Chapter 4: The Letter

The throne room was shrouded in an uneasy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The king sat at the head of the table, his fingers tightening around the parchment bearing Polaris’s seal. The letter’s contents were a bitter pill to swallow, and he could scarcely believe the audacity of the man who had once been a mere servant.

The king’s voice, though steady, carried the chill of dread as he began:

“To the rulers of this fractured land, I, Polaris, reborn and unyielding, call upon you all. A tournament of wars will commence, where each kingdom shall prove its worth on the battlefield. The victors shall rise, and the vanquished shall fall, until only one remains. The kingdom that stands triumphant will have my allegiance—I shall serve them as their immortal weapon. Your kingdom, honored king, shall face the warriors of our neighboring land, with whom you have long shared peace. But peace no longer reigns. Let the bloodshed begin.”

A collective gasp filled the room as the king’s voice faltered. Advisors exchanged nervous glances, the implications of Polaris’s words settling over them like a thick fog. Prince Mehrajan felt the world tilt, the reality of Polaris’s twisted game sinking in. The kingdoms were being forced into a death match, pitted against one another by an immortal.

The king’s eyes were dark, filled with the weight of impossible decisions. “We have no choice but to prepare for war. To refuse is to invite destruction.” As the council erupted into a flurry of debate, Prince Mehrajan’s mind raced.

“Is his immortality his only strong suit? Wouldn’t an army be able to hold him captive?” One of the court members spoke up.

“Every person who got brought back by the Sahir has also been brought back with doubled strength, stamina, and more. The Sahir is a gifted sorcerer, and he was our ultimate weapon. He had the power of life.” The King answered him. Prince Mehrajan, who had been listening quietly from the shadows, stepped forward. His face was a mask of grim determination, his mind already racing through the possibilities.

“We need to discuss Polaris’s motives,” Mehrajan said, his voice calm but laced with urgency. “There must be more to this than a simple thirst for power. He’s playing a dangerous game, and we need to understand why.”

The king and everyone in the room were taken aback by the prince’s boldness. The royal children were known to remain on the periphery of such grave matters, their roles largely observational, as they were not yet of an age where their opinions could sway the course of the kingdom. “Son,” the king began, his voice measured and almost weary, “not all men seek to be understood. Some are driven by nothing more than the surface of their hatred, and often there is no depth to plumb. Understanding will not undo what has been done. We must act swiftly, without hesitation.” The words, though spoken softly, carried the weight of urgency, a father’s wisdom tempered by the gravity of the looming threat.