The Urgent Assembly

The bells rang out across Regalia, their metallic echo rolling through the stone corridors like distant thunder. Gregor woke with a start. For a heartbeat he thought it was a dream—until a sharp knock rattled the door.

A young Regalian guard stepped inside and bowed stiffly. “The Council requests your presence in the throne chamber at once, Overlander.”

Gregor blinked against the dim light. “The Council? At this hour? Is Luxa—”

The guard only gestured for him to follow.

With a sigh, Gregor shoved his feet into his shoes and tugged on his sweatshirt. His nerves were already tightening. He had come for Luxa’s coronation. He had stayed longer than he’d planned. He had stayed because of her. The Underland had a way of drawing him back—through loyalty, through memories, through her—but he had no wish to face the Council again. He only wanted yesterday’s stolen moments in the market, those rare fragments of normalcy.

The throne chamber was set for business, not ceremony. Luxa sat on the high seat, not in white but in the deep violet of Regalian royalty. The crown rested lightly on her head, but Gregor could see the weight it carried in her posture, steady yet taut.

Around her the Council formed a semicircle, expressions ranging from weary to calculating. Some faces he knew; many were strangers. Time in the Underland had not stood still.

Luxa motioned him forward. “Gregor the Overlander,” she said, her voice echoing against marble and torchlight. “You honored us by returning for my coronation. You honor us again by attending this Council in its hour of need. Please, sit here.” She indicated the chair beside her throne.

Murmurs rippled through the chamber, but she silenced them with a raised hand.

“Fate seldom allows a simple path,” she went on. “Gregor the Overlander—warrior, friend, protector, ally—will serve as my Counselor for this emergency session. We face dangers that threaten us all. We need a wise warrior to guide us as we confront the possibility of war.”

Gregor’s brow furrowed. “Dangers? War? I’m not a warrior anymore.”

An older Councilor stepped forward, robes sweeping the floor. “The Gnawer tribes are restless. Some speak of breaking the peace accords. Without Queen Luxa’s reign yet secure, they sense weakness. Your presence here may steady the balance.”

Gregor’s chest tightened. “You think me being here will stop a war? I’m not your warrior anymore. I no longer carry a sword.”

Luxa met his gaze, steady and unyielding. “Perhaps not. But you are a symbol—the one who bled for the Underland, who stood where others fell. To the gnawers, to the crawlers, to my own people, your name still carries weight.”

“I can’t—” His throat closed. “My family—”

“Your family is safe above, and you can still see them whenever you choose,” she said gently. “But the Underland may not be, unless you lend us your strength once more.”

When the session ended, Gregor wandered the balconies of Regalia, the cavern city sprawling beneath him like a dream. Cool stone pressed against his palms as he leaned on the railing, trying to slow his racing thoughts. He had promised himself: no more battles, no more loss. Yet Luxa’s eyes haunted him—fire tempered by command, loneliness beneath the crown.

Soft footsteps approached. “You do not wish to be here,” Luxa said. Not a question, but a truth.

Gregor turned. She stood without guards or attendants, only Luxa—the girl he remembered, yet changed.

“I don’t know what I wish,” he admitted. “I know I do not wish to be a warrior. I came thinking I’d leave the next day, but the longer I stay, the more I want to be with you. We’re bonded. We’ve pledged ourselves. I don’t want to leave you now, if I’m needed. But I don’t want to be a warrior.”

Luxa stepped closer, unreadable. “I would not force you to stay. But the Underland has a way of claiming those who belong to it. And you, Gregor—whether you will it or not—belong.”

The word lodged in his chest. Belong. He had never felt fully at home above, not after all he had seen. Yet he wasn’t sure he belonged here either. Between two worlds, claimed by neither.

Luxa’s hand brushed his arm—just a fleeting touch, but enough to still his turmoil.

“When the Council speaks, they think of strategy,” she said softly. “When I speak, I think of you as you are. Not a warrior. Not a symbol. Just Gregor. And I would have you near, even if only for a little while.”

He swallowed hard, torn between the weight of her words and the ache of his own longing. He had come to witness a coronation, but perhaps fate had summoned him for something more.

Above them, bats wheeled through the cavern air, their wings whispering like a thousand unspoken promises. Gregor stared into the dark expanse and wondered how long he could pretend he still had a choice.