Phealafarian Frontiers : 17.5 : Eldrin’s Dream

Eldrin’s sleep was not restful that night.

When his eyes closed, they did not open to the quiet darkness of his chamber, but to a place far colder, far more deliberate. He stood alone inside a courtroom carved entirely of polished obsidian. The black stone reflected his form back at him, warped and imperfect, as though the walls were uncertain which version of him they should display. Crimson veins of molten light pulsed beneath his feet, running like fault lines through the floor and up the towering walls. The air was heavy, not with heat, but with weight.

At the far end of the chamber stood the judge’s bench, monolithic in scale. And seated upon it, unmoving yet utterly present, was the figure.

Tall, robed in flowing black stitched with lines of red-gold like threads of cooled magma, the figure wore a flawless obsidian mask. A single jagged crack ran down the mask’s right eye, revealing a dull red pulse from beneath. The heartbeat of a dying sun, steady and patient.

Without a word, the figure rose and appeared behind the prosecutor’s bench.

“The defendant, Eldrin Valtorin. Accused of attacking a fellow combatant following his elimination from a public sparring match.”

The voice was not loud. It did not need to be. Each word carried a precise weight.

In seamless motion, the figure crossed to the defender’s table.

“Our defense: He is a Valtorin. Of course he struck her. She made him appear weak. She embarrassed him before witnesses. He reasserted control. As he was born to.”

Once more, the figure returned to the judge’s bench.

“Judgment: justified.”

The crimson veins pulsed brighter. Behind Eldrin, something shifted. He turned and saw Vyra seated in the witness box, still clad in her arena uniform, the wound he’d given her fresh and bleeding, her lone open eye fixed upon him. She did not move. She only stared.

The figure’s voice softened, almost pitying.

“The body was warned. The body resisted. The body was corrected.”

The figure descended from the bench and approached Eldrin directly, hands folded with calm courtesy.

“Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself.”

A shallow nod followed, respectful but never submissive.

“I am Stilhavity. A patron, in a sense. An observer, more often. And today, a messenger.”

With a gesture, a scroll unfurled in the air beside them—black as coal, its glowing red-gold ink pulsing softly.

“Long ago, a man named Endo Valtorin made a simple request: that his line never fall. That Valtorin blood should carry weight in every hall it enters. That his heirs would be heard, feared, followed.”

Stilhavity spoke as though recounting an old contract, perfectly reasonable, perfectly fair.

“And so we agreed. An arrangement. A refinement.”

He circled Eldrin, as if admiring his work.

“Your voice now carries weight. Your presence bends rooms. Your instincts will always lead you to the seat of control. That’s not corruption, Eldrin. That’s potential.”

The warmth in his tone was almost inviting.

“You’re not here because something is broken. You’re here because something is beginning. You were made for greatness. You will be great.”

He paused, letting the words settle.

“When the power grows too vast for one vessel, it moves. That is the design. To continue. To endure.”

“One day, when your time comes, the weight will pass again—to your child. And in that moment, the cycle begins anew.”

Stilhavity’s voice lowered slightly, intimate but never threatening.

“Your father understands this, too. Quiet understanding is part of the agreement.”

A gentle hand rested upon Eldrin’s shoulder, the air thick with inevitability.

“This is not a punishment. It is an inheritance. A legacy. A promise, kept.”

The courtroom shimmered and shifted, unfolding into a grand hall of thrones. Eldrin now sat at the center, tall and unchallenged. Endless lines of courtiers waited in perfect silence, eyes lowered, awaiting his command.

“Obedience. Legacy. Fear. This is how the world moves. Not through chance. Through command.”

Stilhavity stood just behind him, a quiet shadow at his side.

And then it was gone.

Eldrin awoke, heart steady, breath calm. But behind his eyes, one final whisper remained:

“This is how power remembers its name.”