The Glitched Mage-Chapter 129: A Tour

The Danu delegation passed through the gates beneath a canopy of silence.

No horns. No declarations. Just the sound of hooves on blackstone and the faint rustle of silk and steel. The Shadowguard parted in perfect synchronicity to allow the entourage through, then sealed the path behind them—each motion deliberate, disciplined. Every move said the same thing: You are welcome here. But only because we allow it.

Kael Danu's gaze swept slowly across the scene as they entered. His eyes flicked toward the runes carved into the stone lanterns, the symmetry of the buildings rising along the path, the measured pace of the workers who did not stop to gawk or kneel. It was not what he had expected. Which, Riven thought, was exactly the point.

The prince rode at the front now, his cloak shifting in the wind, the silver thread in his bracers catching the light of the lanterns as they passed beneath. Behind him came his guards—elite soldiers trained in Danu's capital—and three advisors: one a silver-haired mage in white and cobalt, another in ceremonial armor studded with emeralds, and the last a tall woman in diplomat's robes, her expression calm but calculating.

Riven and his generals descended from the wall as the carriages were led to the outer court. As they reached the open square, Riven stepped forward and offered no hand, only words.

"Welcome to the Shadow Kingdom."

Kael dismounted, brushing a gloved hand across the horse's shoulder before approaching. "It's not what I expected," he said, surveying the court around him.

Riven tilted his head. "Expectation is the cousin of assumption."

"And assumption," Kael replied, "is the enemy of diplomacy."

A flicker of amusement passed through Riven's eyes. "Then we may get along after all."

The prince gave a brief smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I hope so. The Emperor sends his regards—and his curiosity."

"Curiosity is welcome," Riven said. "As long as it's not a mask for conquest."

From behind Kael, the silver-haired mage stepped forward slightly. "We heard rumors," he said. "A dead kingdom reborn. A king no one's seen. Magic that seeps through the soil. It sounded more like a story than a report."

"And yet here you are," Nyx said from Riven's left, her tone honey-smooth and vaguely amused. "Not turning back."

"We don't fear shadows," said the armored advisor coolly.

"No," Damon replied, stepping forward, "but wise men still respect them."

Kael raised a hand, quieting the growing tension before it could flare. "We came for understanding, not conflict. We'll measure your kingdom as it wishes to be seen."

"Then follow," Riven said, turning from the square. "You'll be shown everything we've prepared."

—x—

The tour began where it was strongest—at the heart of the Shadow Kingdom's renewal.

They walked first through the central district, where merchant stalls displayed an array of products: obsidian-forged tools, mana-infused weapons, herbs laced with abyssal properties that shimmered faintly under light. Nothing was excessive. Nothing was hidden. Prosperity, but refined.

From there, Riven led them to the artisan quarter—past smithies with enchanted furnaces, tailoring shops producing elegant robes woven with mana-thread, and apothecaries filled with the scents of various herbs. The Danu advisors asked questions, pointed and cautious. The diplomat made notes on a silver-bound ledger. The mage lingered near every magical source.

They passed farmers next—fields vibrant with crops that should not have grown in such ash-hardened soil. Yet they thrived. Each row lined with stone markers that bore faint glyphs. One of the soldiers leaned closer, brow furrowed. "What is this magic?"

"A gift," Mal said from behind them, emerging like a whisper from a nearby path. "One that comes at a price."

Kael turned to him. "From what we've seen, your kingdom doesn't look cursed. It looks… impossible."

"Most Impossible things are born in the dark," Mal replied simply.

—x—

By midday, the delegation reached the market square—a wide, open space ringed with elevated walkways, lanterns hung from blacksteel arches casting ambient violet light across the stalls. Children played near the fountain at the center, watched by both undead caretakers and living parents. Merchants haggled. Bread was broken. Laughter echoed softly.

The Danu guards slowed, taking it in.

It was the kind of peace not often found in cities—rare even in empires. The kind built on true respect and friendship, not inherited or forced.

Kael stood still for a long moment, his brow faintly furrowed.

"You said the dead ruled here," he said quietly.

Riven stood beside him, gaze steady. "That's only partly true. The dead walk here, yes—but they are as much a part of this kingdom as the living. They were its people, once. Before the fall."

The prince turned.

From the walkway, a small procession approached—led by a figure cloaked in gray, eyes pale with undeath but bright with intelligence. One of Riven's warriors. An artisan of the old kingdom, reborn with purpose. He bowed once before returning to his work, guiding a group of apprentices with runes etched into bone and stone alike.

"They don't serve," Riven said. "They remember. They build."

Kael studied him in silence. "You don't fear them?"

"I command them," Riven answered. "Just as I command the living. There's no difference here—only loyalty. Purpose. Choice."

The prince said nothing for a while.

Then he turned to his advisors.

"We'll rest here tonight," he said. "And speak again tomorrow."

His gaze returned to Riven. "There's more I want to see."

Riven inclined his head. "And more we've yet to show."

The prince nodded once, then followed his entourage toward the guest halls prepared for them—blackstone rooms set into the palace's eastern wing, warded and watched but comfortable.

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As the last of the delegation disappeared into the corridor, Ember appeared beside Riven, her hood half-drawn.

"Well?" she asked.

Riven didn't take his eyes off the place where Kael had stood.

"They didn't expect this," he murmured. "Not the city. Not us."

Her voice was quiet. "Do you think they are favourable to us yet?"

"Not yet," Riven said. "But they will be."

He turned, shadows curling softly at his heels, and walked back toward the heart of his kingdom.

—x—

Morning came cloaked in silver mist, the kind that softened stone and blurred banners, muting the ever-watchful eyes of the Shadowguard as they stood their silent vigil. Dew clung to the dark glass of windows and the rune-carved railings, glinting like cold starlight on the edges of the waking kingdom.

But the Shadow Kingdom did not sleep in.

Riven was already awake when the Danu delegation stirred. He stood in the palace's war gallery—an upper chamber that overlooked the southern district through a wall of enchanted crystal. Below, the city moved with the same deliberate rhythm as always: undead hauling lumber in perfect cadence with the living craftsmen; merchants preparing their stalls; Shadowguard training in the courtyard with blades that never dulled.

The illusion of ruin was gone now. This was no longer a kingdom in hiding.

A quiet knock at the door broke the moment. Nyx entered without waiting.

"They're moving," she said, closing the door behind her. "The prince had breakfast with his advisors, and they've requested another tour. Smaller this time. More focused."

Riven didn't turn. "What are they asking for?"

"They want to see the walls. Your military drills. And the farmlands again." Her tone shifted slightly. "He also asked if you would be joining them personally this time."

Riven's eyes narrowed just slightly. "And you?"

"I told them you don't answer to orders. Only invitations." Her smirk ghosted across her lips. "Tactfully, of course."

That earned a faint breath of amusement from Riven. He turned from the window at last. "Then let's show them the rest of our kingdom."

—x—

Kael waited at the northern barracks, his advisors close by, the soldiers still armed but relaxed.

Riven approached without entourage—only Nyx at his side. His armor was the same as before, matte black and rune-lined, but the shadows clinging to its seams moved with a subtle awareness, reacting to his mood. He stopped a few paces from the prince and offered a nod of acknowledgement, one that Kael returned with equal weight.

"You wanted to see the walls," Riven said. "Follow me."

They walked the perimeter together—Kael, Riven, and a handful of guards trailing behind. The walkways were reinforced blacksteel, wide enough for formations to pass two-abreast, with anchor glyphs set into the stone every twenty paces. Aria stood at one watchpoint as they passed, acknowledging Riven with a small bow before returning her gaze to the east.

"This is no militia," Kael said, watching as a squad of Shadowguard practiced drills on the far side of the tower. "They're trained."

"They're disciplined," Riven said, his tone firm. "Training is repetition. Commands barked, drills memorized. Anyone can be taught to move, to strike, to follow. But discipline? That's something deeper. It's in the way they breathe, the way they hold formation when no one's watching. Discipline is lived—earned in silence, tested under pressure, and proven in restraint."

The prince didn't argue. Instead, he looked out over the valley. "I studied Solis' records before coming. They claimed this place was ash and bone. That your people were scattered. But now I see order. Strength. A chain without rust."

He turned toward Riven, tone lowering. "But how long before the others take notice?"

Riven didn't hesitate. "They already have. Solis sends scouts. Guilds send 'explorers' with too much coin. The Danu Empire sent you."

Kael's lips curled faintly. "You're not wrong."

"No," Riven said. "I'm not."

—x—

The second half of the tour was quieter. Kael asked to walk the farmlands without guards. Only Riven and Nyx accompanied him.

They moved along the ridgelines, past rows of abyss-touched crops that pulsed faintly with mana, each one woven through with the magic of the land. The prince stopped at the edge of a field where shadowbloom vines had been trained along carved stone rails, their blossoms dark as ink and glowing from within.

"You've altered the land," Kael said, crouching to examine the glyphs. "This isn't simply cultivation. It's restoration."

"It's reclamation," Riven replied. "Solis sought to destroy this land forever, but we have our ways of taking it back."

"Not many would risk living in a place shaped by death," the prince murmured.

"And yet they do," Nyx said from behind him. "Not because they were forced. Because this is their home, and it gives them something they didn't have before."

Kael looked at her. "And what's that?"

She smiled faintly. "A future."

They walked on in silence for a while.

Eventually, Kael stopped and turned to Riven. "I've seen enough to know this place is not the lie they told us. But it raises another question."

Riven said nothing, letting him continue.

"Who are you?"

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of turned soil and distant iron. Riven stood still, his gaze steady.

"You've built a city from a graveyard," Kael continued. "You command undead and living alike. You wear a king's armor, but never speak the title."

Still, Riven said nothing.

Kael's voice dropped, lower now, more personal. "You don't have to answer today. But I'd like to know the truth one day. Not the one wrapped in rumours and hearsay."

Riven held his eyes a moment longer.

"When the time comes," he said, "you'll see it for yourself."