A little announcement and Fun
I wanted to see, how my work would look if another author wrote that, so I used Chatgpt for this. I don't know if you like AI generated things but it's fun so I hope you enjoy it. And there's a small announcement too.
If George R.R. Martin wrote this scene, it would likely include deeper character introspection, richly detailed descriptions, and subtle political maneuvering, creating an ominous, tension-filled atmosphere.
The Iron Dome cast its shadow over them, a monolithic fortress of unyielding steel. The torchlight danced along the cold, metallic walls, but the flicker did little to warm the chamber. Eight kings sat in solemn silence, their faces illuminated in sharp relief—lines of worry and calculation etched into their brows. Around the iron table, they waited, each man cloaked in unease, their thoughts as unreadable as the shadows lurking in the room’s corners.
Lord Alberto of Leona was the first to break the silence, his voice carrying the faint tremor of a man caught between fear and bravado. “Why are we here?” he demanded, though the question seemed more for himself than anyone else. He shifted in his seat, his fingers twitching as if still clutching the phantom of his goblet. “I was... I was in my chambers, with my wife.” A wistful smile crossed his lips, his eyes distant. “It was our first night. The moonlight—”
“Enough,” Lord Zad of Geralda cut in, his tone as cold and sharp as the blade strapped to his side. Zad’s gaze swept the room, his eyes as piercing as a hawk’s. “Look around, Alberto. There’s an empty seat at this table, and we all know who it belongs to.”
The kings exchanged glances, the weight of that unspoken name pressing down on them like a stone.
“How do you expect me to focus on an empty chair?” Alberto snapped, though his voice betrayed his rising nerves. “I just married Count Herald’s daughter—a beauty like no other—and now I find myself dragged here, without warning, without reason—”
“To boast, apparently,” Lord Seven of Windhills drawled, leaning back in his chair, one hand idly tracing the rim of his goblet. “Still the same Alberto. It’s a wonder your house hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your debts—and your desires.”
Alberto bristled, his face flushing crimson. “Better to have debts than to be remembered for cowardice,” he spat. “Perhaps if you had spent less time running from battles, you’d have the courage to speak without smirking.”
“Enough,” Zad said again, his voice a whip-crack of authority. “The Nine Kingdoms do not need this... squabbling. We are here, all of us, and that means something. Lord Hika,” Zad’s gaze turned to the eldest among them, seated at the far end of the table, his white hair catching the torchlight like frost, “you have seen more winters than any of us. What do you make of this?”
Hika’s measured silence held the room for a moment longer. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but heavy with gravity. “This is no gathering of lords or councils. This is a summons. Eight kings, stripped from their realms, brought to this... place.” His dark eyes roved over the silent spectators lining the walls, their expressions blank as tombstones. “Our captor, whoever they may be, is not one to be trifled with. To move kings as pawns? That is the hand of a god—or something worse.”
Lord Kyle of Fire Mountains growled low in his throat, his massive fists clenching. “Whoever they are, I’ll kill them.” He slammed a fist against the table, the iron groaning under the force. “They’ll regret this insult to my blood.”
“Always the brute,” Lord Neville of Pepper quipped, a sly grin curling his lips. The youngest at the table, his tone carried the arrogance of youth. “Tell me, Kyle, how did all that strength serve you in the Battle of Nightfall?”
The room went deathly silent. Even the torches seemed to burn lower as Kyle’s jaw tightened. “You tread dangerous ground, boy.”
“And you prove my point,” Neville said, still smiling but with a flicker of unease in his eyes. “Quick to anger, slow to think.”
“Enough,” Alberto interjected, his voice louder than before. His usual cheer was gone, replaced by a rare note of steel. “Neville, your wit is as sharp as ever, but this is no time for mockery. We are kings, all of us, and this is no council chamber. Respect must be upheld, even here.”
Hika raised a hand, the faintest of smiles on his weathered face. “Peace, Alberto. The young test their elders; it is the way of things. Let him speak.”
Neville straightened, his smirk softening. “If you insist, my lord. All I’m saying is this place—this Iron Dome—it’s not right. Haven’t any of you noticed? No hunger, no thirst. The torches don’t burn down. And those watchers,” he gestured toward the silent spectators, “they stand there, breathing, but they don’t move. They don’t react.”
Hika nodded slowly. “Astute.”
“And there’s the ninth chair,” Lord Verito of Ark said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. All eyes turned toward the empty seat, as if drawn by some invisible force.
“We all know who it’s for,” Alberto murmured, his voice suddenly hoarse.
“Lord Caine,” Hika said, the name falling like a stone into a well. The title carried a weight that hung in the air, chilling the room. “King of Nightfall. The Lord of Seven Seas. The Conqueror of the Dark Plague. The Dragon Slayer.”
“The man who defeated us all,” Alberto said, swallowing hard.
Neville leaned back, his grin returning but weaker than before. “Even Kyle,” he said, though the jest fell flat.
Kyle’s hands tightened into fists, but he did not rise to the bait. His silence spoke volumes.
The kings stared at the empty seat, and for the first time in years, the rulers of the Nine Kingdoms felt the cold grip of fear.
(Announcement: With help of my friend and family, I was able to work fast on my novel and maybe by the end of this month I might publish it, I have done my best and hope that those you love Fantasy Action give it a chance and read it.)