18. Kneel Before The High Council
CHAPTER 18
Kneel Before The High Council
Hawke Stormblood
I step into the cavernous chamber first, ahead of the other Knights. The weight of the High Council's gaze presses down on me like a physical force. The room is dimly lit, the flickering torches casting ominous shadows on the stone walls. The air is thick with tension, the silence broken only by the rustle of robes and the occasional clink of metal.
The council members sit on a raised semi-circle-shaped dais in large throne-like chairs, their faces etched with a mix of disdain and anticipation. They remind me of vultures, perched high above, ready to swoop down and feast on our carcasses at the first sign of weakness.
I take my place at the center of our line, my movements deliberate and controlled. My brothers in arms fall in on either side of me with synchronized precision. As I plant my feet firmly on the cold, unforgiving stone floor, a surge of resentment courses through me, tightening my muscles. I straighten my back, shoulders squared, and lift my chin in a show of defiance, even as the weight of this forced allegiance bears down on me.
To my left, Ares stands with his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. Every muscle in his body is taut, like a coiled spring ready to snap. His rage radiates from him, palpable and fierce and flowing around us like living angry magick.
Next to Ares, Wraith's dark face is an unreadable mask, but I can sense the coiled energy beneath his skin, like a predator waiting to strike. His stillness is deceptive; a storm brewing just beneath the surface, held in check by sheer force of will.
On my right, Fenrir and Boaz complete our line. Fenrir's stance is proud, his head held high, eyes narrowing in defiance. He meets the council's scrutiny head-on. Boaz stands tall beside him, his presence a fortress of unwavering resolve. Together, we form an unbroken wall of determination, refusing to break, even as we are forced to kneel.
Julius Darkwood sits directly ahead of me, his cold gaze boring into mine. I meet his stare unflinchingly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me worry about what he thinks. The other council members flank him on both sides: Damien Larkspur, Edwyrd Icedale, Elion Silvermoon, Lucas Torvaris, Arun Fenvara, Ivar Ryen, Leif Haarstad, Stavros Barakos, Kostas Antheas, Athtar Ravensdoor, and Garrick Lightblade. Two Fae, two Eleven, two Drakonii, two Asgardians, two Olympians and two Upir, each representing their respective worlds. Representatives from each of the worlds that participate in the Changing of the Guard.
Their presence here–demanding this fealty–is a bitter reminder of the power they've stolen, the authority they've claimed for themselves. These twelve men, who appointed themselves the guardians of the eight worlds, have usurped the rightful place of the Knights. We have been reduced to mere puppets, dancing on strings pulled by the council's whims.
The injustice of it all burns in my veins, a simmering rage that threatens to boil over. I clench my fists, feeling the bite of my nails against my palms. The urge to lash out, to shatter the smug expressions on their faces, is almost overwhelming.
But I know I cannot act on it. Not now, when the fate of so much hangs in the balance. The council may have the upper hand for the moment, but I swear to myself that it will not always be so. One day, we will reclaim what is rightfully ours.
Until then, I must play their game. I must bow my head and bend my knee, all the while plotting and planning for the day when the Knights will rise again. The day when we will cast off the shackles of the council's oppression and take our rightful place as the guardians of the realms once again.
So I stand tall, my shoulders squared and my head held high. I will not let them see the cracks in my armor, the wounds that their betrayal has left on my soul. I will endure, as I always have, for the sake of my brothers, for the sake of the worlds we are sworn to protect.
And when the time comes, when the moment is right, we will strike. We will remind the council and all those who follow them what it means to be a Knight, what it means to be chosen by Yggdrasil itself. And we will take back what is ours.
With Melinda’s arrival, the time will be soon.
A scribe steps forward from the shadows of the thrones and calls out in a firm voice. “You are called here today to pledge fealty to the High Council.”
The scribe's voice echoes through the chamber, each word a hammer strike against my already fractured soul.
“You will use the power gifted to you by Yggdrasil the World Tree to serve the High Council and protect the eight worlds.”
I listen, my heart growing heavier with each passing second, as he outlines the terms of our servitude. The words are pretty, wrapped in a veneer of duty and honor, but the truth is laid bare for all to see. We are leashed, our power and our very lives bound to the whims of the council. “You will uphold the laws passed by the High Council and carry out sentences of punishment. You will put down all rebellion.”
Serve the High Council. Uphold their laws. Crush rebellion. Even if it means turning against our own. The demands are a bitter poison, seeping into my veins and threatening to choke the life from me. This is what we have been reduced to. Mere tools, weapons to be wielded by those who crave power above all else.
Every year the oath becomes more painful to choke down, because every year we feel the loss of our shattered souls deeper and deeper. We sink deeper into an oblivion we can’t escape. Losing control of ourselves a splinter at a time.
I glance at my brothers, seeing the same conflicting emotions playing out on their faces. Ares' eyes flash and his fists clenched so tightly I fear he may draw blood. Wraith's expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the tightness in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hands. Fenrir and Boaz stand rigid, their faces etched with a mix of sorrow and resignation.
We are trapped, caught between our duty to the realms and the chains the council seeks to bind us with. To refuse would be to invite chaos, to risk the fragile peace we have worked so hard to maintain. But to accept... to accept is to betray everything we stand for, everything we have fought and bled for.
The scribe's voice drones on, each word a twist of the knife in my gut. "Kneel before the High Council and swear your oath. Pledge your loyalty, your life, and your very soul to their service. For only through obedience can the realms be kept safe, and only through submission can you truly fulfill the purpose Yggdrasil has set forth for you."
Fuck. They twist the words of our calling. They make us slaves.
I close my eyes, the weight of the decision crushing my chest like I’m trapped beneath a mountain. Every instinct screams at me to fight, to rage against the injustice of it all. But I know that to do so would be to condemn us all to a fate worse than death. The council's retribution would be swift and merciless, and the realms would suffer for our defiance.
And so, with a heavy heart and a bitter taste in my mouth, I step forward. The eyes of the council bore into me, their gazes hungry and triumphant. They know they have won, that they have us exactly where they want us. But even as I sink to one knee, the cold stone biting into my flesh, I make the same silent vow I’ve made every year.
This is not the end. This is not our fate. We will endure this indignity, this betrayal, for the sake of the realms. But we will not forget, and we will not forgive. The day will come when the tables will turn, when the council will learn the true meaning of justice.
One by one, my brothers step forward, each dropping to a knee before the council. The words of the oath fall from their lips, but I can see the defiance in their eyes, the unspoken promise that this submission is but a temporary thing.
It’s why they make us do this every year. They fear us and they should.
We are Knights of the Round Table and our true allegiance will always lie with the realms we are sworn to protect. Not to these self-appointed smug men who think they know better than the supreme power that connects everyone and everything in the universe.
They may have won the battle again this year, but the war is far from over.
Julius stands from his chair and looks right at me. The smile on his face twists my stomach like soured food. I take a step back and look at Ares, but catch Fenrir’s gaze over Ares’ shoulder instead. His eyes are glowing bright gold, and a low, rumbling snarl escapes his throat, the sound sending a chill down my spine. His beast is pissed.
“We need to go. Now.”
“We should before I fail to tamp down the urge to rip one of them to pieces,” Fenrir says, his voice a guttural growl, more beast than man.
"Is there a problem?" One of the council says. I'm too focused on Fen's lengthening fangs, gleaming in the torchlight, to register who's talking.
"Ares, get a handle on your magick. It’s pushing Fen," I whisper-growl at Ares, feeling the heat of his anger rolling off him in waves, crashing against my own fraying control. I walk to Fen's side, my muscles coiled tight with tension, and put an arm around his massive shoulders. "Keep it together. We're almost clear."
"It's been a long day. We need to see to the rest of the arrangements for tomorrow night. Welcome to Camelot," I manage to croak out toward the council without cursing them to their faces, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache. Ares' anger is bubbling over, a searing heat that’s pushing my temper to a boiling point.
“Is Fenrir ill?” One of the council members seated closer to Fen asks.
“Just frustrated,” I snap back before anyone else can speak. “The missing children today upset him more than he’d like to admit.”
I don't spare another glance to the council and quickly guide Fenrir toward the door in the back of the Hall of Grievances, my grip on his shoulder tightening with each step. "Out. Get out. Now," I say in a low voice, the words hissing through my gritted teeth. Everyone obeys without a word.
As we make our way to the exit, I can feel the council's eyes boring into our backs. The air is thick with unresolved tension, the power struggle between us far from over. Wraith and Boaz fall into step to my right, their postures stiff and their expressions carefully neutral. Ares is close on my left, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the veins in his neck flexing with the control he’s exerting.
I know exactly how he feels.
We pass through the doorway, the heavy wooden doors slamming shut behind us with a resounding thud. The sound echoes through the empty corridor.
Fenrir shrugs off my grip, his shoulders heaving with each labored breath. Wraith places a steadying hand on his back.
"This can’t continue like this," Ares growls, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light of the hallway. His voice is a low rumble. "They can't keep us leashed forever."
I nod, my own anger feeding on his energy and simmering just beneath the surface. The frustration claws at my insides, threatening to spill over. "No, they can't. But we have to be smart about this. We can't afford to make any rash moves, not with so much at stake."
“Easy for you to say that” Ares says, his voice sharp and biting. “You’ve got your mate here.”
“It’s not like you can have her,” Fenrir whirls on him, his eyes blazing.
“I wasn’t angling for his woman. I’m just saying–” Ares starts, his tone defensive.
“Easier?” I rub my hands over the scruff on my face in disbelief, the rough texture grounding me in the moment, I’m so emotionally exhausted from holding myself together in front of the council. “That she’s here. Yes. But how about the constant fear that the council will find a way to take her away? The fact that she’s emotionally bonded to a fucking Drakonii? The fact that she can’t control her magick and it makes people sick? The fact that when I kissed her she pulled away and tried to run? Or the fact that I’m going insane being more than five feet away from her?”
Ares snorts out a laugh, the sound bitter and hollow in the cold corridor. “Well, when you put it that way it doesn’t sound quite as nice as I imagined.”
Boaz sighs heavily, rubbing his hands together, the fatigue evident in his movements. "Hawke is right, though. We need to bide our time, gather our strength, and be careful. If the council notices our struggle, they’ll call for our heads."
A soft round of agreement rumbles from each of the men.
I thought I had it worse with my feral nature coming out to play from time to time. Now I can see I might be in better shape than everyone else. Although I haven't seen Wraith lose his control yet. So maybe he's doing better than the rest of us. He hasn't been here overnight yet, so we'll see.
In the meantime, I need to get back to Melinda. She's been away from me for too long already. The separation hurts all the way into my bones.