Ep 3: Flames of Betrayal

A House Divided:

The winds howl over the northern highlands as the banners of House Valenvar flutter above Frosthold. Inside the great hall, Selyne sits at a long oaken table, poring over a map of Eryndor. Her father, Lord Hadric Valenvar, stands at the head of the table, flanked by his trusted advisors.

“We can no longer trust the south,” Hadric declares, slamming his fist on the table. “Zerath’s forces are mobilizing. His ambition will not stop until every northern stronghold burns.”

Selyne traces her finger along the map, stopping at Drakfyr Pass, a narrow valley separating the northern highlands from the southern deserts. “If Zerath marches, he’ll have to cross through the pass. We can hold him there.”

Hadric nods, but his expression remains grim.* “It’s a sound plan, but we cannot defend the pass alone. The western isles and the central plains must stand with us. Send emissaries to House Aerowen and House Myradin. Without their aid, the north will fall.” *

One of the advisors, an elderly man with a thick gray beard, speaks up. “M’lord, House Myradin grows restless. They’ve begun hoarding grain and refusing trade caravans. Their loyalty is questionable.”

Hadric’s jaw tightens. “Then we remind them what’s at stake. If they refuse, they’ll find themselves at our gates, not Zerath’s.”

Selyne glances at her father, her voice hesitant. “And what of the assassin, Father? The blade that killed the High King was no ordinary weapon. Someone in the shadows is pulling the strings. If we don’t uncover the truth, we’re fighting blind.”

Hadric places a firm hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find the truth, Selyne. But for now, survival comes first.”

...****************...

The Brothers of Fire:

In the heart of the Hall of Flames, Zerath Drakfyr sharpens his blade, the sound of steel against stone echoing in the cavern. Around him, his warriors prepare for war, their dragon-scale armor glinting in the firelight.

Kael Drakfyr enters, his expression weary. “Zerath, we need to talk.”

Zerath doesn’t look up. “If you’ve come to lecture me about restraint, save your breath.”

Kael steps closer, his voice firm. “This isn’t just about restraint. It’s about survival. If you march north without uniting the southern houses, you’ll face resistance from all sides. Even our dragons won’t save us.”

Zerath finally meets his brother’s gaze, his golden eyes blazing with defiance. “You think I don’t see the bigger picture, Kael? While the others squabble over scraps, we’ll take the throne and bring order to this chaos. The north is weak. They’ll fall, and the rest will follow.”

Kael’s voice softens, but his words are resolute. “You’re playing right into someone’s hands, Zerath. The assassin wasn’t sent by the north. This war—it’s exactly what they want.”

For a moment, Zerath’s expression flickers with doubt, but he quickly masks it. “Enough, Kael. If you lack the courage to fight, then stay here. I don’t need your doubts poisoning my men.”

Kael’s fists clench, but he says nothing as Zerath turns away. Deep down, Kael knows his brother’s stubbornness may doom them all.

...****************...

The Crow’s Secret:

In a secluded cave near the riverbank, The Crow tends to a small fire, drying her soaked cloak. The satchel she carried lies beside her, its leather stained and worn. Her eyes flicker toward it, a mixture of fear and determination etched on her face.

She unfastens the satchel and pulls out a strange artifact—a shard of obsidian etched with glowing red runes. Its surface pulses faintly, as though alive.

“This can’t fall into their hands,” she murmurs to herself.

The sound of footsteps outside the cave startles her. She extinguishes the fire and slips into the shadows, her dagger drawn. A moment later, a hooded figure steps into the cave.

“Relax, Crow,” the figure says, pulling back their hood to reveal a young man with sharp features and piercing green eyes. “It’s me.”

The Crow lowers her dagger but doesn’t relax. “You shouldn’t have come, Dain. It’s too dangerous.”

Dain smirks. “And leave you to face them alone? Not a chance.” He glances at the artifact, his expression darkening. “Is that what they’re after?”

The Crow nods. “It’s a piece of the Sovereign’s Blade. If they gather all the pieces...”

Dain’s face pales. “The prophecy.”

The Crow’s voice hardens. “Which is why we have to keep it out of their hands. Help me get this to Veltharion. The Archmagister will know what to do.”

Dain hesitates but finally nods. “Alright. But we’ll have to move fast. The mercenaries are still hunting you.”

The Crow sheathes her dagger and grabs the satchel. “Then let’s not waste time.”

...****************...

Whispers of the Dark Sovereign:

In the ruins of Veltharion, Archmagister Nael Caerys stands before the Throne of Ashes, his staff glowing faintly in the dim light. The whispers of the Dark Sovereign grow louder, echoing through the shattered halls.

“The pieces are in motion,” a voice hisses, seeming to come from the very air around him. “The Crow carries what is mine. Bring it to me.”

Nael closes his eyes, his face a mask of concentration. “Your time has not yet come, Sovereign. The world must first fall into chaos.”

The voice laughs, a chilling sound that sends shivers down Nael’s spine. “Chaos is already here, old man. You cannot stop what is destined.”

Nael opens his eyes, his gaze steely. “Perhaps not. But I can delay it.”

As the whispers fade, Nael turns and walks away from the throne. His steps echo through the empty hall, each one a reminder that time is running out.

...****************...

The First Threads of War:

The episode closes with a montage:

- In Frosthold, Selyne straps on a fur-lined cloak and mounts her horse, riding out with a small escort to deliver her father’s message to the other houses.

- In Drakfyr, Zerath rallies his army, their banners emblazoned with the image of a golden dragon.

- The Crow and Dain move through the forest under the cover of darkness, their destination uncertain.

- And in the shadows of Veltharion, a crow lands on the Throne of Ashes, its caw echoing through the ruins.

The camera pans to the shard of obsidian in The Crow’s satchel, its glow intensifying as a faint, ominous whisper fills the air:

*"The Throne will burn, and with it, the world."*

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