Exiastgardsun Chronicles – Twelve Fruits of Creation

A vaulted chamber. Round, wide, silent. Four thrones faced each other, each draped in royal hues.

The first to arrive was Albenor, the White King. His presence calm yet resolute. Long blond hair cascaded neatly behind his shoulders. Dressed in ivory robes lined with silver, his warm blue eyes reflected quiet strength. The people called him the Benevolent Sun.

Next, Caelric, the Blue King. Lean, sharp-featured, green hair combed back with meticulous precision. His deep-set gray eyes darted behind thin spectacles. He wore deep sapphire robes, shoulders squared beneath a mantle of quiet tension. The Calm Strategist.

Dravion, the Red King, entered with heavy boots and heavier presence. His crimson cape billowed. Flame-red hair tied back, his muscular frame wrapped in hardened armor etched with battle scars. Eyes amber, gaze always seeking a fight. The Crimson Warlord.

Last came Malzahar, the Black King. Clad in layered black and violet, his short black hair slicked back. Pale skin. Dark eyes full of schemes. He carried no weapon, only a silver ring glinting on one hand. The Silent Serpent.

All sat.

Malzahar's voice was the first to cut the silence. "The mana tree. Still untouched. Still ripe with power. Should we continue pretending it's sacred forever?"

Albenor spoke firmly. "That tree belongs to the elves. Interference is a violation."

Dravion leaned forward, grin showing. "If you want a war, just say so. I'm itching for action. But even I won't swing blindly. I need a real plan."

Caelric adjusted his spectacles. "The elves guard it closely. They don't threaten us. Stirring them risks destabilizing the entire southern region."

Malzahar's tone remained composed. "We don't act now, someone else will. What if we use proxies? Goblins. Ogres."

Albenor scowled. "No. We're barely holding the monsters back. Turn them loose, and you doom cities."

Dravion crossed his arms. "Even I wouldn't trust ogres. They fight everything."

Caelric's voice sharpened. "And should the elves retaliate, our flanks fall. We're not positioned for total war."

Silence returned.

Albenor closed his eyes briefly. his inner thought, 'I must hold the line. If I falter, the others will plunge us into ruin. The elves seek no war, nor shall I.'

Dravion cracked his knuckles. his inner thought, 'This talk is boring. If Malzahar had a real plan, I might've drawn my sword already. But I won't march blind.'

Caelric adjusted his glasses. his inner thought, 'Too risky. If war breaks out, our borders fall. I won't bend to Malzahar, but I can't oppose him too openly... not yet.'

Malzahar smiled inwardly. his inner thought, 'They hesitate. That's enough. Delay is not defeat. The game still bends toward me.'

Malzahar's smile didn't waver. "Then we wait. But not forever. The tree... must not be forgotten."

Albenor stood. "We'll not support aggression."

Dravion and Caelric offered no further comment. The meeting dissolved, uneasy, unresolved.

---

Black banners swayed outside the Black Castle. Inside, in a tall obsidian tower, Malzahar returned to his chamber. He shed his crown, sighing quietly as he sat behind a polished desk.

A knock.

"Enter."

Seraphina stepped in, harp slung on her back. Her eyes earnest, her gait light.

"Sir Malzahar. Forest elf report, as promised."

He nodded, folding hands. "Speak."

"The deep forest elves remain distant. Distrustful. They only trust dwarves. However, the ones outside the forest are curious, more open. I met a group, young, odd, fun."

He raised a brow. "Go on."

"They're adventurers now. One's got twin pink tails and... unmatched energy. The others are calmer. But they all seem... kind."

Malzahar feigned a thoughtful nod. "And the forest?"

"Still closed. No human presence welcomed. But... maybe these kids could change that."

His voice was even. "Possibly. Thank you, Seraphina. You'll be paid. My secretary will handle it."

She brightened. "Thank you, kind lord! I'll keep my ears sharp and harp sharper!"

She turned with a twirl, hand over heart, and left with exaggerated flair. "The song of peace shall play on!"

Door closed.

Malzahar stared at the wood.

Malzahar's inner thought, 'Still believes every lie. Perfect little songbird, chirping on command, bringing me melodies wrapped in truth and innocence. She dances in a web spun for her, unaware she is the spider's bait, not its guest.'

'Her harp sings for peace, yet each note serves war. Such irony. Such usefulness.'

He leaned back, steepling his fingers.

'Let her wander. Let her smile. So long as she delivers the notes I require, her song will never end. Until I decide it must.'

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, low, controlled. Then it grew, deeper, darker, a laugh echoing off cold stone walls. Not loud. But unmistakably wicked. Malzahar laughed.

haha Hahaha MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

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