Leroy and Starmist arrived at the Kingdom of Tribun, one of the realms bound to the Silver Chair. Their descent shattered the quiet rhythm of a midday court.

  King Juris, still seated at his luncheon table, choked on his meal when word of their arrival reached him. The visit had come without herald or letter. No rider had preceded them. Even the gate wardens, sworn to vigilance, had seen nothing until two figures cleaved the sky above the capital and descended like falling stars.

  The young king rose at once. Servants rushed to clear the table while he fastened his mantle with hurried fingers, wiping the corner of his mouth as he strode toward the palace gates. His guards struggled to match his pace.

  “How did they suddenly reach the castle?” Juris asked, his voice muffled behind his hand.

  “They traveled through the air, Your Majesty,” replied the captain of the guard.

  Juris exhaled sharply.

  “This superhuman age grows more troublesome by the day.”

  Outside the palace walls, Leroy stood upon a high terrace overlooking the city, his gaze drifting across tiled rooftops and winding avenues. Starmist sat behind him on a stone bench, eyes half closed as she let the wind brush past her face. There was no urgency in them. Only the quiet patience of those who knew power granted the luxury of waiting.

  “It seems the young king has kept his father’s kingdom intact,” Leroy said at last.

  Starmist rose and joined him.

  “And what leads you to that conclusion?”

  “The city is quiet from above,” he answered. “I'm sure this kingdom more prosperous now.”

  She clicked her tongue softly.

  “What a dreadful judgement. You have spent too long among council chambers.”

  “We can judge for ourselves soon enough,” Leroy said.

  Their eyes met, and disagreement passed between them without friction. The exchange carried the ease of old familiarity, the kind born from shared wars and countless arguments that never threatened affection. In their youth, when they served within the Vanguard, such debates had been a ritual, a small rebellion against the suffocating weight of battle.

  “So you believe I do not understand the people?” Leroy asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You might be forgot, buy I spent years in District Three.”

  “You lived there,” Starmist replied, “yet locked yourself in bottom floor.”

  Leroy chuckled, the sound carried off by the wind.

  “Very well, Lady Starmist of House Star. Perhaps we should turn this council recess into a wager.”

  She looked at him, puzzled but attentive.

  “You will oversee Unus Bank,” Leroy continued, “and I shall take charge of Sevenstar.”

  Starmist let out a quiet laugh.

  “Chairman Leroy, First Brother of Weapon Master. You realize this will only burden Elysius with headlines and drown both organization in confusion.”

  “Two months,” Leroy said. “Nothing more. I bet you.”

  A pause lingered between them, fragile as glass.

  “Or are you afraid?” he added.

  The challenge stirred something sharp behind Starmist’s calm expression.

  “Then answer this,” she said. “What would you do with commonfolk who disrupt aid distribution?”

  Leroy fell silent, weighing the question.

  “Maybe I would arrest them,” he said at last. “If they pose danger to the surrounding citizens, imprisonment would follow.”

  “So judgment first,” Starmist said, “before understanding circumstance.”

  “That question is a trap,” Leroy admitted. “What alternative remains in such a position?”

  Starmist laughed, the sound warm yet edged with irony.

  “You are not wrong. But it is entirely in character.”

  “And you?” Leroy asked. “Would you still listen?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I try to understand how hard time change desperation into brutality.”

  For a moment they stood in silence, watching the city breathe beneath them. Smoke drifted from distant chimneys. Merchants moved like threads through the streets. The kingdom appeared peaceful, yet both knew peace often concealed fractures too small to see from above.

  Leroy broke the stillness with a grin.

  “Fortunately, there are no commonfolk in the Abyss.”

  “If there were,” Starmist replied, “I might visit it far more often.”

  Their quiet exchange dissolved into the distant sound of approaching footsteps as the palace gates began to open, heralding the arrival of King Juris and his retinue, and with it the subtle shift of atmosphere that always followed the presence of the Silver Chair.

  Leroy returned to the wager as though unwilling to let the idea dissolve into idle talk. He pressed the matter again, proposing that they exchange positions for a time and test one another’s competence beneath unfamiliar burdens.

  Before Starmist could answer, a polite cough rose behind them.

  The sound cut through the air like a blade through silk, dissolving the intimacy of their conversation. Both turned at once, their expressions settling into composed neutrality.

  King Juris stood a few steps away with his retinue, posture straight yet hesitant, as if unsure whether he had intruded upon something private.

  “Chairman Leroy, Lady Starmist. Welcome to the Kingdom of Tribun,” he said, lowering his head.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Leroy replied. “Forgive our sudden arrival without notice before.”

  “No problem, Chairman Leroy. A lunch has been prepared for your comfort. If your discussion remains unfinished, I can withdraw and have word sent when you are ready.”

  Leroy blinked.

  “You have been standing here this whole time, Your Majesty? Listening to our conversation?”

  Juris bowed his head again, embarrassment coloring his tone.

  “My apologies. Your discussion appeared serious. I feared it wouldn't be wise to interrupt.”

  Leroy and Starmist exchanged a brief glance, a silent flicker of alarm passing between them. The thought that Juris might have overheard their playful wager and misread it as political maneuvering hovered unspoken.

  “It is quite all right, King Juris,” Starmist said with a gentle smile. “We will remain here for a few moments before joining you.”

  The smile struck the young king like sunlight breaking through cloud. He stood motionless, eyes fixed upon her, composure unraveling beneath the quiet elegance she carried as effortlessly as breath.

  “Your Majesty?” Leroy prompted.

  No response.

  “Your Majesty,” Leroy repeated, louder this time.

  Juris startled, color rising sharply to his face. Without another word he turned and retreated toward the palace interior, hands briefly covering his expression as he walked.

  Why did I freeze like that? Juris thought, his pulse unsettled. Is it true what people say of Lady Starmist’s presence? No… that is foolish.

  Yet another thought lingered behind the denial. Still, those two share a closeness unlike ordinary colleagues.

  Behind him, Leroy watched the young king disappear.

  “I imagine you are accustomed to such reactions,” he said.

  Starmist shrugged lightly.

  “It happens.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Leroy tilted his head, curiosity sharpening his voice.

  “You have never considered one of the Silver Chair kings for…”

  He never finished the thought.

  Starmist cut him off with a sigh and began walking toward the palace doors.

  “That topic is exhausted,” she said. “You sound like my sister in law.”

  Leroy lingered a moment, puzzled, but chose silence over persistence and followed her inside.

  They entered the dining hall to find a table that stretched nearly the length of the chamber, laden with roasted meats, glazed fruits, fragrant breads, and wines that caught the candlelight like liquid rubies. The spread could have fed fifteen grown adults with ease.

  King Juris waited beside the table, posture regained though traces of earlier embarrassment clung to him.

  “Please, enjoy,” he said. “Your journey must have been tiring.”

  “Your Majesty, your generosity is appreciated,” Starmist replied, surveying the abundance. “But this is far too much for only the two of us.”

  “Oh.” Juris hesitated, confusion slipping through his composure. “I assumed that if you had come, the others might follow. I wished to be prepared.”

  “If the full council were arriving,” Leroy said as he took his seat, “you would have received notice long before our arrival.”

  Juris offered a small smile, one that struggled to conceal his discomfort.

  Brilliant, Juris, he scolded himself inwardly. A feast wasted, and only your own embarrassment gained.

  “We came to you for a reason,” Leroy said, pouring water into two glasses with deliberate calm. “You are the youngest king among the Silver Chair. There are matters we wish to understand.”

  Juris pressed his lips together. The warmth of the dining hall seemed to fade as tension settled over him, quiet and suffocating.

  I cannot lie if something is wrong, he thought, pulse quickening beneath his composed exterior. If it were grave enough, they would have sent Lucretius instead.

  “Your Majesty,” Leroy continued, “can you tell us of any superhumans who have caused trouble within your kingdom?”

  The question lingered in the air.

  Juris hesitated, fingers tightening around his utensils as though weighing each memory against consequence. At first he spoke of smaller disturbances. Cogworks worker clashing each others. Weapon Masters intervening in petty violence that flared across market districts. Incidents unfortunate yet survivable.

  Then his voice slowed, drifting toward a memory that refused to remain buried.

  During his father’s reign, a Vanguard had visited Tribun. Druganda of the Extraterrestrial faction, son of Lord Drogin.

  The visit had been diplomatic. Trade discussions.

  Druganda, restless beneath courtly restraint, had chosen to walk the city streets. Jayes, the king’s daughter and Juris’s elder sister, accompanied him alongside royal guards and escorts from his faction.

  They reached the market as afternoon crowds thickened the streets.

  There, disorder brewed. A quarrel between merchants and extortionists had erupted into violence. Raised voices. Shattered goods. A familiar chaos the city endured with weary acceptance.

  As a Vanguard, Druganda refused indifference. Jayes had warned him it was a minor disturbance, one that would resolve as such conflicts always did. Yet he stepped forward regardless, intent on intervention.

  The moment unraveled with cruel simplicity.

  One of the combatants, desperate and reckless, fired a stone from a sling. The projectile struck Druganda’s glass helm.

  The fracture was almost imperceptible.

  Then the toxin emerged.

  A thin mist seeped from the damaged apparatus, invisible until it began to claim breath. Panic followed. Coughing. Collapse. Guards scrambled, merchants fled, but the poison spread with merciless patience.

  Antitoxin reserves remained at the palace. By the time aid arrived, the market had become a quiet field of bodies.

  Civilians died that day.

  Jayes among them.

  “Why have I never heard of this?” Starmist asked, her voice steady though something colder moved beneath it.

  Juris stared down at his plate, utensils turning slowly between his fingers.

  “Cause in the morning,” he said, “hooded figures arrived bearing a council decree. They stated the incident would go no further and my sister died in a tragic market brawl.”

  Leroy and Starmist exchanged a glance heavy with understanding. No words were needed. The pattern was unmistakable.

  Cryptic Associate.

  A veil drawn to preserve the dignity of Regal Vanguard.

  Having gathered what they sought, the two councilors allowed a brief silence to settle before Leroy spoke again.

  “Your Majesty,” he said gently, “do you have concern for council? Speak freely. I was once commonfolk myself.”

  The admission startled Juris more than any question had. Awe and confusion mingled in his expression. In this era, superhumans rarely sought the perspective of those without power.

  “I lack experience, Chairman Leroy,” Juris said after a moment. “But if I may… is there a policy that could prevent tragedies like the one that took my sister?”

  Leroy and Starmist nodded in quiet acknowledgment.

  They rose from the table, gratitude offered for the hospitality that had framed a far heavier conversation than any feast could soften. Without ceremony, they stepped beyond the palace balcony.

  The wind greeted them like an old companion.

  Moments later they ascended into the sky, leaving the Kingdom of Tribun beneath them as a tapestry of fading lights and unspoken grief.

  Their path bent toward the northeast.

  Toward their true destination.

  The journey took nearly four hours.

  From the sky, the land unfolded into a patchwork of clustered dwellings and grazing fields. Herds of buffalo and goats moved like drifting shadows across the plains, their paths weaving through a pastoral settlement that bordered the realm of the Elementalists. Symbols marked the territory with quiet authority. The crest of the faction hung beside the sigil of the council, carved into stable gates and farm entrances alike.

  This village belonged to The Sanctuary.

  Leroy and Starmist descended without spectacle, yet their arrival stirred motion as surely as thunder across still water. The village headman emerged from the hall at a hurried pace, guiding them toward the gathering place while farmers paused mid labor, tools forgotten in soil and grass. One by one, commonfolk left fields, riverbanks, and pastures, drawn by the rare presence of council members among them.

  Leroy and Starmist declined the privacy of the hall.

  Two chairs were placed upon the veranda instead.

  They would not speak behind walls. Whatever words were exchanged would belong to everyone.

  The village headman cleared his throat, voice carrying the careful weight of hospitality.

  “Chairman Leroy, Lady Starmist. This is unexpected. We wonder if some trouble has brought the council here.”

  “There is no trouble,” Starmist replied, her tone gentle enough to soften the tension gathering in the crowd. “You may have read the news. The council is on rest. We merely wish to use this time to reconnect with the All Realm.”

  Relief rippled through the villagers like wind across tall grass.

  “Ah… yes, the news,” the headman murmured, still uncertain how to situate himself within such unusual circumstances.

  “We have spent too long within our towers,” Leroy said.

  The remark drew quiet chuckles from the crowd.

  Word spread quickly. Villagers called to one another across fields and valleys, summoning those still at work. The gathering thickened with each passing minute until the veranda faced a sea of attentive faces. Among them stood a lone healer from the Sorcerer faction, his lack of emblem marking him as unrecognized, yet he joined the discussion without hesitation.

  “Chairman Leroy, Lady Starmist,” the headman said after some time, glancing at the fading sky, “evening approaches. We want to offer a meal, as hospitality from our village.”

  Leroy and Starmist inclined their heads in acceptance.

  Youth moved swiftly to prepare tables. Ingredients were gathered, fires lit, and lanterns strung between wooden posts. Soon the village glowed beneath the warm pulse of rising lamps.

  “So,” Leroy began, continuing the conversation, “how has life been since becoming part of The Sanctuary?”

  The answers came freely.

  Before the war, the village had lived in uncertainty. Trade routes vanished. Livestock lost value. Survival became a matter of endurance rather than growth. The Sanctuary had changed that. Markets reopened. Protection followed.

  Leroy listened more than he spoke, recording details with quiet diligence, while Starmist carried the dialogue forward with natural ease.

  They spoke of Forest Maidens who appeared during harsh summers, bringing shade and hidden springs. Susanoo whose storms arrived without pattern, blessing and disrupting the land in equal measure.

  “And his sister, Amaterasu?” Starmist asked, gently brushing her fingers through the hair of children who sat near her feet with unguarded comfort. “Has anyone seen her recently?”

  “She is rarely seen here,” a villager replied. “Not like the Shogun or Lord Susanoo.”

  “But the earth god sometimes seen on those mountains,” a child added, pointing toward distant ridges etched against the horizon. "Never shows his face, yet he helps shepherds who lose their way.”

  Leroy watched the mountains for a moment before turning back.

  “Is there anything you fear?” he asked, his voice steady, direct.

  A hush followed.

  Villagers exchanged glances and whispered among themselves, urging someone forward. At last, an elderly fisherman rose, shoulders bent beneath years spent beside restless waters.

  He bowed his head before speaking.

  “Our concern lies not with men,” he said. “But with mythical creatures that wander these lands. Some are protected by the Elementalists. And so… we can do little when they come.”

  The lantern light flickered across faces that carried neither panic nor resentment, only the quiet fatigue of those who had learned to coexist with dangers beyond their power to resist.

  The villagers did not lack courage. What they lacked was certainty.

  To harm the creatures risked offending the Elementalist factions whose protection sustained the Sanctuary. Yet many Elementalists were absent, scattered across distant territories where their authority could not reach this quiet frontier. Hiring Weapon Masters offered little solace. Mercenaries by nature, they rarely anchored themselves to one place long enough to offer lasting security.

  The problem lingered in the space between power and dependence.

  Leroy and Starmist understood the dilemma without further explanation. Some burdens carried no clean solution, only compromises that time might one day resolve.

  The discussion faded with the coming night.

  Lanterns swayed gently above tables laden with village fare. Laughter replaced hesitation as the meal unfolded, humble yet warm with sincerity. For a time, conversation drifted away from politics and danger, settling instead on harvest yields, wandering seasons, and the quiet rhythms that sustained lives beyond the council’s reach.

  When the feast ended, Leroy and Starmist prepared to depart.

  Before they could leave, the village headman approached with a small wooden plank and a pot of dark ink.

  “If you don't mind,” he said, voice hesitant but hopeful. “May your hands leave a mark here. A memory that this village was ever visited by Council.”

  Without hesitation, both pressed their inked palms against the wood.

  Two imprints remained. Silent testimony to a brief intersection between power and obscurity.

  They walked toward the village edge beneath a sky thick with stars, the darkness broken only by lantern glow and distant hearthlight. Behind them rose voices of gratitude, waves of farewell carried through laughter and raised hands.

  “Two stops,” Leroy said, hands tucked into his coat as he gazed at the quiet road ahead. “Where to now?”

  “I know a place,” Starmist replied. “A kingdom roughly two hours from here. We can rest there as well.”

  Leroy nodded, a faint smile touching his expression.

  “Then lead the way, Lady Starmist.”

  Her laughter was soft, unguarded.

  Moments later they crossed the village gates and lifted into the night, their figures dissolving into the vastness above as the land below returned to its patient silence.