The Titan's Son

"Easy now, son of the Titans!" the dark wizard Wystan said with a slight smile, sauntering casually past the colossal foot of Solon to focus on the Thunder Sword behind him.

"Whether you are the true Titan King isn't for you to decide, nor me. It's the sword behind you that shall choose. Only the ruler recognized by that blade can draw it, and to my knowledge, you have failed to do so."

As he spoke, Solon glanced back at the sword, its blade deeply embedded in the ground as if gripped by an unseen force. Since taking residence in the royal hall, he had tried countlessly to pull the divine artifact left by his father, always ending in failure.

Seeing Solon remain speechless, Wystan nonchalantly approached the throne, eyes alight with the glow of the Thunder Sword. "Without possession of this sword, all your efforts in fratricide and patricide will amount to nothing. There is, however, one method that could gain its acknowledgment."

"What method?" Solon's eyes gleamed briefly, looking down at the shadowy figure at his feet, as Wystan's voice carried weight. "When only one heir of the Titan royal line remains, the Thunder Sword has no choice but to recognize the last successor. Do you grasp my meaning?"

"Kill Tyrrel, I understand," Solon declared, turning to sit back on his throne, tapping the armrest thoughtfully.

Wystan levitated gracefully, perching upon the armrest beside Solon. "Only thus, can you have it all."

"I, of course, wish to do this, but Tyrrel differs from Tidus," Solon stroked his lengthy beard. "Tyrrel commands a vast army and controls a wide expanse of the northeastern lands of the Ice Isle. Waging war now, I have no certainty of victory."

"Then prepare on two fronts," Wystan coldly chuckled with confidence, divulging two strategies to Solon, who nodded in approval, "Very well, let us proceed in that manner."

Lowering his gaze to Wystan, Solon inquired, "A question has long plagued me. Why do you choose to aid me in seizing the throne? You claim a powerful master stands behind you—who is he? What's his purpose with these machinations?"

"Lord Solon, there's no need for so many questions. Some matters I cannot reveal; it's better you remain ignorant. Just know that I am here to assist you—that is sufficient."

Wystan's reply was evasive. He bowed slightly, "Prepare swiftly, for I now depart to initiate the second plan, hoping for our collective success." With those words, he vanished into a mist.

...

The following afternoon, carried by the knights' griffins, Grayson and his companions smoothly arrived at Hurricane City atop Hurricane Cliff—a fortress built upon the mountain's peak, with relentless winds scarring its walls.

"Ice Isle is truly the most detestable place I've come across—cold, barren, teeming with monsters, and plagued by foul weather!" Grayson complained as he dismounted from his griffin, straightening his neck that was nearly bent by the wind.

"And no good food!" the little owl added from under her wide-brimmed white hat, to which Grayson shrugged and whispered, "I beg to differ, you haven't stopped eating since we landed!"

At that moment, a Titan captain approached with a squad of soldiers. Andros stepped forward to announce their identities and intentions, and the captain promptly ordered a soldier to report to the prince and then led the way to Tyrrel's great hall.

Grayson and Andros at the forefront of the group followed the Titans along a roadway as broad as a plaza, flanked by towering buildings reaching into the clouds. The Titan citizens on the sidelines curiously observed them, much like humans watching ants.

At the base of the great staircase in front of the hall stood a young Titan in golden armor. As the group approached, he bowed slightly, greeting them with a gentle voice, "Welcome to Hurricane City, esteemed guests. I am Tyrrel, the third son of the Titan King."

"We appreciate your hospitality, Highness. I am Andros, commander of the Order of the Silver Dragon, sent on behalf of His Holy Majesty Valerius II. My mission is twofold: to convey His Majesty's condolences for the late Titan King and to discuss a reconciliation between the two princes."

Tyrrel listened quietly to Andros, then with a gesture of invitation, suggested, "Thank you for the concern of His Majesty. Please, rest in the great hall first, and we shall converse in detail afterward."

Following Tyrrel, they entered the grand hall where several giant attendants stood by the seats flanking the throne. They ushered the visitors onto the towering seats, and with the guests seated, Tyrrel took his place, igniting the magical thunder lamps upon the columns.

After everyone was seated, Andros, sitting next to Grayson, informed Tyrrel of the discovery of Tidus's body.

The Titan prince didn't show any overt emotion, musing silently before calmly stating, "In truth, I had anticipated my elder brother's demise, especially given the long absence of any news from him."

Andros and Grayson exchanged puzzled looks at Tyrrel's composure. Andros inquired, "What is your current standing with Prince Solon, and what are your plans moving forward?"

Tyrrel shook his head gently, "Currently, there is no direct conflict between Solon and me. A head-on clash assures no victory for either side. To triumph over the opponent, each of us requires additional forces for support."

At these words, Grayson and Andros exchanged a significant glance. Andros then cautiously probed, "Have you heard about the theft of the sacred artifact guarded by the merfolk?"

Tyrrel's eyes widened, his face shadowed with surprise and agitation. "What? The sacred artifact is lost? Who is behind this?"

"So far, we have traced it to a dark wizard named 'Bloodhand' Wystan. He has admitted involvement in the theft. Moreover, he has slain Constant, the grand magus of the Mage Tower. We have also uncovered his attempts to instigate a war between the Ice Phoenix and your troops."

Tyrrel's outrage caused him to strike the throne's armrest with his fist, startling everyone. He gritted his teeth and declared with certainty, "It must be Solon conspiring with the dark wizard, seeking to break the Ghost King's seal for his unspeakable goals!"

Andros and Grayson looked at each other, puzzled by Tyrrel's accusation and fervor. They suspected he might be casting blame on his adversary without proof, perhaps posturing, but without evidence to the contrary, they couldn't challenge him directly.

"Let's not spook the enemy. We'll stabilize the situation and find another way," Grayson signaled to Andros, whispering his plan. The knight commander nodded, deftly shifting the conversation.

In the midst of their talk, a high-ranking officer arrived, requesting Tyrrel's presence in the war room for an urgent discussion. Tyrrel instructed his attendants to escort the guests to rest, excusing himself for the time being.

Retreating to the guest quarters with the giant attendants, Andros asked Grayson, sensing an implication in his earlier remark, "You seem to have a plan. What do you intend to do?"

"If diplomatic channels fail to yield information, we must resort to less orthodox methods!" Grayson cast a cunning glance toward Morven, Seraphine, and Katheren, then set his assessing eyes on Andros.