The study was silent, save for the faint crackling of the dying fire. King Aldric sat motionless, his fingers lightly resting against the surface of his desk. The door had closed moments ago, yet the presence of his visitor lingered. Specter's words echoed in his mind.
"War is coming whether you choose it or not."
Aldric exhaled slowly, his breath heavy with the weight of the decision he had made. War. The word carried a finality he could not ignore. He had spent years avoiding this path, seeking every alternative, but the kingdom was crumbling under the pressure. Assassinations, border skirmishes, a weakened economy—one by one, the pieces had fallen into place, forcing his hand.
He reached for the goblet of wine beside him but hesitated. His grip tightened before he pulled his hand away. No amount of drink would clear his mind now.War was never simple. The nobles saw it as a tool—one that could bring power, influence, or fortune. But to Aldric, war was a slow, grinding death. Not just of soldiers, but of resources, of morale, of the stability that had taken decades to build.
The kingdom was already wounded. The plague had drained their coffers, left their people weaker. The army had suffered losses not from battle, but from sickness and starvation. Yet now, he was leading them into a war they could not afford to lose.
Specter's certainty unsettled him. Who was that man, really? He spoke not like an advisor, but like a strategist who had already seen the battlefield unfold. As if he knew exactly what would happen.
Aldric leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. There were still too many unknowns. The enemy was bold, striking at the borders and now—if the claims were true—killing nobles within the capital itself. But the timing was too convenient. Lord Avelric was already dead. Then Reynard. Both opposed Duke Marcian's stance.
"Did someone within the court want this war as much as the enemy?"
The thought made his stomach turn. If he was being pushed into a war, was he making his own decision, or was he playing into someone else's hands?
Political Considerations
He needed to control the narrative. The nobles would not follow a king who acted out of desperation. They needed a reason—a justification they could rally behind.
Aldric stood and paced the room. Reynard's assassination had shaken the court, and Duke Marcian would undoubtedly seize the opportunity. If Aldric delayed, the Duke would push the council toward war regardless. It was better to act first—to frame the war as a necessary defense, not a reckless ambition.
He would address the council personally. He would lay out the evidence, emphasize the enemy's aggression, and remind them of the kingdom's duty to protect its people.
But he had to be careful. Some nobles would hesitate, fearing economic collapse. He needed them to see war as the only viable option.
"They will follow if they believe there is no other choice."
Strategizing for War
Aldric moved to his desk, pulling out a blank parchment. He needed numbers.
Troop Readiness: How many soldiers could be deployed immediately? How many more could be conscripted?
Resources: Could the treasury support a prolonged war? If not, where would the funds come from?
Defenses: If the enemy retaliated quickly, could the capital withstand an attack?
He would need to summon his generals and advisors at dawn. The logistics of war could not wait. Supply lines had to be secured, armor and weapons produced. If the enemy struck first, the kingdom had to be ready.
And then there was the matter of alliances. Seeking aid from outside forces could strengthen their position—but it could also make the kingdom look weak. He could not afford to be seen as desperate.
"War is not just fought on the battlefield. It is fought in politics, in wealth, in the minds of those who lead."Aldric placed the quill down and rubbed his eyes. The room felt colder now.
The loneliness of rulership was something he had long accepted, but tonight, it was suffocating. He had made his decision, but the burden was his alone to carry. The nobles would argue, the commanders would strategize, but in the end, it was his name that would be remembered in history—for triumph or for failure.
He thought of the people. The farmers, the merchants, the children who would grow up under the shadow of this war. They had no say in the matter. Their fates had already been decided.
"Am I leading them to safety, or to ruin?"
Doubt was a dangerous thing for a king. He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to suppress it. No—there was no turning back now.
The Official Declaration of War
The next morning, the royal council gathered in the throne room. The tension was palpable, the air thick with whispered discussions. The nobles knew why they had been summoned.
Aldric sat on his throne, watching as Duke Marcian, Lord Ellian, and the other key figures took their places.
The moment the doors shut, the room erupted into argument.
"The enemy grows bolder by the day! We cannot sit idly by while they kill our own within our borders!" Duke Marcian's voice was sharp, commanding. "Reynard's death was no accident."
"We have yet to confirm that the enemy was responsible," one of the lesser lords interjected. "We are moving too quickly—"
"Too quickly?" Marcian cut him off. "First Lord Avelric, now Reynard? You think this is a coincidence?"
Aldric let them argue for a moment before raising a hand. Silence fell almost instantly.
"We do not have the luxury of delay," he said, his voice calm but firm. "The enemy has forced our hand. If we hesitate, we give them control of this war before it even begins."
Some nobles nodded, others looked uncertain. Aldric knew he had to push harder.
"Our people are at risk. The enemy believes us to be weak. They strike from the shadows, waiting for the moment we crumble." His gaze swept over the council. "But we will not crumble. We will not wait for them to decide our fate. We will act. We will take control."
The murmurs shifted. Uncertainty gave way to agreement.
Aldric straightened, his decision final. "As king, I declare war on Caidorin kingdom "
The words sealed the kingdom's fate.
Some nobles lowered their heads in acceptance. Others, like Duke Marcian, smirked in satisfaction.
The war had begun.
And Aldric could only hope that, in the end, he had made the right choice.