The skies over Skagos were iron-gray, and a cold wind swept in from the sea, as if the island itself were holding its breath. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that hung over a battlefield before the first sword strike, but this time the anticipation was not of bloodshed or battle. This time, it was of something new—a future that few had dared imagine.
From the farthest corners of the isle, the soldiers and people of Skagos made their way toward the coast. Word had spread like wildfire, carried by the soldiers under Hadrian's command, that something miraculous had happened. It wasn't just the news of the old lords' defeat at Hadrian Peverell's hands, though that alone would have been enough to shake the island. It was the city—a city that no one had seen before, a city that had risen where Kingshouse, the seat of House Magnar, had once stood.
For generations, Kingshouse had been little more than a cold, stone fortress, its walls damp with the sea air, its halls sparsely furnished and crumbling with age. The people of Skagos had lived in scattered villages and strongholds, never knowing the grandeur of cities like Oldtown or White Harbor. They had lived in a world apart, bound by their old ways and savage traditions.
But now, as they came in droves toward the coast, they saw something that defied everything they had ever known. Where Kingshouse had once stood was now a massive, sprawling city. Towers rose high into the sky, their black stone gleaming against the overcast sky. The city walls were tall and impenetrable, as though carved from the bones of the earth itself. Roads of dark stone cut through the city like veins, winding toward the castle that sat at its heart—a fortress unlike anything they had ever seen.
At first, there was confusion among the Skagosi. They had expected to see Kingshouse, a place they knew, a place that, while old and worn, was still familiar. But what lay before them now was not Kingshouse. It was something entirely new, something that belonged to a different world altogether. And yet, it was undeniably their own—a creation born from the island itself.
The soldiers, who had carried out Hadrian's orders without question, had done their duty. They had gathered the people, compelled them if necessary, and now they stood among the villagers, their eyes as wide as the rest. Many of them had not been inside the city before, and even those who had helped build it under Hadrian's magical guidance found themselves awestruck by the final result.
A murmur of voices rippled through the crowds as they approached the city gates, unsure of what to expect. Mothers held their children close, the men gripped their weapons out of habit, and the elders exchanged glances filled with suspicion and uncertainty. What kind of lord could have done this? What kind of power could raise a city from the ground in the span of mere moons?
As they crossed the threshold into the city, the sounds of their footsteps echoed eerily off the tall, empty buildings. There were no traders, no townspeople, no livestock or market stalls. The city was utterly silent, save for the wind that whispered through the streets. It was as though they were walking through a dream, one that could vanish at any moment.
Suddenly, a voice rang out, reverberating through the stone streets, so loud and clear that it seemed to come from the very air itself.
"I am Hadrian Peverell," the voice declared. It was calm, firm, and carried an undeniable authority. "By your own laws, I am now your lord."
The people froze, craning their necks to look for the source of the voice. But there was no one in sight—only the empty streets, the towering castle in the distance, and the sound of Hadrian's voice wrapping around them like a spell.
"This is your new city," the voice continued. "This will be your new home. A place of trade, of growth, of strength. And from this seat of power, I will lead you into a future that Skagos has never known."
A shiver ran through the crowd. It was not fear, not entirely, but something akin to awe. They had never heard anyone speak like this, not even their old lords. The leaders of House Stane, House Crowl, and House Magnar had ruled through brute strength, demanding loyalty through fear and force. But this voice—Hadrian's voice—offered something different. There was power in it, yes, but there was also a promise. A promise of something more than the endless cycle of bloodshed and survival that had defined Skagos for centuries.
"Five hours from now," Hadrian's voice rang out again, "I will meet with the leaders and elders of your villages and clans in the great hall of this castle. There, we will discuss what comes next for Skagos, and how we will build this future together."
The voice fell silent, leaving the crowd in stunned silence. For a long moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, the people began to stir, glancing at one another, murmuring in low voices. The elders of the villages, the leaders of the scattered clans, looked toward the castle, where the meeting would take place.
Among the crowd, a young boy clung to his mother's skirts, his wide eyes staring up at the towering structures around him. He had never seen anything like this before, never even dreamed that such a place could exist on Skagos. The stone buildings seemed to rise endlessly into the sky, their windows dark and empty. There were no familiar faces here, no smells of cooking fires or the sounds of livestock. It was as if the city were waiting—waiting for them to fill it, to bring it to life.
The boy's mother glanced down at him and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She, too, was filled with wonder and uncertainty, but there was something in Hadrian's voice that had soothed her, something that made her believe that perhaps, just perhaps, this new lord would bring change—real change.
"Come, Thorgen," she whispered, guiding the boy through the crowd. "Let's find your father. He'll want to speak to the other men before the meeting."
Elsewhere, the village elders gathered in small clusters, discussing what they had heard. They were not foolish men, and they knew better than to ignore the power that had so clearly been displayed before them. Hadrian Peverell had not only defeated the old lords in combat; he had reshaped the very landscape of their world. A feat like that could not be ignored.
Some of the elders, hardened by years of life on Skagos, remained wary. They had seen leaders come and go, and they had learned to trust no one who claimed to rule over them. But others, particularly the younger ones, were more intrigued. They saw in Hadrian a chance to bring something new to their people, something better than the endless cycle of blood feuds and raids that had defined their lives for so long.
"He says he's our lord now," one elder muttered, scratching his graying beard. "By our laws, it's true enough. He's beaten the old lords, and we've no choice but to follow him."
"But what does he want?" another asked, his voice low and suspicious. "Why build a city like this? What's his game?"
The first elder shrugged. "Maybe he truly wants to make Skagos stronger. Maybe he's not like the others."
"Or maybe he's just another one who'll use us for his own ends."
The group fell silent for a moment, each man lost in his own thoughts.
"We'll know soon enough," one of them finally said. "Five hours, and we'll stand before him. Then we'll see what kind of man Hadrian Peverell truly is."