Kingdom of Verdwryn

The war room in Verdwryn was a place of muted tension. The high-ranking councilors, each a seasoned strategist or commander in their own right, sat around a long, oak table. The flickering of candlelight cast sharp shadows on the faces of those present, their features hardened by the endless grind of war. The mood was somber, but there was an undercurrent of something else—a sense of confusion and suspicion that refused to be ignored.

The topic at hand had the council on edge: the Zeranthians' sudden, intense focus on Michael. The reports were sparse, but the pattern was unmistakable. Michael had become their primary target. The young mage, barely a level 1 in their eyes, was now the subject of more vengeful pursuit than any other Verdwryn soldier.

"Why him?" General Orhan, the grizzled commander of Verdwryn's eastern front, grunted in frustration. His voice was heavy with years of warfare, but there was an edge of disbelief in it. "An apprentice mage? This is beyond odd. It's like the Zeranthians have made a personal vendetta against him."

Across from him, Strategist Arwin Falric, one of Verdwryn's sharpest minds, steepled his fingers, his eyes narrowed. "They're not targeting him because of his power. It's not about his magic. There's something else going on here."

The council room grew still as the weight of Arwin's words settled over the group. He was not a man given to fanciful ideas or baseless theories. Every decision he made was calculated, every maneuver meticulously planned. His words carried the weight of years of experience.

"Perhaps they've recognized something we haven't," said Lady Seryn, the spymaster, her voice soft but piercing. "A weakness we can exploit... or perhaps a threat we haven't seen yet."

The murmurs of agreement around the table died down as the doors of the war room opened, and a messenger entered, carrying a scroll sealed with the royal insignia. The room fell silent as the strategist broke the seal and unrolled the document.

"It's the full report on Michael's missions," Arwin said, scanning the parchment quickly. His brow furrowed as he read through the details, his mind already working through the implications. The other councilors leaned in, eager for information.

"Michael was one of the key players in the defense of the outpost in the north," Arwin began, reading aloud. "He led the counteroffensive and made a series of tactical decisions that saved the lives of his squad. The damage inflicted on the Zeranthian forces was significant. His use of terrain manipulation and traps, combined with his proficiency in both knightly and mage abilities, proved highly effective. But there's more—he's also... adaptive. Quick to assess situations and adjust his tactics on the fly. His unconventional use of magic caught the enemy off-guard. For someone of his rank, this is... unorthodox."

General Orhan leaned forward. "That's impressive for a rookie."

"It is," Arwin said, but his voice carried a note of something darker. "But it's not just his abilities they're targeting. It's what he represents."

Lady Seryn's sharp eyes darted to Arwin. "What do you mean?"

Arwin let out a slow breath. "I believe the Zeranthians are targeting Lockwood because they see him as a threat, yes, but also as a symbol. Veylor Iskan knows exactly how to play the propaganda game. He's using Michael as a tool, a pawn in a much larger scheme. And we—" He paused, turning to face the rest of the council. "We need to use him as well."

A murmur ran through the room, and Seryn's voice broke the silence. "You want to turn him into a propaganda tool?"

"Not just any propaganda tool," Arwin said, his eyes gleaming with a cold determination. "We need to turn him into a symbol of the Verdwryn spirit—of resilience, of defiance. If we broadcast his victories and his battles, we'll not only rally our forces, but we'll also send a message to the enemy. This is war, and we will stop at nothing to protect our people."

"But why use him?" General Orhan asked, still skeptical. "He's just a level 1 mage. Why not someone more experienced, someone more capable?"

Arwin smiled darkly. "Because Michael is expendable. He's a mage and a knight, but he's still untested. We put him in the spotlight, let the Zeranthians target him, and the people of Verdwryn will rise to defend him. It will ignite their passions, their anger. His death, should it come to that, will fuel the flames of vengeance."

Lady Seryn looked at Arwin for a long moment, her eyes assessing him. "And you think he'll die."

Arwin's gaze never wavered. "If it comes to that, yes. But not before he's served his purpose."

The room fell silent again, the councilors exchanging uncertain glances. They were all seasoned leaders, experienced in the brutal realities of war. The thought of sacrificing one of their own, no matter how green, was not a decision they took lightly.

But there was something about the way Arwin spoke—cold, calculating—that made them uneasy. Yet, they all knew the harsh truth of war: sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.

Arwin's voice broke the silence once more. "Prepare to spread the word of Michael's exploits. We'll give him the recognition he deserves, and we'll make sure the Zeranthians know we're coming for them. It's time to make a statement."

And so it began. The Verdwryn war council made its decision. They would use Michael—apprentice mage, strategist, pawn—and turn him into the face of their war effort. They would make sure that his name was known far and wide, whether he lived to see the fruits of it or not.

In war, there were no heroes. Only survivors. And Michael Lockwood, whether he realized it or not, had become a symbol—a symbol of a nation that would stop at nothing to defend itself, even if it meant sending one of their own to die for the cause.