POV -> Caleb

Westlock had been a source of pride for the Heroguard. Laid stone by stone - sweat, blood, and gold had been poured into every crack to build a wondrous city. It was an ode to the Heroguard's sufficiency even after losing its fearless leader, Reth-Arkon Kaz'az. But within a day, its rich history, armies and power were stripped by a single creature and turned to darkness. The Witch of the Westlock. And so, the scattered power of the Heroguard returned to the city they had shunned as a relic. Toroy Goroztch. It was a wonder to behold. The Sun Eaters had not left many of their original works, and certainly none that sat unconcealed for all eyes to see. But Kaz'az, as brutal his reign in forming the Heroguard for his hunt, had a love of sharing the knowledge of his kind. Caleb had suspected that this was the source of Rethalon's ire for the Sun Eater, and eventual disappearance.

The throne had been cold for years before anyone made a move to overthrow Kaz'az. It was mostly a debate between his closest generals and patrons who had funded the guild into a country of its own. Once it was settled that a merchant with a sense of money and little else would sit upon the golden throne, and the Archons would hold power through armies and powerful acquaintances, the coup was complete, and the Heroguard hailed a new king.

And the new king delivered on the expectations of the Archons. The jingle of coins raised his chin, a whisper in his ear guided his tongue, and a complement stroked his ego to keep him from exploring the extent of his power. He was a fool with a pen, who loved the look of his signature more than the stacks of laws it enacted.

To Caleb, and many of the other Archons of the Heroguard, His Holy Majesty Tiram Angros was an incredible listener, and consequently, an incredible ruler. Spare his constant need for verbal chatter. So many summons the White Knight received would have been better flown to him as a letter.

This was one such cold call.

Bagel made a heavy landing in the smaller courtyard of the castle, leaving four clear indents in the grass where his claws stopped his momentum. The gryphon had been banned from landing outside the door after tearing up the ornate tiles one too many times in front of the treasurer. Caleb had never punished the behaviour, entering the castle through the courtyard cut quite a few pleasantries with nobles that loitered the gates.

He pulled off his helmet, tucking it under his arm to march into the castle. Four guards joined his side when an obnoxious trumpet announced his arrival, their synchronized and heavy steps trailing the knight through the main hall as workers bustled to set up the foundations of an upcoming party. He eyed the eight golden chairs that had been set up around an embellished seat, his curiosity stilling to irritation. He didn't have a free slot for an ad hoc celebration, and he was certain most of the other Archons that had half a job lacked such an availability as well.

Past the bustling servant hall, Caleb was ushered to the waiting room, passing a long line of nobles and commoners to take the front of the queue. He earned a mix of cheers and sour looks from the onlookers who had made anything they could into a chair from their already lengthy wait time.

If Tiram even showed a hint to the people that he read their complaints, they wouldn't be lining up at his door like this every time the sun rose. But Caleb had seen the stack of handwritten notes. It only moved during weekly garbage runs when his advisor, Rayao, would give the ones that had been formatted correctly a skim.

The doors spread wide, revealing the pillared hall of stone that wrapped the golden throne. Despite its grandeur, and the glimmering bejewelled throne at the end, the one piece that stood at the forefront of attention was Ra'zerun's effigy. The god's broad wings cast a shadow over the platform the throne sat on, a fairly human body posing with arms wide to embrace the starlight that cascaded from the glass ceiling it stood under.

Caleb was the only one who knew the statue before him was not Ra'zerun. He had seen the god in its true form when he became its champion. It liked the way its followers thought it looked. A perfect man with powerful wings.

Caleb much preferred it to the truth as well.

He had assumed that the throne room was without guests when he entered, but was surprised to see that Tiram was in the middle of hearing someone out.

It was another Archon, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

The Archon had not dressed for a court invite. Her metal boots had left a trek of dirt across the tiles, ending next to her gauntlets, a dinted helmet, and a clunky shield that had been tossed to the side to allow the Archon to freely move her hands as she spoke. Her curly orange hair had been tucked into a tight bun to keep it out of combat, with a few of her bangs sticking to the sweat and grime on her face. The King was more distracted with staring at her charred white cloak than the Archon's face. It had collected enough ash, and other unidentified stains to turn the golden threaded gryphon on it black. Rayao sat next to the throne on a small wooden chair, scribbling away inhumanly fast as he caught every word that slipped from the Archon's lips.

She stopped when she heard the door, cocking her fiery gaze at Caleb to stop him in his tracks.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Caleb paid her a small nod to try and ease the tense air, earning a curt nod in reply. There was nothing more terrifying in Toroy Garoztch than Jolene Scarlight, the fearless commander of the Vanguard.

Tiram did not like her. He had not been shy to gossip that she was an Archon only by virtue of the fact that she had 'bullied' her way up the chain of command. Ra'zerun had not blessed the Archon with one of his eight gifts, because she had taken the place of a stolen slot. The one who had taken Ra'zerun's gift, who was meant to be an Archon, had yet to perish, and wouldn't be caught dead walking through the gates of Toroy Garoztch.

If he was to die, Caleb knew Ra'zerun would never bless Jollie, and the Vanguard would crumble, or worse, rally against the city to defend her title. Caleb had never seen more loyal soldiers than the ones that stood by Jollie's side. She did not need celestial gifts to hold the line at Westlock, and would grab death by the throat and cast it to her heels if it tried to stop her from taking back the city.

Tiram raised his hand to stop her speech, the boredom on his face shifting to a welcoming smile as he waved to the White Knight. "My ear was about to fall off. It is good to see the White Knight will always arrive at my time of need."

Caleb stepped up to the throne and knelt before the king, awaiting his motion to release him before he rose once more. "The evil has been driven from Bervolt, six heroes lost their lives, and one follower slain."

"And from demons or death did this corruption spur?"

"Death born of fairy tricks. The Spinner sent her reach there with the aid of the Wind, but I saw no greater plan beyond Bervolt for the Agents of Death there."

The king sat in pensive silence for a moment. "And you felled her?"

Caleb stiffened, feeling the weight of the King's stare. Jollie had taken an interest in the response as well, her foot tapping the stone pillar she had leaned against after being excused from the conversation.

Caleb lowered his gaze. "She was not there."

"Didn't strike a deal with the town or strike down Katryna." The king scoffed. "The White Knight has brought a dead bird to my doorstep like a stray begging for a pat on the head."

"I bring nothing but my deepest apologies, your Majesty." Caleb replied, taking a knee once more and bowing his head low. "But if it is to your fancy, I have scheduled the transport of a rare beast for your collection. It is bones. It is not the demon you specifically requested, but I happened upon a dragon in my journeys."

The king rose some, reaching for a gaudy gold goblet of wine to smile at Caleb over its rim. "And how was it slain?"

"A hunting trip, you felled it in one shot, your Majesty."

Jollie snorted.

Caleb kept his head bowed, but could imagine the way his king was now smiling from cheek to cheek. Despite his form lacking exercise, he had slain many vicious creatures on his 'hunting trips' with Caleb. Caleb had indeed brought a dead bird to his doorstep, and a pat on the head had been delivered without an ask. But he was not intent to point this out.

"Tell me you didn't just waste an Archon's time calling them to your court for such a short update." Jollie boomed, earning a look from Rayao that eased her squared shoulders. But her voice was still laced with sarcasm as she caught the king's glare. "Your majesty."

"Short and to the point. Perhaps this is a learning opportunity for the Vanguard." Tiram retorted. "Your letter was company enough."

"Your court boy misread it. I will use simpler words next time." Jollie replied, her brow furrowed with irritation as she swung around to collect her things off the ground. The few royal guards stationed to walk her gave her more than their detailed distance, scrambling to get the doors open for the furious Archon to pass through.

Tiram waited until the doors were firmly sealed, looking down at Caleb with a chortling laugh. "Women. Such needlessly cryptic creatures."

Caleb cleared his throat awkwardly. "I apologize, your majesty, but I am not sure why you summoned me here so urgently."

Tiram laughed. "It is but a week earlier than the quarterly finance meeting, I have called all the Archons. You ought to show some face. Colius has started using your empty chair as a leg rest."

"I'm not a numbers person. I trust the judgement of the other Archons with our finances."

Tiram breathed out a sigh. "And… I'm sure you've noticed the streets of Toroy Garotzch are just a little more festive than they were last year."

Caleb nodded, pretending to have noticed this detail. He had flown straight to the castle, whatever business there was on the streets had completely avoided the Archon's attention. "Of course, your majesty."

"So I'm sure you know what day it is tomorrow." Tiram continued, raising his eyebrows with a prompting nod.

Caleb mocked his slow nod, but the silence from the king turned his nod to a shake of the head.

"It's the day a certain portal opened…? Over in-"

"Parov?" Caleb cut in, the king's nod only fueling his confusion further. "The portal to Hell? Is the party in the hall for that?"

"Yes! I thought you of all people would remember that immediately!" The king laughed, his joy cut short when he caught Rayao conspicuously shaking his head. He awkwardly adjusted himself in his throne, looking down at Caleb with some horror at the realization. "We are not… celebrating the fall of the last White Knight."

"Don't worry, that wasn't my first thought, your Majesty." Caleb lied.

The king sucked in a deep breath, tossing Rayao more than a few obvious glances before the advisor stepped forth. "What his Majesty means to celebrate is the Heroguard's resilience. Thirty years since the Hells opened. This celebration will bring offerings to Ra'zerun to bless the people with ten more years of resilience. Despite what new calamity may come of it."

Caleb nodded in understanding. As best he could understand it - given the circumstances. On a more positive note, it was a reminder that he owed a grave some flowers.

Rayao stepped down from the raised throne, lowering his voice to keep his conversation between Caleb and Tiram. "And, speaking of the new Calamity, there is something His Majesty would like you to see."

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