70
Saturday morning dawned bright over the Glory Kingdom, and from the highest spire of the circular castle, sunlight cascaded like liquid gold onto the waking city. Down below, the streets buzzed like the heart of a festival.
Banners fluttered from every window, from every bridge, from every balcony—leaf-shaped banners of pale green and gold, shimmering in the gentle wind. Children ran with streamers; musicians tuned flutes and lyres; merchants displayed trays of fruit dusted with sugar, pastries shaped like phoenix wings, and drinks infused with flower petals.
The people of Glory were preparing for something not seen in decades—
The Gathering of the Ten Kings of Irin.
At the center of the city stood the Glory Castle, a circular dome-shaped fortress with dozens of slender spires rising like silver branches. The castle walls shimmered white, pristine as fresh snow. The main entrance was a towering leaf-shaped door of pure gold, its veins etched in delicate patterns. It extended upward, becoming a spear-like spire that caught the sun. Two watchtowers flanked the main gate several yards away, tall and regal.
On the second floor of the castle was a circular balcony walkway, overflowing with flowering vines and fragrant plants. Birds perched along the railing—some bright blue, some white, some glowing faintly with magic.
In front of the castle lay a massive circular courtyard. Paths of smooth stone spiraled inward toward a beautiful roundabout carved perfectly with geometric precision. At the center stood a floating globe—Maharlikan lands cast in marble and jade, surrounded by the silhouettes of Irin, Aurum, Freska, and even the mysterious Diospyrus to the far edge.
The knights of Glory stood lined on both sides of the main roads, forming a golden and white corridor that stretched for hundreds of yards.
Their armor was breathtaking—
White and gold plates engraved with phoenix feathers.
Helmets crowned with the phoenix’s eye and a beak between the brows.
Elongated elven ears exposed.
Some knights wore thin ear chains that dangled elegantly.
Their chin guards were polished, their spears grounded, tips pointed skyward.
Inside the shields, moss-green lining shimmered subtly, the color of renewal.
The city’s air was thick with anticipation.
The horns blew.
A deep red and bright yellow banner appeared first—
two trogon birds perched on a branch, one red, one yellow.
The crowd cheered as King Grainne Linden of Brook approached, tall and dignified in forest-green robes. His knights followed: the males in yellow armor, the females in red. The women’s pauldrons were shaped like wings, and crimson capes fluttered behind them. Their boots clicked sharply on the stone, drawing admiration from the onlookers.
Orange and gold banners rippled like sunrise.
King Gildor Magnelis of Canarium rode in on a dark stallion. His knights were clad in full golden armor from head to toe, visors closed, their capes a dark burnt orange. On each chestplate gleamed the mountain sigil of Mt. Maiden.
Their steps were synchronized—silent, disciplined.
A hush swept the crowd as the elegant jade owl banner approached.
King Draug Sage, tall and scholarly, stepped down from a carriage inlaid with white stone and green etchings. His knights wore jade armor detailed in feather motifs, owl eyes on their breastplates. Their shields gleamed white with a green gem at the center, catching the sun like starlight.
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Whispers followed him—
“The wisest king in Irin…”
“It is said he can recite the history of 30 generations…”
A cool breeze swept through as banners of sea-blue and silver-grey arrived.
King Alon Cirdan of Valley, relaxed yet charismatic, greeted the people with an easy smile. His knights wore silver-gray armor with ship symbols across their chestplates. They wore no helmets—a sign of bravery, or perhaps tradition—revealing braided hair of silver and blue. Swords were crossed on their backs.
The crowd applauded their seafaring reputation.
The ground practically thudded with each step of the Marlin knights.
King Kolvar Seregon marched at the forefront, his deep-blue coat flowing behind him. Behind him towered the Marlin knights—tall, bulky, muscular. Their armor was scaled silver-grey with deep blue interiors and orange linings. Some wore horns on their helmets; others had sharp straight crests.
Every single knight wielded a hammer with intricate markings.
Children gasped.
Adults stepped back.
The air trembled.
A collective sigh escaped the crowd.
The pale pink banner unfurled—a blooming rose with silver thorns.
King Alvin Reydan of Rose stepped forward first, but the crowd’s attention quickly shifted to his knights—
almost all women, clad in soft pink armor with silver embroidery. Their silver hair braided elegantly with pink petals woven into each braid.
Their swords were pink-bladed, shimmering as if dipped in sunrise.
The crowd erupted with cheers—especially the young men.
“Truly the most beautiful knights in Irin…”
Next came the stag banner—dark green and black with starry motifs.
King Orson Sundervine of Dore walked calmly, robes flowing like gentle woodland mist. His knights—deep green armor glowing with antler patterns—moved silently behind him.
The front knight wore a helmet crowned with massive antlers, wielding a jade-green spear.
He drew awe from every direction.
A hush fell.
Black and gold banners cut through the air like blades.
King Revion Dorsen arrived atop a glossy black horse. His knights followed, every horse stepping in perfect rhythm—hooves clicking together in unison like the ticking of a giant clock.
Their armor was black trimmed with gold.
Their helmets adorned with flowing golden hair.
Their capes black with golden hawks spreading their wings.
The people whispered:
“Vergara… the most disciplined warriors in Irin…”
The air stiffened with their presence.
The crowd held its breath.
Petals drifted from the sky—white and gold.
Then the banner was raised:
A knight with wings, sword pointing down, surrounded by divine rays.
The trumpets blew a celestial tone.
King Vergilius Boyy of Mistral approached—
the only half-elf, half-human king in Irin.
His presence was serene, radiant, almost holy.
People bowed without realizing it.
Behind him marched the Angel Knights—
white full-body armor trimmed in gold,
chests etched with a cross-like sword radiating light.
Layered pauldrons glowed faintly.
Helmets bore three horns.
Weapons varied—some with axes, some swords, some daggers.
The crowd murmured as if seeing angels descend.
“Divine…”
“Look at the light…”
“The Angel Manta…”
King Vergilius raised one hand in greeting, and sunlight seemed to bend around it.
The Glory knights struck their spears onto the stone, saluting.
The golden leaf door opened.
King Faelarion Lumirien of Glory stepped out, white robes and golden embroidery swirling around him. His silver hair flowed in the breeze. He extended his hands.
“Welcome, rulers of Irin, to the heart of peace and unity.”
The kings and queens walked forward, knights following, banners waving. The massive dome hall awaited—crystal chandeliers, murals of ancient battles, long tables adorned with fruits and breads from all regions.
Laughter. Greetings.
Old rivals shaking hands.
Young princes meeting for the first time.
Knights comparing weapons.
Queens exchanging compliments on dresses or armor.
Outside, parades roared—
Food stalls from every region opened.
Children ran with wooden swords.
Merchants sang about their wares.
Musicians filled the streets with flutes and drums.
The whole city was alive.
For a brief moment, Irin felt whole—united, vibrant, peaceful.
Yet beneath the celebration…
whispers carried across corners:
“Why did he summon all ten kings?”
“What news does Glory bring?”
“Is it about the disturbances in the south?”
“I heard Diospyrus stirs…”
“No, no—impossible—”
Far above them, birds circled the dome of the castle, their cries weaving into the wind.
Something was coming.
Something the kings would soon discover.
But for now—
Glory shined brighter than ever, basking in unity before the storm.
