CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

The sudden, oppressive weight in the hall was suffocating. The Æthrynn king, Nyzekh, and Bruga all froze, their eyes darting between Caius and White Bones while the sheer, unadulterated grimness carved into the two strangers’ faces sent a jolt of ice down the king’s spine. His eyes settled on the creature perched upon Caius’s shoulder. To the Æthrynn, three-eyed corvids were legendary harbingers of ruin, serving as a dark omen foretelling mass graves and fallen dynasties. But a three-eyed crow as white as bleached bone was something far worse, representing a sign of absolute extinction.

”Is there something wrong, my Lord?” the king stammered, his voice trembling as he bowed his head lower.

Caius looked down at the king, his expression completely devoid of warmth. ”The purge at the gates did not break them. It enraged them. The Nerathil are mustering at the valley’s edge, with seventy-five thousand beasts already gathered and more converging from every corner of this realm. They are marching in full force.”

The words hit the sanctuary like a physical blow. Color drained completely from the king’s face while Nyzekh and Bruga went deathly pale, their breath catching in their throats. The elders lining the hall stood completely numb, their minds failing to comprehend the scale of the impending slaughter because seventy-five thousand monstrosities was not a raid, but rather an unstoppable deluge that would erase their race from existence.

Caius ignored their panic, his mind already shifting into cold, mechanical strategy as he turned his gaze to White Bones. ”Two weeks. Three at the absolute most before they reach the valley.”

White Bones’ cowl shifted as his socketed gaze met Caius’s.

”Do you think the Bead-Bound can master the new cultivation technique in less than two weeks, along with drilling them in the battle codex?” Caius asked sharply.

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A dark and lethal resolve flared beneath White Bones’ ivory sleeves. ”They will, my Lord. I will personally break them and rebuild them myself. Under my hand, they will master it or die trying.”

Caius nodded slowly. ”We currently have twenty-one thousand Bead-Bound souls. If we polish their coordination and force-cultivate their foundations, we need a disciplined army of at least twenty to thirty thousand to hold the choke points and stand a fighting chance.”

He turned back to the shuddering Æthrynn king. ”Your people. If you gather every city and settlement under your rule, how many warriors can the Æthrynn muster for a grand army?”

The king swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice. ”If we drain our garrisons, Great Savior, we might gather twenty thousand. But we cannot leave the outer cities completely defenseless, or stray hordes will butcher the women and children.”

”Then do not call it a garrison levy,” Caius interrupted smoothly.

He took a step forward down the dais, and as he did, his white-gold solar aura flared, bleeding into the dim light of the resin braziers. His eyes glowed with an ancient and terrifying majesty that made the air itself thrum with suffocating pressure.

”Tell them their God summons them to war,” Caius commanded, his voice echoing off the megalithic basalt walls with absolute and unyielding authority. ”Dispatch your fastest riders. Send word to every city and citadel within three days’ march. Tell them to march their warriors to this pyramid immediately.”

The effect was instantaneous, causing the king and every single elder to drop straight to their faces, trembling under the crushing weight of Caius’s divine presence. To them, it was not an order from a mortal general, but rather a sacred decree handed down from the heavens to mortal men.

Standing to the side, White Bones looked at Caius, catching the subtle aura manipulation and the deliberate, overwhelming projection of absolute divinity. For a fraction of a second, even the ancient assassin felt an instinctual urge to lower his head before the sheer and commanding weight of his master’s intent. White Bones shook his head faintly beneath his cowl, and a raspy, silent smirk formed on his lips as he watched the scene unfold. Look at him, the old assassin thought with wicked amusement, stepping seamlessly into the role of a sky god just to forge an army from dirt. He knows precisely how to manipulate the hearts of men.