“Knights and courtiers alike, hear me well: The god of light has not forsaken us — somewhere, the heir of the Royal Rune walks among us, unknowing or unseen. We will seek them out, for our kingdom will stand or fall upon the blood in their veins.”

The end of the speech is met with clapping and cheers from the crowd, a clear sign of their high spirits. The excitement is palpable as the court begins to dissipate, and the halls slowly empty. As the courtiers file out, a loud whisper spreads among the remaining attendees, signaling the end of the formalities. However, the knight commanders, along with the Champion-Apparent and the professor, remain—these are the ones tasked with staying behind.

Lord Steward Geraint lowers himself into the chair at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne, a position of power, albeit temporary, until the heir is found. He offers a calm, knowing smile to those gathered before him, motioning for them to approach so they may hear his words. Though they maintain their positions of rank and file to his left and right, as is protocol, all eyes turn to him.

“Knight commanders, Champion-Apparent, and of course, our Eminent Archmage,” Geraint says, bowing his head slightly to Astlo as a sign of respect. He continues, his voice steady. “The plan is as follows: I will be sending some of you, along with the Champion-Apparent and the dear Professor, to the north to Greypeak Watch. Sir Idris has received word from his Sentinels that a strong rumor is circulating — someone of renown may know the whereabouts of the heir. For this task, I shall be sending Dame Leilani, Sir Kalowick, and Sir Vincent, to investigate. If any of you have questions or concerns, now is the time to speak before you head out.”

His smile fades slightly, replaced by a neutral expression, as he waves his hand over the gathering, signaling they now have time to voice their thoughts.

Eveline stepped forward, her presence calm and serene, yet commanding. The room grew quieter as she spoke, her voice soft but filled with the weight of her faith. "If the heir is to be found, I trust that we will not only seek them but also protect them — and ensure they are kept from harm. The gods guide our steps, and we must act with justice in our hearts." Her gaze swept over the assembled commanders, each one feeling the sincerity of her words. She paused, allowing the gravity of her message to settle in. It was not just the heir’s location that mattered; it was their safety and well-being. Eveline’s conviction was clear: the task was not merely to find the heir, but to safeguard them, for the future of the kingdom and the realm’s moral integrity depended on it.

Seraphine’s stance was unwavering, as if her very presence commanded the room. Her eyes, sharp and resolute, never left the others as she spoke, her voice low but full of unwavering resolve. "I understand the importance of this mission, but I must express my concern." She took a measured step forward, her voice gaining strength. "If we are to venture into Greypeak Watch, we must be prepared for any threat that may come. Our vigilance must remain unbroken. This task is too crucial to fail." Her gaze flickered briefly to the others, ensuring that each knight understood the weight of their mission. It was clear from her tone: for Seraphine, this was not just an investigation, but a sacred duty to protect the kingdom at any cost.

Idris stood in his typical quiet manner, hooded and watching, as always, with keen perception. He didn’t rush to speak, letting the words settle in the room before offering his thoughts. His voice was low, measured, yet firm. "The Sentinels have gathered intelligence, but we must be cautious of rumors as well." He paused, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he regarded the room. "They are often misleading, and those who possess such knowledge may not be as trustworthy as they seem. We should proceed with patience and observation before we act." His words were not ones of hesitation but of prudence—Idris was always the one to weigh every step carefully, and this mission was no different. He would ensure they approached the situation with the subtlety and strategy that had become his trademark.

Althea stepped forward with the grace and calm of someone at peace with the world, her eyes warm but determined. Her voice, when she spoke, was like a soft breeze, yet carried the weight of compassion and understanding. "I agree with Idris’s caution, and I share his concerns." She smiled gently, though the gravity of the task ahead was not lost on her. "If we are to find the heir, we must not only act with swiftness but with care. The burden of this mission falls not only on our strength but on our hearts. We must protect the heir, not just find them." Her words were full of empathy, but there was no doubt in her tone—Althea was prepared to face whatever challenges awaited, with a clear and calm mind.

Lysandra listens intently, her expression unreadable but her posture perfectly disciplined. She is always quick to act when duty calls but doesn’t speak immediately, allowing others to voice their concerns first. She might speak up once the others have had their say, simply stating, "I trust that the chosen knights will act with the discipline required. There is no room for error in this task." She adds her usual calm reassurance, knowing full well the weight of the mission.

Vincent stood at attention in full armor, which he always wore when on duty, as the lord steward addressed the gathered men and women of the court. He had always hated these audiences. They were too formal for his liking. He would rather be walking the streets or training or in the mess hall, enjoying a late lunch or early dinner while he and the men and women of the guard swapped stories and jokes. He was on the verge of yawning until the lord steward stated something he had never thought he would hear: there seemed to be a living heir to the Royal Rune.

As the courtiers filed out of the hall, Vincent felt his excitement building as he resisted the urge to grin. Even before he became a commander, Vincent had given up on ever receiving a minor rune. He had been fine with it. After all, the king died way back when Vincent was just starting out fighting off bandits and wild animals, well before he ever met Sir Lanza. As such, he never gave it any thought and simply carried out his duties with his natural skills. Now that the possibility had resurfaced, however, Vincent's mind raced with the possible gifts he could receive from a minor rune. Maybe I'll be able to make weapons out of fire? he thought. Ooh! Or maybe I'll get to fly!

He was brought back to reality as Lord Steward Geraint continued, now that all but the commanders, Champion-Apparent, and professor remained with him. Vincent's eyes widened slightly when he heard they would be going to Greypeak Watch, of all places. This just gets better and better, he thought, having to make a conscious effort to not vibrate with excitement, lest his armor were to start rattling. It had been a while since he was last at home and there were so many things he missed: the stew at his favorite tavern, the smell of the crisp mountain air...

Elara.

The thought of her brought a grin to his face, which he hid by coughing into his hand. He cleared his throat and said, "I'll make sure I'm ready to leave as soon as possible. I grew up out that way, so I know the area. We'll be able to get out there and back pretty quickly, I think."

---

Purple and white wildflowers grew along the length of Kalowick’s staff, which he clutched in hand while listening carefully to the Lord Steward’s speech. For weeks now, the staff, which typically cycled through a wide variety of colors and species of wildflower, had continually bloomed the same growths; purple petaled flowers speckled with white. The omen was clear enough, and when summoned to the capital for this grand proclamation, Kalowick already had a feeling he knew what was to be announced.

“Knights and courtiers alike, hear me well: The god of light has not forsaken us — somewhere, the heir of the Royal Rune walks among us, unknowing or unseen. We will seek them out, for our kingdom will stand or fall upon the blood in their veins.”

At these grand words, Kalowick did not loudly announce his jubilation, or cry out in thanks to the gods. Instead, he merely bowed his head in respect, and allowed a self-satisfied smile to work its way onto his features. This was very, very good news. Lord Steward Geraint seemed to handle his unenvious task well, but Alveria had been too long without a proper ruler. The return of the Bloodline was something that Kalowick never lost faith in. To him, it was mere eventuality, and it seems nature had rewarded his faith with an augur of things to come. Purple for royalty, and white for the new beginning this lost heir would bring.

When Geraint announced that Kalowick was one of those chosen to carry out the venture of seeking out the heir, he felt a little swell of pride in his breast. Briefly, he wondered what Varn would think, if he were here now.

That thought was quickly quashed.

One by one, the other knight commanders, true veterans of their order, gave their words of encouragement and warning. He eyed them each in turn, as well as the companions that would be joining him on this task. A wry grin snaked onto his face when his singular gaze fell upon Vincent. He seemed particularly excited to return to his hometown. Perhaps it was simple affection for the hearty cooking and fresh air. Then again… the way he had to hold himself together, and that joyous grin- the way it came and went from his face: perhaps there was more to uncover there.

It was sweet, he thought. In a motion to rescue Vincent from the spotlight and give him a chance to recover his excitable emotions, Kalowick spoke up. “I’ve been to the area several times myself over the years. It will be good to journey into the mountains once more,” His tone was airy, like wind rustling through the branches of the trees, with just a hint of depth hidden beneath the forest’s brush. “Especially in such esteemed company. As the hummingbird flies south for winter, so too shall we follow the trail of its wingbeats unerringly back into the north.”

He smiled placidly at his companions and the other knight commanders in turn before turning his solitary eye upon Geraint. “We will not fail. My life for the bloodline.”

Ame sleepily adjusted her ceremonial garbs as she listened to the Lord Steward's address. Her attendants had been informed that today's address was of particular importance, and thus had wrapped Ame head-to-toe with the most intricate of fineries. Most frivolous, in Ame's opinion, as her hair had been twice tied and perfumed with garrishness Ame was sick of already. This much, though, she knew to hide. Ame did not betray anything other than a collected gaze to the Steward, even as the announcement loosed an aura of excitement upon the crowd. As much as she could rather tear off these robes and hide back in her comfortable domicile, back in the world of books and numbers, her mantle was to sit here and represent the might and dignity of Valkenkarr.

The weight didn't settle her nerves. Heavens, now everyone was up and offering their own little two coppers to the news. The other Knight-Commanders, many of them fresh faces save for Idris, uniformly expressed a cautious optimism. It was hardly surprising. Alveria was on the brink of collapse, both from within and from even Ame's own country. A true heir was easily the saving grace that the beleagered state needed, but to have such a light shine from beyond the pale so easily? And without any other detail than the rumor-mill of mountain folk? This was walking a fine line between optimism and naivete.

A miracle or simple illusion, though, it meant the Steward was finally making moves. Ame could hear the distant rustlings of the attendees, and further still; a giant clock hand shaking off rust and grime as some invisible cog or a time-eaten beast purred into life. In time, horses will ride through the mountains and the news they bore would arrest the ears of the Council. A thunderstorm in the distance...

Ame snapped back into her own consciousness as the tempered voice of Kalowick spoke near her. It was due to be her turn next, and her title of Champion-Apparent demanded a voice. She rattled her mind for what to say, but came up with little more than empty platitudes. The profession of her current station was to offer such ceremonies with presence, but Ame found herself lacking in depth and measure.

Keep it simple. Don't stand out. Valkenkarr needs to show straightforwardness right now, no need for dramatics.

She swallowed a deep breath and stepped forward as her turn came. Her vacillation was swept clean from her voice as she spoke up, her guise of measured resoluteness as practiced as ever. "Lord Steward, consider it done. Valkenkarr stands with Alveria, and we will restore the heir to the throne, as sure as snow and steel."