The King's Decree detonated in the upper echelons of Eldoria like a bomb made of parchment. The reaction from the nobility was instantaneous and apoplectic. By midday, the grand antechamber of the Royal Palace was filled with a furious, muttering swarm of lords, barons, and guildmasters, all demanding an audience with the "Mad King."
At the heart of this storm stood Duke Pheros. He moved through the crowd not with overt anger, but with a cold, serpentine grace, his whispers fanning the flames of their outrage.
"He has forsaken us," he said to a portly marquess. "He has sacrificed our ancestral rights on the altar of a slum phantom."
"This is an attack on property, on tradition, on the very fabric of our society!" he murmured to a powerful guildmistress. "If he can nullify our land deeds, what's next? Our titles? Our wealth?"
He was not just stoking their anger; he was directing it. He was framing the King's act of justice as an act of tyranny against their class. By the time the King agreed to hold an emergency council session, the mood had curdled from simple fury into something far more dangerous: a unified intent to commit treason.
Seraphina Vale was summoned to the council chamber not as an advisor, but as a symbol. She was the Knight-Captain, the sworn protector of the King and the realm. Her loyalty in the coming confrontation would be critical. As she walked through the palace halls, she felt the hostile stares of the nobles she had known her whole life. They saw her as a co-conspirator, the architect of the Mire reforms that had led to this crisis.
She entered the council chamber to find it packed. Every major noble with a seat on the council was present, their faces thunderous. King Theron sat on his throne, his expression grim and resolute, but Seraphina could see the fine tremor in his hands. He was afraid, but he was not backing down.
Duke Pheros stood as the designated spokesman for the assembled nobility. He bowed, a gesture of respect that was dripping with mockery.
"Your Majesty," he began, his voice a smooth, venomous purr. "We have come to express our… profound confusion regarding your latest decree. It seems to invalidate centuries of established law and undermines the very rights upon which our kingdom was built. Surely, this is some grave misunderstanding."
"There is no misunderstanding, Cousin," the King replied, his voice steady. "The decree stands as written. It is time the law served all the people of this kingdom, not just those with titles and deeds."
A wave of outraged muttering swept through the room.
The Duke's smile was a razor's edge. "A noble sentiment. But a king cannot simply discard laws he finds inconvenient. That is the act of a tyrant. We are a kingdom of laws, not of whims. We must formally request that you rescind this… ill-advised edict."
It was a thinly veiled ultimatum. Rescind the decree, or we will make you.
"The decree stands," the King repeated, his knuckles white where he gripped the arms of his throne.
The Duke's smile vanished, replaced by a look of cold, hard power. "Then you give us no choice. As concerned members of this council, sworn to protect the realm from all threats, both foreign and domestic… we must question your fitness to rule. A king who is so easily swayed by… phantoms… and who acts against the interests of his own loyal subjects cannot be trusted with the crown."
This was it. The moment of truth. He was calling for a vote of no confidence, the first step in a legal, political coup.
"Is that a threat, Duke?" Seraphina's voice cut through the tension, sharp and cold as ice. She had been standing silently beside the throne, and now she took a step forward.
The Duke turned his gaze on her. "Knight-Captain. I had hoped you would see reason. Your loyalty is to the realm, not to the whims of a single man. The realm is crying out for stability, for a return to the traditions that have kept us strong."
"The 'traditions' you speak of are the chains that have kept half our city in misery," Seraphina shot back. "And the 'stability' you crave is the peace of the graveyard. I have seen the imbalance with my own eyes. The King is correcting it. That is not madness; it is leadership."
"So you have made your choice," the Duke said, his voice soft and dangerous. "You side with the slum-lover over your own people."
He turned back to the assembled lords. "The Knight-Captain has abandoned her duty. The King has abandoned his senses. It falls to us, the pillars of this kingdom, to restore order. I call for a formal vote. All who believe King Theron is no longer fit to wear the crown, stand with me."
For a heart-stopping moment, no one moved. Then, a single, portly baron on the far side of the room rose to his feet. Another followed. And another. Within seconds, more than two-thirds of the council was standing, a unified bloc of rebellion, their faces set with grim determination.
The Duke turned back to the King, a triumphant sneer on his face. "It is decided, Your Majesty. By the laws of this council, you are to be placed under protective custody pending a formal abdication. Your reign is over."
He gestured to his own personal guards, a dozen heavily-armed men who had been waiting in the hall. "Escort the former King to his chambers."
The King looked defeated, his resolve crumbling in the face of such overwhelming opposition.
But Seraphina did not move. She drew her star-metal sword. The blade sang as it left the scabbard, its surface shimmering with a faint, ethereal light. She planted herself before the throne, a lone warrior against a room of traitors.
"My oath is to the crowned King of Eldoria," she declared, her voice ringing with absolute conviction. "That is King Theron. The first man who takes another step towards this throne will learn the meaning of my oath personally."
The Duke laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Brave words, Knight-Captain. But you are one sword against fifty. Do you truly intend to die for a lost cause?"
"She will not die," a quiet voice said.
The voice did not come from the doorway. It did not come from any person in the room. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, a calm, resonant thought imposed upon their minds.
Every head in the room whipped around, searching for the source.
And then they saw him.
Ravi stood at the back of the chamber, near the great oak doors, leaning against a pillar as if he had been there all along. He was just a boy in rags, yet his presence instantly dwarfed every lord and baron, making their fine silks and glittering jewels look like cheap costumes.
The air grew heavy, the light seemed to dim, and a silence fell over the room that was so profound it felt like the end of the world.
Duke Pheros stared, his face draining of all color. The smug triumph vanished, replaced by a dawning, mortal terror. He had built his trap so carefully, a perfect web of law and politics. He had never considered that the god might simply walk into the spiders' den.
Ravi's eyes, ancient and calm, swept over the standing nobles, the traitors. He did not look angry. He looked… disappointed. Like a teacher looking at a class that had failed a simple test.
"The King chose justice," Ravi's voice echoed in their minds. "He chose to balance the scales. And you… chose greed."
He pushed himself off the pillar and took a single, unhurried step into the room.
"I promised the King that if he chose the righteous path," Ravi said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was louder than any shout, "that I would ensure the scales remained balanced in his favor."
His gaze settled on Duke Pheros. "You and your council have created a new, severe imbalance." He raised a single, unassuming hand. "It is time for a correction."