Emerald and silver sewn into the tall spires of the castle gave Veyrlen's banners a delicate flutter in the spring wind. From a distance, it seemed to be a kingdom of academics, historians, and damaged magic from a bygone age.
Little more than a living museum, it was for those who visited dusty vaults and ritual parades. But inside the inner sanctum, deeper than the libraries and older than the founding stones of the territory.
Sat the Verdant Assembly, Veyrlen's true heart.
And there sat Queen Seralia in the middle. Under the dim light of the council chamber, her piercing green eyes glittered as though they judged a man's worth in one look. Even among her people, she was known by whispered names: The Emerald Mirror, The Weigher of Souls, and The Emerald Gaze.
She listened tonight.
Dusty and well-traveled, a scout knelt before her throne, voice subdued and respectful.
"We followed your orders, Majesty. Elderrest...the community seems to have declined. Fires are still burning but the air," he paused. " Is heavy with something unnatural."
Seralia turned her head just slightly. Unseen, a wave of anxiety swept over the chamber.
"Explain" she said.
Her voice blended soft velvet over a blade. The scout swallowed hard. He offered a piece of parchment ripped from a binding rune discovered half-burned at the outskirts of the village.
Still, long after the ceremony had finished, faint marks pulsed along its surface.
"The magic remains, Your Grace." he continued . "Even those without the trained sight for magic can sense it. Runes unlike anything they've cataloged."
Murmurs flowed across the covert council. Eyes turned to Seralia, waiting for her response. She spent a long time just looking at the scrap, saying nothing. Then she spoke with confidence:
"Find the source," she commanded. "Before the Arcane lock their jaws around it"
The scout bowed deeper.
" There is more," he murmured, his voice breaking. "We traced...faint signs. Trails of magic leading away from the ruins."
Seralia's lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile. It lives, she thought. She leaned back into the high-backed throne carved with runes whose meanings had long since been forgotten by the outside world and whispered:
"We will move slowly. Let the Arcane bleed their experiments dry, we will gather what remains.The world thinks us broken"
"They think we guard bones" murmured a masked councilor nearby.
"When the tides shift, it will be Veyrlen that rises"
Seralia answered, eyes gleaming like twin blades. Outside the council chamber, the castle bells rang softly, innocently, and forgotten but inside, the future tilted.