The weight of the kingdom's future pressed down on King Aldric's shoulders. Seated in the dim glow of his study, he traced the rim of his goblet with one finger, his thoughts a tangled web of doubt and obligation. The assassination had shaken the court. Lord Avelric was gone, and now Reynard had been slain. The nobles clamored for war, led by Duke Marcian's unrelenting voice. Yet, war meant uncertainty. The kingdom was already weakened by the plague—could they endure a full-scale conflict?
Reports painted a dire picture. The border skirmishes were escalating. Troop morale wavered. The treasury bled coins faster than it could be replenished. And among the nobility, factions whispered, each with their own agenda. Some sought war for power, others for profit. But Aldric did not have the luxury of selfish desires. He needed certainty.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. His hand hovered over the goblet before he set it aside. "Enter."
The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Clad in dark attire, his presence was controlled, deliberate. Aldric straightened. He had been expecting this visitor, yet the reality of it unsettled him. The man before him was an enigma, a shadow moving within the kingdom's affairs with an unsettling ease.
"You've come."
Kale inclined his head slightly. "The kingdom stands at a precipice. You hesitate."
Aldric exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "A war cannot be declared on impulse."
"No," Kale agreed, stepping closer. "But hesitation invites disaster. The enemy moves while you deliberate."
Silence stretched between them. The king studied the man before him. Every movement, every word seemed measured, as if calculated to extract a precise response. A dangerous man.
Aldric clasped his hands together. "You speak as if you know the path forward."
"I do." Kale's voice was calm, unwavering. "The kingdom's survival hinges on action, not debate. War is coming whether you choose it or not."
The weight in Aldric's chest grew heavier. He had thought the same. Yet, to hear it spoken aloud forced him to acknowledge the reality he had been trying to delay. War was inevitable.
"And if I declare war?"
"Then you control the battlefield," Kale said simply. "You dictate the terms, rather than being forced to react."
Aldric drummed his fingers against the table. "And if I refuse?"
Kale's gaze did not waver. "Then you wait for your enemies to make the first move. You let them decide when and where they will strike."
Aldric closed his eyes for a brief moment. The decision had already been made—he had just been waiting for confirmation. When he opened them again, his resolve had hardened. "Then war it is."
Kale gave the barest nod, as if acknowledging an outcome he had foreseen from the start. He turned, stepping toward the door.
Then Aldric spoke. "Your name you never said it"
Kale paused, glancing back over his shoulder. A shadow of a smirk crossed his lips. "Specter."
And then he was gone, leaving Aldric alone with the weight of his choice.