lolita charm. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her raven-black hair, which had its ends a deep scarlet color, styled in pigtails on either side of her head and adorned with delicate red lace ribbons. A frilly black dress, complete with layers of petticoats and a cloak, completed her attire. Her crimson eyes, however, were cold and calculating and belied her youthful appearance, hinting at the powerful blood that flowed through her veins.
Just then, the doors opened, and in walked the host for the evening.
The Emperor of Adonis, Emperor Brianus Megalorchus, resplendent in his imperial finery, swept into the chamber with an air of confident majesty. His piercing brown eyes, like two warm, honey-colored orbs, shone with a deep wisdom and authority, as if the weight of the empire rested squarely on his broad shoulders.
His thick, short, dark beard, flecked with threads of silver, framed his strong, chiseled features. His imperial robes, a rich, velvety purple, adorned with intricate patterns of gold and precious gems, seemed to shimmer and glow in the soft light of the chamber, as if infused with the very essence of power.
A gold royal crown sat atop his head, serving as a symbol of his imperial authority. As he took his seat, the gathered dignitaries watched him, awaiting the imperial nod that would signal the commencement of the meeting.
Emperor Brianus Megalorchus, his eyes surveying the room with a piercing intensity, raised his hand, and the room fell silent.
"Let us begin," he declared, his voice like thunder on a summer's day, commanding attention and inspiring awe. "We have gathered here today to address the pressing matters that threaten the stability of our realms. Let us speak with candor, and may the wisdom of the ages guide our deliberations."