Theodosius Valkorion's Arc

Chapter 1 of 22

Theodosius Valkorion knelt on the cracked marble floor of the throne room that had once been his mother's. Soot streaked the white walls. The high seat above him was empty, but a stranger's banner hung behind it — a black hawk where the star used to be. He was the last son of the fallen Empress, and he had come to take back what the usurpers had stolen. He rose slowly. His silver armor caught the pale light from the shattered dome. The visor of his helmet glowed with a four-pointed star, the same mark his mother had worn on her crown. He drew the sword at his hip. White lightning crawled up the blade and lit the ruined hall. The nobles gathered along the walls stepped back. A few dropped to one knee. Most did not. "You bring a relic and expect a crown," said the seneschal at the foot of the dais. His voice shook, but his hands did not. "The Empress is dead. Her house is ash. Choose exile, boy, and live." Theodosius did not answer him. He turned to the double doors at the back of the chamber. He had sent word three nights ago, to the one man who could still make the Legions listen. He did not know if the message had arrived. He did not know if it had been read. The doors opened. Heinrich von Stahlberg walked in alone. He wore the white officer's coat of the old Empire, the medals still pinned in a row above his heart. His beard was greyer than Theodosius remembered from childhood. He had commanded the Unified Legions under the Empress. He had carried Theodosius on his shoulder once, through a garden that no longer existed. He stopped ten paces from the dais and looked at the boy he had last seen at seven years old. "Show me the blade," Heinrich said. Theodosius lifted it. The lightning flared. Heinrich's eyes moved from the star on the visor to the star at the sword's guard, and his jaw tightened. "It answers to her blood," Heinrich said. He turned to face the nobles. He did not raise his voice. "The Legions I trained still answer to me. I say the heir stands here. Any man who disputes it can meet me in the yard." No one moved. The seneschal opened his mouth and closed it. One by one, the nobles along the wall knelt. Theodosius climbed the dais. He did not sit. He pulled the black banner down and let it fall on the steps. The throne was his again, and the hall was silent, and he understood in that moment that reclaiming a seat was not the same as ruling from it. The city outside was still broken. The provinces had not answered. And the men who had killed his mother were still alive.