THE GRAND OLD

PART 12: THE BITE OF WINTER

THE GRAND OLD
PRESENTED BY DEFLUX STUDIOS

Grand Prince Radomir of Vaenordia stood in the grand hall of Thalovik Castle, his breath hanging in the frozen air. The light of the hearth flickered across the ancient stone walls, casting long shadows on the banners of his ancestors. A cold wind howled outside, as it often did in the North, but this chill ran deeper than the usual biting frost.

To his left, his counterpart, Grand Prince Svyatoslav, sat brooding, his expression as hard a the mountains that loomed over their principality. The news from the south was troubling. Vaenordia had remained relatively untouched by the wars that had fractured the rest of the old empire, but the echoes of conflict had reached even their isolated lands. The fall of Leopardsburg was not just a southern problem. It was a prelude to something far worse.

"Erik of Leopardsburg has lost his mind," Radomir muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was rough, like gravel grinding underfoot. "Burning his own city to the ground... He's more a threat to his own people than to us."

Svyatoslav's gaze didn't waver from the fire, his eyes flickering with the reflection of the flames. "You think him a madman, but a madman with an army is still dangerous, Radomir. He unleashed chaos upon the lands to the south. Chaos that could spread, if we're not careful."

Radomir clenched his fists. "Let him rot in the ashes of his own making. Vaenordia is strong, Svyatoslav. Our people are used to hardship. We won't fall to the likes of Erik, or his siblings for that matter."

Svyatoslav finally turned his gaze toward Radomir, his eyes cold. "You're thinking too small. It's not just Erik. It's the whole of Valeria-what remains of it, anyway. The empire has fallen, Radomir, but the flames of its ruin could easily reach our doorstep. Farengar in the West, Theodorus in the South, and Lava in the East-they're all vying for the crown, or what's left of it. If they turn their eyes northward, they'll see weakness. They'll see an opportunity."

Radomir scowled, turning toward the window, where the snow-capped peaks of Vaenordia's mountains stood as sentinels over their lands. "Let them come, then. Vaenordia has never bowed to outsiders. The Valerian emperors only kept us in line through bribery and autonomy. Without their wealth and power, we owe them nothing."

"That's exactly the problem," Svyatoslav replied, his voice low. "The empire may be shattered, but the factions are growing desperate. Desperate enough to try to unite the pieces by force. Erik's rampage in the south is proof of that. Farengar is no different. He's already sent emissaries to the northern tribes, trying to sway them with promises of power if they help him reclaim the throne."

Radomir turned sharply. "And what of the tribes? Do they still honor their pacts?"

"For now," Svyatoslav said. "But how long will that last? The boyars grow restless, and the chiefs... they see opportunity in chaos. Erik's madness is spreading, and we are not immune."

Radomir gritted his teeth. The north had always been a land of harsh conditions and even harsher rulers. Vaenordia's unity was tenuous at best, held together by the delicate balance of power between the two grand princes. The chiefs and boyars followed them because it had been the only way to survive in the unforgiving north, but the collapse of the empire had weakened those ties. Without the looming shadow of imperial authority, old rivalries were beginning to surface, and the promises of power from the southern claimants had only made things worse.

"And what would you have us do, Svyatoslav?" Radomir asked, his voice thick with frustration. "Pledge ourselves to one of these pretenders? Let Farengar or Theodorus take what's ours?"

Svyatoslav shook his head. "No. But we cannot stand idle, either. If we do nothing, we risk becoming prey to whichever faction gains the upper hand. We must secure our own future before they decide for us."

Radomir frowned. "You mean war, then."

"War, or alliances," Svyatoslav said calmly. "Perhaps both. Erik is too far gone, but Farengar... he may listen to reason. His ambition is his weakness, but it can also be his strength if we play it right."

Svyatoslav turned back to the window, staring out into the endless expanse of snow and ice. "And if he doesn't? If he decides to take the North by force?"

"Then we do what we've always done, brother," Radomir said. "We fight. But this time, we fight with more than just the strength of our arms. We fight with cunning. With alliances of our own."

Svyatoslav was silent for a long moment, the weight of Radomir words settling over him like the heavy cloak of winter. He had always believed in Vaenordia's strength, in the resilience of its people. But the world was changing, and the old ways might not be enough to survive what was coming.

Finally, Svyatoslav nodded. "We'll send emissaries to the boyars and the chiefs. Let them know we stand united, and that any who betray us will face the full wrath of Vaenordia."

Radomir smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. But we must also be prepared for the possibility that some will not heed our warning. We must be ready for war, even as we seek peace."

Svyatoslav clenched his fists again, this time with resolve. "Let the flames of the empire burn. Vaenordia will stand, as it always has. And if the others come for us, they will find the North far colder and more unforgiving than they ever imagined."