Location: Armathane, Noble Quarter → Ducal Tower (observation post)
Time: Day 198 After Alec's Arrival
The noble quarter of Armathane no longer smelled of authority.
Once, it had been incense and ink, laced with the sharp tang of wax-sealed decrees and centuries-old pride. Now, it reeked of nervous oil — the cold sweat of barons discovering they were no longer at the center of power.
Lord Halven of House Velhart stood on the terrace of his family's upper manse, watching the smoke rise from the Midgard Company's new smith-complex across the southern basin. Workers moved in geometric precision. Banners not of lineage, but of function, marked the compounds.
Grey, trimmed in copper.
Unblooded. Unblessed.
And yet, it was those banners now drawing coin, control, and credibility.
"Lord Halven?" came the voice of his steward behind him.
"What is it."
"You were expected at the Baronial Summit—"
"I know where I'm expected," Halven muttered. "That's the problem."
📜 The Summit of Teeth (Private Noble Meeting)
Held in the gilded hall of Baron Tellan's manor, the summit had drawn seven houses — not enough to act, but enough to whisper.
"This census undermines us," said Baroness Kira. "They know how many goats I own, but not how many guards Midgard keeps on its borders."
Tellan spat into a cup. "The duchess has gone mad. This Alenia—he's not even from this world. For all we know, he's possessed."
"Or worse," muttered another. "Educated."
Halven didn't speak. He simply sipped his tea, watching the room like a historian observing a dying kingdom argue over the language of its obituary.
"We should petition the king," one said.
"To do what?" Halven finally asked. "Reinstate our dignity with parchment?"
They all turned.
His voice was cool, as always. But his words had weight.
"You forget where you are," Kira snapped.
"No," Halven said. "You forget what time it is. You're all playing chess while the man at the other table is building a clock. And when he's done, he won't even need to look at us to know how we'll move."
The silence that followed was ugly.
And permanent.
🕯 Alone in the Tower
That night, Halven stood alone in the Ducal Tower's upper chamber — one of the few nobles still permitted to walk there unescorted.
He watched Alec in the courtyard below, directing a training session with newly assigned guard officers. No pomp. No cloak. Just instructions delivered in that clipped, flat tone of his — efficient, exact, almost inhuman.
One officer dropped his weapon mid-form.
Alec corrected him with a hand motion, not words.
The officer nodded. Picked it back up.
Moved better.
Halven felt the back of his neck tighten.
This wasn't sorcery.
It was something worse.
Clarity.
"He's not one of us," Halven said aloud.
But the wind did not agree.
It carried only the scent of fire oil and sweat and iron — and the sound of a duchy no longer obeying nobles, but orders.
📜 Halven's Letter (Unsent, For Now)
Your Grace,I request an audience — not as a lord of Velhart, but as a man unwilling to stand still while the earth moves beneath him.If we are to survive this age, then the old blood must either clot or flow forward.I would rather flow.
Respectfully,
Halven,
Third of House Velhart
He stared at the ink as it dried.
Then folded the letter.
Unsealed.
For now.