CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

Caius leaned back against the stone balustrade at the pyramid’s summit, looking down at the sprawling, ancient native city below. Crimson banners fluttered over stone plazas where thousands of Æthrynn locals knelt toward the apex in continuous, chant-filled worship.

He rubbed his temples, letting out a heavy breath.

”I’m not staying in this city,” Caius said smoothly, sweeping his eyes across the Mayan-style architecture. ”I have no desire to play the petty tyrant who kicks people out of their ancestral homes just to claim their throne room.”

Old Bones raised a dark eyebrow, his arms folded neatly within his dark sleeves. ”A surprisingly merciful sentiment for a sovereign building a war engine.”

”It isn’t just mercy, it’s privacy,” Caius replied with a wry smile, gesturing toward the sea of prostrate citizens below. ”There are too many fanatics down there chanting my name like I’m a god-king descended from the sun. I can barely take a breath without a prayer echoing up the stairwell.”

Summoning the crystal map into the air between them, Caius tapped the glowing projection. The spatial topography of Æthrynn flared to life, highlighting the positions of the three realm conduits: the First Gate leading toward the Nerathil and Mordrakh territory, the sealed Second Gate in the volcanic mountains, and the Third Gate connected to Commander Altan’s Gale Realm.

Caius traced a thread with his finger, landing directly in the barren, unpopulated wasteland lying precisely at the geographic center of all three gateways.

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”We build our own fortress city here,” Caius declared, his finger leaving a burning golden marker on the map. ”A true stronghold, designed solely for war and complete isolation.”

He turned to his dark elf steward. ”Send word to the local city king. Tell him we are packing up and relocating our forces to the central plains.”

Old Bones let out a low, smooth hum, his sharp eyes glinting with amused cynicism. ”He is going to argue, my Sovereign. Having you anchored beside his pyramid made him look like the chosen right-hand of a deity. His status among the other regional lords skyrocketed overnight. Without you here, he goes back to being just another local ruler.”

Caius chuckled softly, shaking his head. ”And what, exactly, can he do about it?”

”Complain very loudly to his gods, I suppose,” Old Bones replied dryly.

”I won’t leave them empty-handed,” Caius said, his expression settling into something far more calculated. ”Before we break ground on the new fortress, we will gift a Healing Tree to every major city across Æthrynn.”

Old Bones paused, turning his full gaze toward Caius. The dark elf studied his master for a long moment, calculating the political and spiritual ramifications of bestowing life-giving, disease-cleansing miracles upon a primitive, war-torn population.

”A Healing Tree for every city...” Old Bones murmured, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. ”Will that not simply create even more fanatics across the entire realm, my Sovereign?”

A sharp, dangerous glint flared in Caius’s golden-and-obsidian eyes.

”That is the entire purpose,” Caius said quietly. ”I need a fanatical army, one that will follow me through the spatial gates without hesitation. Let them worship the trees, and let that worship turn into legionnaires.”

Old Bones bowed low, sweeping his hand over his chest with impeccable, theatrical reverence. ”Ah. Naturally. The God-King truly knows all.”

Caius snorted, catching the sharp undertone immediately. ”I can taste the sarcasm from here, Steward.”

Old Bones straightened up, a quiet, genuine chuckle escaping his lips. ”Occupational hazard of serving a master of manipulation, my Sovereign. I shall prepare the messengers and the seeds at once.”