Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 55: COUNCIL OF LORDS

Chapter 55: COUNCIL OF LORDS

The Royal Palace of Aetheria rose like a spire of alabaster and gold against the darkening sky, its ancient wards glimmering with renewed intensity. Reed gazed upon the imposing structure from the back of his midnight steed, whose hooves left smoldering imprints on the cobblestone path. The royal summons had arrived less than eight hours after the confrontation with the transformed Lianna—a crystalline message sphere delivered by a royal courier whose hands trembled as he approached Reed’s domain.

Emergency Council of Lords. Immediate attendance required. By decree of King Thalius IV.

Reed had known the crown would eventually respond to the crisis, but he hadn’t expected it so soon. Intelligence from his remaining scouts suggested that news of the Hero transformations had been ruthlessly suppressed across several domains. Someone at court had ears in places even Reed’s network couldn’t reach.

"They’ll try to execute you the moment you cross the threshold," warned Mordecai, Reed’s most trusted advisor, riding alongside him. The old man’s face was a map of scars and worry lines, deepened by recent events. "The Royal Guard has tripled since your last visit, and I count at least six arcane traps embedded in the approach alone."

Reed nodded silently. The sigils beneath his skin pulsed in response to the nearby magical defenses, his enhanced senses mapping them automatically. Six visible traps, yes—and seventeen more concealed by masterful illusion work. The palace had become a fortress designed specifically to contain someone of his caliber.

"They need me more than they realize," Reed finally replied, urging his mount forward. "And I need them, if only for their resources."

The clock was ticking. Thirty-four hours remained before total system collapse, according to the last notification. In that time, he had to convince a roomful of aristocrats that everything they believed about their world was a lie—and that their own champions were now their greatest threat.

All while the woman he loved drifted further from his reach with each passing hour.

The Grand Council Chamber gleamed with oppressive magnificence. Towering columns of polished obsidian supported a domed ceiling adorned with frescoes depicting the founding of the kingdom. Chandeliers of crystallized magic shed cold light upon the assembled lords and ladies, their finery a riot of color that belied the grim purpose of their gathering.

Reed felt their collective gaze upon him as he entered—some curious, others openly hostile. His transformation had changed more than just his abilities; his physical appearance had become unsettling to those sensitive to magical energies. The sigils that marked his skin pulsed visibly beneath his formal attire, and his eyes now held an unnatural luminescence that intensified when he accessed his powers.

King Thalius IV sat upon the Oblivion Throne—a massive construct of black metal and enchanted gems said to grant its occupant immunity to magical influence. At seventy-three, the king was a withered shadow of his former self, yet his eyes remained sharp as they followed Reed’s progress into the chamber.

"Lord Reed," the king’s voice carried surprising strength, "your presence has been much discussed among the council. Some believed you would not answer our summons."

Reed bowed with precise formality—deep enough to show respect, shallow enough to maintain dignity. "When the crown calls, loyalty demands an answer, Your Majesty. Particularly in such times."

A derisive laugh cut through the murmurs that followed. Lord Vex of the Obsidian Towers—one of the few who had escaped his domain when his Hero turned—stepped forward. His left arm was missing below the elbow, the stump wrapped in black silks embroidered with silver runes.

"Loyalty? From the man whose actions have brought catastrophe upon us all?" Vex’s voice dripped with venom. "Your hubris in claiming the three fragments has unleashed forces beyond your comprehension, Reed. My champion—my trusted Hero of fifteen years—tore through my household like a beast. Thirty-two of my people dead, including my own daughter!"

Mutters of agreement rippled through one section of the chamber. Reed noted the division already forming—lords and ladies who had lost Heroes clustering together, their faces haggard with recent trauma, while others watched with skepticism or outright denial.

"I did not cause this crisis," Reed replied evenly, "though I acknowledge my role in accelerating a process that was already underway. The truth is far more complex—and far more ancient—than any of us realized."

"The truth?" Vex scoffed. "What would you know of truth, domain-thief? You who rose from nothing, seizing power through treachery—"

"Enough," the king’s command silenced the chamber. "Lord Reed has been granted safe passage and the right to speak. We face an unprecedented threat. Ancient rivalries and accusations serve no purpose here."

The High Chancellor, a skeletal man whose age was rumored to be sustained through forbidden magic, stepped forward with a ceremonial staff. "Lord Reed has submitted evidence for our consideration. With His Majesty’s permission, we shall examine it before further debate."

At the king’s nod, Reed reached into his coat and withdrew a crystalline orb swirling with darkness—a memory capture of his confrontation with the transformed Lianna. He placed it upon the central pedestal, where it floated several inches above the surface, pulsing with malevolent energy.

"What you are about to witness," Reed warned, "will challenge everything you believe about our world and the system that governs it. I ask only that you observe fully before rendering judgment."

With a gesture from the High Chancellor, the orb expanded, projecting its contents into the air above the council. The chamber filled with the sounds of Lianna’s inhuman screams as her transformation played out before the horrified assembly—her body contorting, her voice layered with ancient malice as she revealed the true nature of the Heroes and their connection to Those Who Sleep Below.

Several lords turned away, unable to watch. One noblewoman collapsed, supported by her attendants as she was escorted from the chamber. But most watched in rigid silence, their faces draining of color as the projection reached its conclusion with Lianna’s final threat: "I will wear your mate’s skin when I devour your world."

When the memory faded, the silence that followed was absolute. Reed could hear hearts pounding, breath catching in throats, the rustle of fabric as hands trembled.

"Fabrication," Lord Kaine of the Northern Moors was the first to break the silence, his voice thick with denial. "A clever illusion crafted to manipulate this council into supporting whatever scheme you’ve concocted, Reed."

"My son is dead by his Hero’s hand," Lady Selene of Mistral Keep replied, her voice cracking with grief and rage. "I watched Thorne—who had protected our domain for twenty years—tear my boy apart while reciting words in a language that made the very air bleed. This is no fabrication."

The chamber erupted into chaos, lords and ladies shouting accusations and counter-arguments across the floor. Reed observed the emerging factions with grim satisfaction—at least a third of the assembly appeared to recognize the truth, their personal experiences aligning with his evidence.

"SILENCE!" The king’s command reverberated with magical force, immediately quelling the uproar. "We stand on the precipice of annihilation, and you bicker like children! Lord Reed, what time remains before these... transformations become universal?"

Reed met the king’s gaze directly. "According to my calculations, less than thirty hours remain before complete system collapse. At that point, all Heroes will transform simultaneously, and the seals binding Those Who Sleep Below will fail."

Lord Vex laughed bitterly. "Convenient timing. And what solution does our self-appointed savior propose? Something that, no doubt, requires us to surrender even more power to him?"

"I propose we sever all Hero-Lord bonds immediately," Reed stated flatly. "Protocol Terminus must be activated to prevent total corruption of the network."

The council exploded once more, but this time it was Lord Magnus of the Eastern Wastes—Reed’s longtime enemy—who silenced them with a raised hand. The aging lord stepped forward, his scarred face grim.

"I have despised Lord Reed since he first emerged as a domain holder," Magnus declared, his gravelly voice carrying across the chamber. "I have opposed his methods, questioned his legitimacy, and even once dispatched assassins to remove him from our ranks."

Murmurs rippled through the assembly at this open admission, but Magnus continued unperturbed.

"Yet today, I stand with him." Magnus rolled up his sleeve, revealing blackened veins crawling beneath his skin. "The corruption has begun to spread through my bond with my Hero. I can feel her thoughts—or rather, what now wears her form—scratching at the edges of my consciousness. What Reed shows us is truth. I have seen it in my dreams these past nights—the ancient ones stirring, reaching through our champions to reclaim what they believe is theirs."

One by one, other lords and ladies stepped forward—longtime enemies of Reed, powerful nobles who had opposed his rise—rolling up sleeves or opening collars to reveal similar signs of corruption spreading through their bonds.

"The question before us is not whether to believe Lord Reed," Magnus continued, "but whether we possess the courage to act on the truth before us. I, for one, would rather die severing my bond than live as a puppet for these entities."

The king rose from his throne, his frail frame somehow imposing in the tense silence that followed. "Lord Reed, this Protocol Terminus—what will it require?"

Reed straightened, meeting the monarch’s gaze. "Access to the Heart of Aetheria—the original power source from which the Lord System was created. It lies beneath this very palace, in chambers sealed since the founding of the kingdom."

A collective gasp swept through the council. The Heart was legendary—a source of power so vast it was said to have raised the continent from the sea in the age of creation. Its existence was rumored, but its location had been lost to time.

"Blasphemy!" the High Chancellor hissed. "The Heart is sacred—to meddle with it would violate every tenet of our order!"

"Then let it remain sacred while our world burns," Reed countered sharply. "The choice is simple: preserve your traditions and perish, or adapt and survive."

The king raised a withered hand, silencing further protest. For a long moment, he studied Reed’s face, as if searching for deceit. Finally, he nodded.

"By royal decree, I hereby establish the United Defense Force, to be led jointly by Lord Reed and Lord Magnus. All domains are ordered to contribute resources and manpower effective immediately." The king’s voice strengthened with each word. "Access to the sacred chambers beneath the palace is granted, under my direct supervision."

Lord Kaine stepped forward, outrage contorting his features. "Your Majesty, you cannot possibly entrust the Heart to this—this usurper! There is no precedent—"

"There is no precedent for what we face," the king cut him off. "The protocols were established by our founders for precisely such an emergency."

As if summoned by the king’s words, the floor beneath the council shuddered. Hairline cracks spread across the polished marble, emanating from the center of the chamber. The air grew thick and charged with wrongness—a sensation that made several lords gag and retch.

"They’re coming," Reed whispered, the sigils on his body flaring in response to the disturbance. "They feel our intention to activate Terminus."

Before anyone could respond, the cracks widened, and a noxious vapor began to seep through. Within the mist, shapes moved—writhing, impossible anatomies that hurt the eye to perceive. And then, stepping through the thickening miasma came a figure that drew gasps of horror and recognition.

It was Shia Blackthorn—or what remained of her. Her once-vibrant eyes now pools of absolute darkness, her skin marbled with black veins that pulsed with malevolent life. When she smiled, her jaw extended far beyond human limits, revealing row upon row of needle-like teeth.

"Reed," she spoke with a voice that was Shia’s and yet not—layers of ancient malice woven through the familiar tones he had grown to love. "Did you think I wouldn’t find you? That I wouldn’t know exactly what you planned?"

Her gaze swept across the assembled lords, lingering on the king. "How fitting to find all our enemies gathered in one place. Tell me, little king—do you truly believe your precious Heart can save you now?"

With a casual gesture, she sent a wave of necrotic energy surging across the chamber floor. Where it touched, stone blackened and crumbled, and living flesh began to rot.

The Council of Lords had just become a battlefield—and their greatest nightmare now wore the face of Reed’s beloved.