Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

Chapter 23: The Seeds of Change

The tension in the great hall hung like fog over the Skagosi village leaders, thick with uncertainty and murmured resistance. They stood in a loose semicircle before Hadrian Peverell, whose commanding presence now held their reluctant attention. The flickering torchlight cast their faces in alternating shadows and light, reflecting the conflict in their hearts and minds. These men and women, hardened by the harsh reality of Skagos, had never known change. Tradition had ruled their lives for as long as they could remember, and the island had always been a place where strength dictated law.

The murmuring of voices grew louder among the leaders, some of them still voicing their misgivings in hushed tones, while others discussed what they had seen and heard. The younger leaders, in particular, seemed torn between skepticism and hope. They knew the ways of Skagos were brutal and old, but many had never imagined anything else. This new vision for their homeland was both terrifying and intoxicating.

At last, it was the elder who had spoken earlier, the one with the scar down his face, who stepped forward again. His name was Torrek, a man who had led his village through years of raids, wars, and bitter winters. He was a man of action, a man who had always relied on his strength and cunning to lead. But even he could not deny what stood before him now: a leader unlike any Skagos had ever known.

"You speak of a future we can barely imagine," Torrek said, his voice gruff, but with a hint of grudging respect. "Of cities, schools, laws... of roads and farms where our people will live better lives than we've ever known. We've lived by the old ways for generations, but you... you've shown us something that none of us have ever seen."

He paused, glancing back at the other leaders, as if to gauge their reactions before continuing. "But how is it possible? How could you raise a castle from the ground as you did? How could you change everything so quickly? No man has that kind of power. Are you... a god?"

The question hung in the air, the weight of it causing a few of the leaders to shift uncomfortably on their feet. It was a question that had been whispered among them from the moment they had seen the city. They had heard of magic, of course, but magic was something distant, something from the stories of old. To witness it firsthand was something else entirely.

Hadrian's dark eyes met Torrek's, and he smiled faintly—not a condescending smile, but one of quiet understanding. He had anticipated this question. He knew that the Skagosi, steeped as they were in old traditions and beliefs, would eventually question the nature of his power.

"I am no god," Hadrian said, his voice calm but resolute. "I am a man, like any of you. But I am also blessed."

The leaders exchanged glances, their skepticism tempered by curiosity.

"The old gods," Hadrian continued, "the gods you and your ancestors have prayed to for generations, have granted me a gift. I have magic, yes, and with it, I have the ability to shape the world around me in ways that others cannot. The weirwoods know my name, and through them, I have been granted the power to do what I have done here."

He gestured to the towering walls of the castle, to the city beyond. "This is not sorcery, nor is it the work of demons or dark forces. It is the blessing of the old gods, and it is through their will that I will guide Skagos into the future."

The hall was silent as his words sank in. Some of the leaders, those who had been raised with deep reverence for the old gods, bowed their heads slightly, as if acknowledging the divine nature of what Hadrian was saying. Others, however, remained wary. Magic was a dangerous thing in their eyes—unpredictable, untamable. But the evidence was undeniable. The castle around them was real, the city outside was real, and Hadrian had shown them that he wielded this power with purpose.