Prologue: Meeting of the Four Dukedoms

At the center of one of many magnificent rooms within Lainur’s royal palace, a pentagonal table stood, with five chairs surrounding it. One of those chairs was all but covered in gold, giving it a spectacular appearance that the others, while adorned with embellishments of their own, were clearly not meant to live up to. Perhaps more obvious was the fact that the quality of each chair was meant to represent the status of the person sitting in it. In the most splendid chair sat none other than Ceylan Crosellode, Lainur’s Crown Prince himself.

He wore a headdress reminiscent of those worn by Buddhist priests, adorned with eye-catching ornaments. His face was covered by a black veil. His hair and ears, too, were hidden beneath the headdress, anonymizing him from the shoulders up. Presently, he wore a white robe embroidered with golden dragons, and had propped his chin up on the armrest of his chair.

Three men sat across from him. They were heads of the Four Dukedoms, noblemen tasked with supporting the very foundations of the kingdom itself, and therefore allowed in the prince’s presence. Five chairs, but only four attendants. No one made any mention of the empty spot, for it had never been filled.

Ceylan spoke to the three men before him. “I would like to begin by thanking you for your presence here today.”

“This is not enough to deserve your thanks, Your Royal Highness.”

“For you, we would traverse hot coals and fields of ice.”

“There is no risk I would not undertake on the orders of you and your family, Your Royal Highness.”

The speakers were the heads of the Romalius, Saifice, and Zeele Dukedoms, respectively.

Brendan Romalius, clad in a military uniform, was a man in the prime of his life. His crew cut and muscular frame made him the living model of a military house’s patriarch, and yet he had a curiously sharp eye when it came to political matters. In a space like this, one had the sense that brute strength was not his only point of excellence.

Egberd Saifice was a tall, older man, with a stern countenance. His age afforded him pure-white hair and a long beard to rival that of a mountain hermit. He was currently wearing traditional noble attire under his robe; he sat in his chair in a state of utmost calm.

Quorido Zeele headed the dukedom with the shortest history among the three, and was therefore the youngest. He wore a constant amiable smile that reflected his personality, and his constitution and majesty were severely lacking compared to his tablemates. In some ways, however, that was his greatest asset.

“I believe this is only the second meeting I have held with the three of you. I ask for your patience while I acquire a feel for how we ought to converse with one another.”

His words elicited a grin from Brendan. “Your nerves are unfounded, Your Royal Highness. Anything you ask of me will receive an honest answer.”

“In that case, I shall endeavor to afford you the same generosity,” the prince replied.

“In fact, I should like to ask Your Royal Highness for your patience myself. I am a military man; merely conversing does not come naturally to me.”

It was unclear whether their exchange was banter or whether Ceylan was testing the waters. Naturally, all of the dukes were aware that the prince had used Gaston’s unforgivable behavior as an excuse to tie the noose around the necks of a great number of nobles. They would not dare to make light of him, despite the fact that he was still a child.

“I would be most interested to see Your Royal Highness’s countenance.”

“There is not one thing interesting about it. Yes, you three have never seen the face beyond this veil when we have met like this, but I am sure that you can picture it in your mind’s eye.”

“Your Royal Highness, there exists a wide gap between one’s educated guesses and the reality of seeing things for oneself.” Quorido added his thoughts.

The disputed veil turned to the third man, who sat as still as a plaster bust. “Do you share these sentiments, Egberd?”

“I would not deign to, sir.”

“Saifice is a deeply serious man,” Brendan said. “While I am deeply fretful. Unbearably impatient, even.”

“Truth be told, I agree with my fellow dukes,” Egberd said. “It is by no means my intention to make light of a royal tradition, but I do believe that Your Royal Highness’s power is such that the veil becomes unnecessary.”

Brendan laughed. “My thoughts on the matter exactly!”

“I heartily look forward to seeing the face of our kingdom’s next ruler,” Egberd summarized.

When Quorido spotted a gap in their eager bootlicking, he spoke. “Your Royal Highness. There is something I wish to tell you before we move on to our main agenda. I understand that it is a great affront to do so, but I beg your forgiveness on this occasion.”

“Speak,” Ceylan commanded.

“I beg your pardon, Your Royal Highness. It concerns the matter of attendants. It is common knowledge among those of us privileged enough to visit the palace that you do not have any in the same capacity we might expect. It is my humble belief that you may require one, as you are likely to become much busier from now on. I would very much like to offer an appropriate candidate for your consideration, sir.”

“An attendant?” The prince hummed. “Your thoughtfulness pleases me, Quorido.”

“Sir.”

“Whom do you have in mind?”

“Kane Lazrael, sir. Eldest son to House Lazrael of the south.”

Brendan’s eyebrows shot upward. “Ah, the man believed to be the reincarnation of the Paragon of Courage.”

“Indeed. Having seen his talents for myself, I fully believe him to be up to the task.”

“I have heard that he has mastered almost all of the southern magic. Is he as impressive as they say?” Ceylan asked.

“The last time I met him, he was able to perform Mighty Fortress right before my eyes.”

“Hm. The Paragon of Courage,” the prince muttered, as though to himself.

The Paragon of Courage was a hero described in Demons and Society’s Collapse, one of the volumes that made up the Ancient Chronicles. Said to have played a significant role in defeating the Demon Kings, his name (and its synonym, “Lionheart,”) was often used as a moniker to describe those who excelled in the magical or sword arts.

“As Romalius alluded to,” Quorido went on, “they say he might be the reincarnation of the paragon himself.”

“It is true that there are many examples of reincarnation within the Chronicles. What similarities are there, then, between Kane and the paragon?”

“I am afraid that I am unfamiliar with the specifics, but I do believe him to be an excellent choice, especially if such talk were to be true.”

Ceylan nodded thoughtfully. “Brendan, Egberd, what are your thoughts on my appointing an attendant?”

“I have no objections, Your Royal Highness, so long as the chosen candidate has the requisite ability,” replied Brendan.

“My suggestion would be for Your Royal Highness to meet with Mr. Lazrael before coming to a decision,” Egberd said.

“Then that is what I shall do,” Ceylan decided. “You will arrange the meeting for me, Quorido.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Brendan, Egberd. Have you knowledge of any other capable candidates?”

“No one in particular, sir,” Brendan said. “Although I have heard that Saifice’s grandson has demonstrated remarkable talent.”

“He is much too inexperienced at this stage,” Egberd said, “and such an appointment would hinder my family’s current duties.”

“Those duties being the investigation surrounding the Institute of Magic?” Ceylan prompted.

“The very same, sir, as His Majesty is also aware. My house has been tasked with keeping an eye on them since before Lainur held the power that it does.”

“Yes... Something will have to be done sooner or later—the threat to our royal capital is too great. It is my intention to have the whole thing dealt with by the time father passes the crown to me.” Ceylan’s tone was courageous and resolute.

But Egberd shook his head. “I ought to tell you, sir, that the one to defeat them has already been decided.”

“What? Elaborate.”

“Sir. That person’s feat has been foretold in The Prophecy of Shadows. For generations, my house has been told that we must do nothing to intervene until that person should appear, nor should we allow anyone else to attempt such intervention.”

“A final request from your house’s founder... Well, then, can you tell me about the one who will appear?”

“The Saint,” was all he said.

Quorido frowned. “Are you talking about one of the three sages from The Spiritual Age?”

“Indeed, I am.”

“Mistletoe. Saint. Chime,” Brendan said. “I remember those names well from my childhood and the fairy tales recounted to me before bed. However, I struggle to believe that one of them is to appear in the flesh.”

“It could be a reincarnation, or a new Saint altogether. That much is not clear. All I...