NOVPUBThe Seven Nations:
In the far south, cradled by the sea, lay Drenovar, a nation known for its vibrant ports and deep naval roots.
To the far east, surrounded by endless dunes, stood Trevak, a land of heat and hardship.
Beside it, a land rich with beauty—Vetille, famed for its breathtaking landscapes and healing hot springs, often visited by travelers seeking peace.
At the center of the map was Elarith, the bustling heart of trade, where gold spoke louder than words.
To the north, hidden among ancient trees, was Eryndor, a nation guarded by its wild forests and even wilder traditions.
Northwest stood Hener, where the clang of hammers echoed day and night, the land of blacksmiths and the largest weapon supply.
And nestled beside the mountains like a secret waiting to be uncovered was Ademerg, silent, strong, and watchful.
The war had scarred them all—some received mental damage, while some incurred both mental and physical damage.
Now, the kings of these seven nations have gathered under one roof. Alongside them were the eight S-rank heroes—champions who had stood on the front lines—and a special guest.
Together, there were nineteen souls at a great round table, brought together not by peace, but by the shared memory of bloodshed.
The hall was quiet, filled with the soft shuffle of robes and armor, the creak of chairs, and the tension in every breath.
"Unless an S-rank is absent, only three Council Heads are allowed at this table," Austin murmured under his breath. He pulled out a chair for Valerie with a small nod. His eyes scanned the room.
A few people who knew each other from past missions or alliances sat close, finding comfort in familiar faces.
Cedric chose the seat beside someone who had once pulled him from the edge of despair.
"How have you been, Cedric?" came a warm voice.
It was Idris, King of Drenovar, wearing a soft smile that lit up his usually serious face.
The warmth in his tone caught many off guard. Though word had spread that the past tensions between Eryndor and Drenovar had cooled, few expected such genuine friendship. It wasn't just politics—it was personal.
As the two kings spoke quietly, their shared respect visible in every glance, Austin's gaze drifted across the table.
He spotted the King of Ademerg—Eden. The older man met his gaze, offering a brief but sincere smile, followed by a respectful nod.
They had only recently become acquainted during the war's preparations, but in that short time, Austin had come to respect the quiet strength Eden carried. There was something grounding about him, like the mountains his kingdom guarded.
His gaze drifted next to the Queen of Vetille—Rinne Velenna.
She stood out even among royalty. Her long black hair cascaded down her back like a shadow, and her eyes—dull gold, like faded sunlight—seemed to hold stories no one had ever heard aloud.
She was speaking with a man Austin had never met, but he knew exactly who he was.
Zurkis, the King of Hener. Parkinson's father.
As if sensing the weight of Austin's stare, Zurkis turned. Their eyes met.
For a moment, the world stilled.
There was something unreadable in the older man's expression—calm, sharp, and distant, like a sword sheathed behind diplomacy.
The stare lingered only for seconds, but it felt longer. Then Zurkis turned back to the Queen, resuming their conversation as if the moment hadn't happened.
Austin was well aware that the notice of exile and the conspiracy against him were planned by Zurkis, but there was no point in mentioning anything about it now.
Austin's attention moved again, this time landing on the King of Trevak.
He was laughing gently with Thea, one of the S-ranks. Judging by their ease with each other, they were more than acquaintances. Perhaps old allies. Perhaps something more.
Aside from Thea, only two other S-ranks were present: the elegant and quiet Charlotte and the second-ranked warrior, Olivia.
"Hey, girlie," Olivia grinned, tossing a casual wave in Valerie's direction. Her voice was teasing, playful, but under it, a challenge flickered.
Austin turned to Valerie. Her posture stiffened, and a dark shadow passed over her face.
"You know her?" he asked quietly.
Valerie gave a tight nod. "When you went to the other side," she said, her voice low, "she's the one who stopped me from going after you."
Austin blinked. "Ah… Right. Selner did say she ordered someone to keep you back."
Valerie didn't answer; her gaze was locked on Olivia. It wasn't anger exactly—but something colder. A quiet hurt that had yet to be healed.
Austin let out a soft breath. Now he understood. Olivia had only done her duty, probably without malice. Still, he couldn't blame the warrior.
Austin couldn't have afforded to have Valerie on the other side, so what Olivia did, he might thank her later.
He looked back at the table, realizing how much lay beneath the surface here. Old wounds. Hidden truths. Fragile peace stitched together by shared loss.
Austin shared a brief smile with Charlotte across the table, a moment of calm amid the storm of faces and unreadable expressions.
Then the grand doors of the conference hall opened with a low groan, drawing every gaze toward the entrance.
A group of figures stepped inside, dressed in flowing white robes, their steps measured, almost ceremonial. No one at the table stood to greet them, but the silence that followed was louder than any welcome. All eyes, curious and cautious, locked onto the last man who entered and gently closed the doors behind him.
He was tall, with sun-blond hair and a calm, unreadable expression. He moved with quiet power, the kind that didn't need to be announced.
The strongest warrior alive had arrived.
There was no need for fanfare. His presence alone said everything.
As the robed figures took their seats, the air in the room seemed to shift, heavier, more serious. The time for pleasantries had passed.
Now, seated around the great table were three Council Heads, four of the eight S-rank warriors, including the one at the top, and an audience of kings and the only queen.
Then, another voice broke the silence. 𝓃ℴ𝓋𝓹𝓊𝓫.𝒸𝓸𝓂
A tall, lanky man stepped forward, his curly hair tousled as though he hadn't noticed, or didn't care. His bright brown eyes swept across the room, open and steady.
"I'd like to introduce the three chiefs first," he said, his tone soft yet somehow clear enough to reach every corner of the hall.
He gestured to the left.
"This is Sir Desmond," he said, nodding to a man with dark skin, white hair, and striking violet eyes.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze, like a blade that didn't show itself unless it needed to.
Beside him sat a woman with long black hair streaked with gray. Her face bore the signs of time, but her eyes held a quiet, commanding strength.
"She is Madam Clara."
And lastly, a bald man with piercing green eyes gave a slight nod as he was introduced.
"He is Sir Nelson."
The speaker placed a hand over his chest in a respectful gesture. "And I am Isaac, the moderator of this meeting."
A faint smile touched his lips—measured, but not cold.
"Let's begin this meeting," he said, "with the hope that, by the end of this day, we reach a conclusion that brings not only strength, but understanding."
The room stayed silent for a breath longer, as if everyone was bracing for what was to come.
Because what they discussed here wouldn't just shape nations.
It could decide their survival.
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A/N:- Thank you for reading. Make sure to leave a comment on your way out.
