As these doubts warred within him, another of his advisors spoke up. "My lord," the man said, his voice quivering slightly, "we understand your hesitation. But consider this: the people suffer under the current rule. The outer fiefs are neglected, the taxes grow ever more burdensome, and corruption festers at the heart of the empire. You may not have been raised in the imperial palace, but you know the struggles of the common folk. Is that not a valuable perspective for a ruler to have?"
Atkin nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in these words. He had indeed seen firsthand the hardships faced by those living far from the centre of imperial power. He had witnessed the toll taken by harsh winters and poor harvests and had heard the grievances of farmers and merchants struggling under the weight of imperial taxes.
"We can use that as fuel and gather allies and garner people’s support," added a third advisor, a woman with sharp eyes and an air of quiet determination. "The state of affairs is now in disarray in the palace. The late Emperor’s second son is a mysterious individual and barely present in the palace."
Atkin’s mind raced, considering the possibilities. He had been living silently, growing his power while staying in the dark until now.
His resentment towards the imperial family ran deep.
As if in answer to his unspoken thoughts, one of his advisors leaned forward, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "My Lord," he said, his voice low and urgent, "there is something you must know.
A sign, perhaps, that the time for action has come."
Atkin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Speak freely," he commanded.
The advisor took a deep breath before continuing. "There is a holy child in our fief, my lord. A child blessed by the gods themselves."
A murmur ran through the gathered council. Even Atkin, typically stoic, couldn’t hide his surprise. "Explain," he said, leaning forward in his seat.
"Not long ago," the advisor began, "during the great meteor shower that lit up the night sky, a miraculous event occurred in one of our towns. A young boy, no more than twenty years of age, was suddenly engulfed in a blinding light. When the light faded, a spear of incredible craftsmanship had appeared in his hand."
"People are the calling the god had descendant on the eve of the festival, naming him the god himself."
Atkin’s mind raced with the implications. He had heard tales of such occurrences in the ancient legends, but never in his lifetime had such a thing been reported.
The advisor continued, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. "The head of the local church recognized the sign immediately. He recalled the ancient tales of the blessed children, those chosen by the gods to shape the destiny of our world. This boy, my lord, is one of those blessed."
Another of the council members spoke up, his voice filled with awe. "The town has been celebrating ever since. They believe that having a child of such divine favour in their midst is a sign of great things to come." Your next read awaits at freewebnovel
Atkin sat back in his chair, his mind working furiously. A blessed child, right here in his fief. It was almost too perfect to be true. If he could take this child under his protection, align himself with this divine sign...
"This blessed child," Atkin said slowly, measuring each word, "he could be the key to everything we’ve worked for. With him by our side, our voice would indeed be heard across the empire."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in.
It was the woman with the sharp eyes who finally spoke, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and caution. "It’s a powerful symbol, my Lord. The displaced heir to the throne, championing a child blessed by the gods. It’s the stuff of legends."
Even if they were boasting, Atkin didn’t react much. He always had a stoic face, hiding his emotions.
Atkin just nodded simply, a plan already forming in his mind.
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"Bring this child to the caslte," he ordered.
His men left, and the advisors remained.
As the meeting continued late into the night, plans were made and strategies discussed. Outside the walls of the modest estate, the people of Malmure Pasture continued their preparations for the festival of Divinelyte, unaware of the momentous decisions being made in their midst.
Atkin’s hand unconsciously moved to a locket he wore around his neck, hidden beneath his clothing. Inside was a small portrait of his mother, the only memento he had of her. His fingers tightened around the locket as he made a silent vow.
"Soon, mother," he whispered. "Soon, all that was taken from us will be reclaimed. And those who wronged us will pay the price."
As the moon rose over Malmure Pasture, casting long shadows across the land, the wheels of destiny had begun to turn.
***
December 24, 1924,
The crisp winter air buzzed with excitement as the annual Divinelyte Festival in Scroartint Central reached its peak. The winter festival brought forth a cold breeze across the central city, but the warmth of the people’s spirits was palpable, filling the air with joy and anticipation.
Magical lights twinkled in the trees, and the scent of cinnamon and pine wafted through the bustling streets.
Amidst the festive chaos, three figures made their way through the crowd: the newlyweds Pierre and Jennifer, accompanied by their close friend Jaegar.
Pierre held his now wife’s hand tightly as they navigated the throng. Jennifer, her curls bouncing with each step, couldn’t contain her excitement. Her emerald robes shimmered with enchanted snowflakes that never melted, a wedding gift from Pierre’s mother.
Jaegar walked in slow steps behind them as he watched his friends. He still couldn’t believe Pierre had finally tied the knot. It seemed like only yesterday they were causing mischief in the academy corridors.
Jaegar wore a long coat with a hat on his head, trying to conceal his face with the coat’s collar. He didn’t want to attract unwanted attention.