When Gwayne suddenly called her name, Rebecca's first reaction was to jolt upright. For the young heiress of a fallen house, the current situation—surrounded by towering figures of power and prestige—was something beyond her wildest dreams. Not even the time she had gotten herself knocked unconscious by a wolf in the woods as a child had felt quite so surreal.
Watching her ancestor casually converse with lords and kings, she had almost forgotten she was meant to be part of this meeting too.
But Rebecca had one strength— an almost unnatural resilience of spirit. Though stunned, she quickly gathered her thoughts, and after a brief, shaky breath, the country-born young lady rose to speak.
She began to recount the nightmare that had befallen the Seawright lands.
Everyone in the hall listened intently. Even though few had expected such a young girl to take the floor, the gravity of her tale silenced any scoffing. The disaster itself was too real, too grave.
Those present had already heard rumors. The southern frontier was awash with whispered tales, exaggerated and distorted through retelling. Though Gwayne had deliberately spread word of his own revival, he had not intentionally stoked the stories of the catastrophe itself— but disasters had a way of propagating themselves.
Among the nobility, information traveled faster and sharper than among the smallfolk. Many here had access to secret reports and coded letters. Francis II himself held multiple dispatches from southern lords, but no secondhand account could match the words of an eyewitness.
As Rebecca's voice grew steadier, the tragedy was pieced together. Connections to the ancient Dark Tide of seven centuries past became clearer. The appearance of a dragon wrapped the entire affair in a new shroud of mystery.
Gwayne sighed quietly.
These nobles had spent the morning preoccupied with his resurrection and with whether the House of Seawright would use it to claw back power. Few had remembered the real purpose of this visit:
the warning about the monsters.
Though, to be fair—he had made it very difficult to look away from him.
"...Most of the Seawright domain now lies in ruin," Rebecca said, standing straight, fists clenched tight. "The dragon's flame was not mere fire. It carried a magic that scorched the very life from the land—nothing will grow there for years. My people have taken shelter under the protection of Viscount Andrew of Valewatch."
She raised her voice, passion lending it strength: "Your Majesty, my lords and ladies, the Seawright fief may be small, but this disaster is a warning. The dragon's motives are unknown, but the monsters are real. They once brought ruin to the Empire of Gondor, and my ancestor saw it with his own eyes!"
The King conferred quietly with his Prime Minister and the Duchess of the North. Other nobles leaned close to murmur among themselves.
Clearly, they were taking the matter seriously—thanks to the credibility lent by rumors, secret reports, and above all, Gwayne Seawright's very presence.
Had it been otherwise, a backwater noble's wild tales of dragons and monsters would have earned only mockery—and perhaps punishment.
But whether they would act—and how seriously—they would act—remained an open question.
After all, the world had known seven hundred years of peace.
It was the Grand Duke of the West, Baldric Farwynd, who first broke the murmuring:
"Lord Seawright," he said politely, "I believe in your descendant's honesty. But this affair is... extraordinary. Forgive my skepticism—can you truly confirm that these creatures are the same as those from the Dark Tide?"
Gwayne met the Duke's gaze squarely:
"I fought them for twenty years. Until death took me. I could recognize them even if they were ground to ash."
His voice rang with solemn certainty.
"I encountered them again with my own sword. They are the same. Sadly, they dissolve swiftly after death—leaving no corpses to examine. And the dragon's fire destroyed any remains. You will find no physical proof in Seawright lands now."
Baldric and the Grand Duke of the East, Sylas Rowan, exchanged glances.
Gwayne snorted: "If you think the House of Seawright is inventing monsters to win sympathy and claw its way back into the power structure, say so plainly."
The Duke of the West hurried to reply: "No, no—we harbor no such suspicion. We merely... require confirmation. If the Dark Tide stirs again, this is no mere local affair. It would be beyond the power of any one nation to face."
"But they're already here!" Rebecca couldn't help but stand up again. "I saw them with my own eyes!"
"Easy," Gwayne said, resting a firm hand on her shoulder and guiding her back to her seat. Then he turned to the King.
"I understand your caution," he said calmly. "War is a costly business. But I have brought evidence."
Two strong servants carried in a heavy chest. When they opened it, the nobles inside the Oaken Hall leaned forward.
Inside lay broken, twisted swords, and ruined scraps of armor.
The metal was pitted, scarred, and stained a sickly hue. Some pieces crumbled like rotten wood at the touch. The corrosion spoke of unnatural forces—elemental energies that no smith's fire could produce.
"These weapons and armor were tainted by the creatures' attacks," Gwayne explained. "Until recently, they were still crumbling under their own corruption. If your historians have not grown entirely lax, you should find records of such phenomena in the archives."
The High King nodded gravely: "There are records... yes. I recall them."
Gwayne continued: "We also recovered a hermit's journal mentioning sunspot surges and magical fluxes—omens tied to the previous Dark Tide."
But the nobles' interest in the hermit's notes was minimal. Compared to the tangible, corrupted steel before them, a madman's writings were easy to dismiss.
It was Victaria Everfrost, the Grand Duchess of the North, who next spoke: "Do you know where the dragon went?" she asked, her tone colder than the mountains she ruled.
"Or its purpose?"
Gwayne shook his head:
"I do not."
Though a titan of the Founding Age, he had never fought a dragon before.
At least... not according to the memories he had inherited.
And after seeing those strange crystals the night before, he was no longer so certain his memories were complete.
"Three months ago," Victaria said slowly, "rumors reached my domain. Some claimed to have seen a dragon flying from the far northern mountains. But... no proof was found. The witnesses had drunk too much, or mistook wind and snow for wings."
Gwayne's eyes narrowed:
"Did any of them describe the dragon?"
"None with clarity," Victoria replied. "But I shall re-open the investigation."
"You must," said King Francis II, leaning forward. "Investigate not just the dragon, but any monster sightings, and any unusual magical phenomena across the kingdom."
Rebecca, unable to restrain herself, stood again: "But investigation alone won't be enough! The monsters strike without warning! By the time scouts find signs of them—it will be too late to mount a defense!"
The Grand Duke of the East, Sylas Rowan, frowned at her: "Do you propose we ready every soldier in the realm for battle, over threats that may not even materialize?"
Rebecca blurted: "That would be ideal—"
"Impossible," Silas cut her off sharply. "We cannot mobilize the whole army for phantom threats.
The lords of the realm would revolt. The Crown's authority would crumble."
He spoke with the heavy certainty of a man who had lived a life at the frontier's edge—
broad-shouldered and iron-faced, the very image of a soldier.
"And we still face the wolves of Tevanyr."
The room shifted slightly at the mention of that name.
After the fall of the ancient Gondor Empire, humanity had fled to the four corners of the world, building new nations. The Tevanyr Imperium, to the east, had grown into the strongest of them all—a nation that devoured or crushed all its neighbors.
Andraste and Tevanyr shared a border—and not just any border, but one rich in farmland and mineral wealth. It was a powder keg.
For centuries, peace had prevailed—barely. But a hundred years ago, when Andraste fell into civil war, Tevanyr had seized its chance to claw away some land.
Since then, the two nations had lived under a constant shadow of hostility. Small skirmishes flared along the frontier with grim regularity.
Andraste's south was poor and peaceful. The north held no great threat. The west remained allied with the tribal kingdoms of Augurei.
Only the east had bled for a hundred years.
For a man like Sylas Rowan, the monsters Rebecca spoke of were far less real than the Tevanyr legions he could see every day across the river.