Vaelin turned without hesitation, his footsteps echoing through the temple as he made his way toward the Grand Hall of the Golden Council. The air outside was crisp, the sky a brilliant shade of blue, but none of it mattered. The golden banners of the kingdom, embroidered with the divine sigil of the gods, lined the great courtyard, yet their radiance felt hollow compared to the dark purpose thrumming in his veins.

  Guards flanked the towering doors leading into the council chamber, their armor gleaming under the sunlight. They bowed as he approached, acknowledging his new status.

  "Duke Vaelin Obsidian," one of them intoned, his voice respectful. "The council is already gathered. You may enter."

  The moment he stepped through the grand doors, the weight of power settled around him.

  The chamber was magnificent—a circular hall with a domed ceiling depicting the gods in battle, their celestial figures locked in eternal war against the forces of darkness. A massive golden throne sat at the head of the chamber, where the Golden King presided.

  And there he was.

  The Golden King, ruler of the world, seated upon his radiant throne. He was impossibly imposing, his golden hair cascading over his shoulders like a lion’s mane, his sharp eyes gleaming with intelligence and power. The room itself seemed to bend to his will.

  Beside him, the other three Dukes sat at their designated places. Vaelin took in their faces with calculated precision.

  Duke Alistair Sapphire, master of arcane knowledge, his blue robes shimmering with magic, his piercing gaze assessing him like a puzzle to be solved.

  Duchess Seraphine Ruby, the war goddess in human form, clad in crimson and gold, her expression sharp and battle-hardened.

  Duke Eldric Emerald, the wise and composed guardian of divine blessings, his green eyes watchful, as if already weighing his worth.

  His seat awaited. The Obsidian Throne, its black stone polished to a mirror sheen—a seat of power, secrecy, and deception.

  As he approached, the king finally spoke. His voice was deep, commanding.

  "Duke Vaelin Obsidian, you now bear the weight of your house. Your father served well. We shall see if you do the same."

  Silence filled the chamber. All eyes were on him.

  He knelt before the Golden King, his obsidian cloak pooling around him like the very shadows he commanded. The chamber was silent, save for the faint crackling of enchanted torches along the walls. The air was thick with power, with expectation.

  "As the head of the great House Obsidian, I offer my service to the king and hope to meet your grace's expectations."

  His voice was firm, steady, carrying the weight of his new title. He felt the council’s eyes on him, measuring, judging.

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  The king watched him for a long moment, his piercing gaze seeming to strip him down to his very soul. Then, with a slight nod, he gestured for him to rise.

  "A dutiful answer," he mused, his tone unreadable. "Your house is the backbone of our war machine. Weapons, strategy, and steel flow from your forges. See to it that they remain unmatched."

  He leaned forward slightly, golden rings glinting on his fingers. "War looms on the horizon, Duke Vaelin. Bandits on our borders grow bolder, minor lords whisper of defiance, and merchants complain of missing shipments. You take your place in this council not in a time of peace, but in the calm before the storm. Will House Obsidian stand ready?"

  He felt the weight of the moment, the unspoken challenge in the king’s words.

  "Yes, Your Grace. I, head of my house, take full responsibility and will take initiative as we speak."

  His gaze shifted to his advisor and manager, the only soul who truly knew the depths of his deception.

  His name was Malkior, though to the world, he was simply his most trusted servant—his shadow, his right hand.

  He appeared as a man in his late forties, with neatly combed dark hair streaked with gray, his features sharp and refined like a seasoned noble. His eyes, however, held an unnatural gleam, something that sent unease through those who dared look too long. His clothing was as impeccable as ever—a black high-collared coat lined with silver embroidery, an obsidian signet ring glinting on his gloved hand.

  But beneath the skin, he was something else entirely. A lower demon, bound to Vaelin by ancient blood rites, wearing the flesh of the man he had killed as a child.

  Malkior met his gaze with the subtle nod of a servant who knew his master’s will before it was spoken. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, offering a deep bow to the council before speaking in his polished, smooth tone.

  "At once, my lord."

  The king watched the exchange, his expression unreadable.

  "Good. See to it swiftly, Duke Vaelin." He shifted his attention to the rest of the council. "We will discuss further action once we receive reports. This meeting is adjourned."

  The nobles began rising from their seats, murmuring amongst themselves. Some glanced his way—Duke Sapphire with quiet curiosity, Duchess Ruby with a measuring gaze, and Duke Emerald with his usual serene but unreadable expression.

  Malkior stepped closer to him, his voice low enough for only him to hear. "Shall I send a select unit, my lord? Or would you rather we use… other methods?"

  He did not need to elaborate. He held resources beyond what the council understood—spies, mercenaries, and darker forces lurking beneath the surface.

  Vaelin turned slightly, his voice low but firm.

  "Send a unit of House Obsidian’s finest to inspect the borders. I want a full report on any disturbances—movements, strange sightings, missing supplies, everything."

  Malkior inclined his head. "It will be done, my lord."

  With a graceful turn, he exited the chamber, his dark coat trailing behind him. Vaelin knew he would not fail. House Obsidian’s forces were not only masters of war but of efficiency and precision. If there was something to uncover, they would find it.

  As he stepped into the grand hall leading out of the chamber, the golden sunlight spilling through the high windows did little to warm him. The weight of leadership was settling upon his shoulders.

  The nobles were already dispersing, some engaging in quiet conversation, others simply observing. Duke Alistair Sapphire gave him a slow, thoughtful nod before departing. Duchess Seraphine Ruby barely spared him a glance—she had never cared much for pleasantries. Duke Eldric Emerald, however, lingered a moment longer.

  "You have inherited a great responsibility, Duke Vaelin," he said, his voice deep, measured. "House Obsidian has long been a pillar of our kingdom’s might. See that it remains so."

  It was both a warning and an expectation. He met the older man’s gaze steadily.

  "I do not intend to fail, Duke Eldric."

  A small smile flickered across Eldric’s face, unreadable yet knowing. Then, without another word, he strode away, his emerald cloak flowing behind him.

  Vaelin stood there for a moment, his mind already shifting to the next steps.

  The first move had been made. The game had begun.