The queen had not yet finished her explanation when her eyes shifted suddenly toward the writing table. The faint crackle of the fire still echoed in the chamber, but now something new stirred in the air, a subtle vibration that even Ian could sense. Slowly, before his eyes, the clean sheets of parchment she had laid neatly upon the polished surface began to quiver, as though some unseen hand were brushing against them. He frowned, blinking in disbelief as lines of crimson ink bled across the pages with deliberate precision, forming letters that curved and straightened with an unnatural grace.
The queen set aside her words, her posture still as she watched the words etch themselves into being. She moved closer to the table, her face calm though Ian thought he detected the faintest glimmer of anticipation in her eyes. He took a hesitant step forward, drawn by the strangeness of it all, and watched as one sheet filled completely before the writing stilled, then another sheet began to bloom with new markings, and then another. Three in total, each carrying a message delivered through whatever ancient art she had wielded earlier when she tossed her own letter into the fire.
Ian leaned over her shoulder, curiosity sparking in his chest, but his eagerness quickly dulled when he realized he could not decipher a single word of what had been written. The characters twisted and wound together in a script he did not recognize, neither English nor any language he had seen on Earth, though there was something faintly rhythmic about it, as though each word carried a cadence, like the notes of a song. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but it was useless.
"So this is how it works," Ian murmured, more to himself than to her. At last he understood the mystery behind her earlier actions.
Still, the words remained beyond him, symbols carved in meaning he could not reach. He straightened, letting out a slow breath, and glanced toward the queen who now bent her head to read with the kind of focus only she seemed to possess. Three messages had arrived, three voices that had answered her call, leaving only two more to reply. Ian folded his arms, the weight of silence stretching between them as he stepped back, conceding that he had no place to intrude.
She would tell him the contents, he was certain of it. For now, it was enough to know that the messages had been delivered and that others, somewhere in distant lands, were writing back.
Ian allowed her space, watching as the flickering firelight played across her features, her eyes moving carefully over each line.
The queen remained silent for a time after she had finished reading, her expression shifting subtly as her eyes traced the final lines of script. Ian studied her carefully, though he did not interrupt, sensing that the weight of what she had seen was not something to rush. Then, without hesitation, she gathered the sheets in her hands, her long fingers folding the delicate parchment into uneven shapes. she crushed the papers into a tight bundle and carried them to the flames and released them, and he watched as the fire licked eagerly at the edges until the words were swallowed whole.
The queen turned toward him at last. Her features were grave, though not heavy with despair, but rather with the solemn weight of responsibility. She held his gaze firmly, as though she intended her words to press themselves into his mind without possibility of doubt. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novel{f}ire.net
"Three queens who have spoken," she said in a measured tone, "are united in their demand. They wish for a meeting. They ask not for evidence, a proof that cannot be denied, that you are indeed the rightful heir to the throne that was lost. The two who remain silent will most likely follow the same course, for none will risk their kingdoms without certainty."
Her words struck Ian with a quiet force, and though he did not recoil, he felt the weight of them settle deep within his chest. A meeting, evidence and proof of something he still struggled to believe for himself. He nodded slowly, he could not deny the reason behind their request. It was fair and logical. And yet, as much as his mind accepted it, his heart could not help but stumble over the reality of it all.
He had lived one life already, filled with books and lectures, with classrooms and quiet halls, with the humdrum simplicity of a world that never once hinted at such grandeur. Now he stood in a chamber of stone and fire, before a queen who spoke of him as heir to an empire that encompassed the whole of the world. It was almost too much to accept, and yet here he was, hearing her voice declare it with unwavering certainty.
Ian lowered his gaze briefly, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a storm that had no easy end. He forced a breath and looked up again, giving her another small nod, though his eyes betrayed the dazed confusion that still lingered.
"It is reasonable," he admitted softly, his voice steady but distant. "They cannot take my word or yours alone. They would need something more."