The Shard Kings of Corundelos

Between the tan ridges that divide the highlands of Thassokar and the deep green valleys of Dezzoholmos lies Corundelos — the Ida kingdom of precious stones. From above, its land gleams in the colors of polished ore: ochre plains fading into olive slopes, gray-green terraces veined with silver rivers that shimmer under the sun. To travelers from the west, it looks barren, yet those who walk its canyons learn that life hides in the folds of stone — just as patience hides in the hearts of its kings.

Corundelos is known among the Northern Realms as the Land of Precious Stones. Each shard is a gem mined from the eastern hills, cut into a crown-segment that passes from monarch to monarch. When the shards are joined, they form the Iron Diadem of House Corun — a relic said to shine brightest when its wearer rules justly. Only once in its history has the crown been broken, and that wound changed the realm forever.

The Age of the Shard Kings

During the early Second Age, Corundelos stood as the commercial heart of the northern east. Its Ida rulers maintained open roads to Thassokar’s forges and the southern markets of the Spur. The kingdom’s wealth lay not in fields but in the veins of garnet and lapis that laced its hills. The miners called the land “the sleeping dragon,” for its riches required courage to wake. The Shard Kings, as the monarchs were called, ruled by covenant with the Guild of Stonecutters — a pact that bound crown and craft alike to the measure of fairness. “No jewel without sweat, no law without mercy,” was carved above every mine gate.

The Reign of King Rhael Corun III

King Rhael Corun III inherited prosperity and sought perfection. His father’s crown bore seven stones, as tradition demanded, yet Rhael believed the craft could be improved. He ordered a new cutting of each shard, finer and more brilliant than before, insisting that clarity was proof of virtue. For three years the guilds of lapidaries labored, shaving away flaw after flaw until the gems shone like frozen water. When the work was done, the crown dazzled even in darkness — but it weighed half of what it once had.

The miners called it a hollow crown. The guild elders warned that over-refinement weakens stone, but Rhael answered, “Strength is in beauty.” Within a decade the kingdom began to mirror its ruler: polished, brittle, and proud. The hill quarries yielded record harvests of gems, yet the common tools of stonecutters dulled for lack of iron. Markets filled with ornament while granaries emptied. Corundelos glittered and starved.

The Breaking of the Crown

In the thirtieth year of Rhael’s reign, a drought struck the northern valleys. To mark the end of scarcity he staged the Festival of the Mined, parading the new diadem before the people. As he raised it, a gust of dry wind lifted the dust of the square and carried it across the crown’s surface. Before the crowd’s eyes, a hairline crack appeared through the center stone. It did not explode, nor burn, nor glow — it simply failed, as over-worked things do. The diadem collapsed into seven fragments, each cutting the king’s hand. The blood that fell on the flagstones left rust-colored stains that can still be seen to this day.

Rhael withdrew from public life, thereafter, refusing to have the crown mended. The chronicles say he kept the shards in separate caskets, opening one each year to remind himself what perfection costs. He died without heir, leaving behind a kingdom that had learned to mistake polish for progress.

The Renewal under Queen Irenna the Measured

The council chose Rhael’s niece, Irenna the Measured, to restore order. She gathered the seven shards and set them into an iron circlet, unpolished, edges still rough from the break. Her first decree read: “Let what is whole be simple.” She ended the trade in vanity gems and reopened the quarries for stone and ore. Roads once built for display became routes of grain and timber. From the air the color of the land changed — the pale ridges deepened with olive fields and gray river-lines returned to blue.

Under Irenna, each shard came to represent a virtue rather than a material. Garnet for labor, jade for mercy, onyx for truth, amber for patience, lapis for memory, agate for strength, marble for restraint. The eighth space at the center of the circlet was left bare — an intentional absence called the Still Place, where light gathers but never settles. When questioned by emissaries why her crown had a hole, Irenna answered, “Because no rule is complete while the world continues.”

Legacy of the Seven Shards

Centuries later, Corundelos still follows the Measure of Irenna. Each monarch adds nothing and removes nothing. The same seven stones pass from hand to hand, their edges dull, their weight honest. The ridges remain the color of rust and gold, the valleys olive and gray green — an enduring palette on any true map of the world. Travelers say the kingdom looks modest from afar, but up close every wall bears the polish of care without vanity.

The artisans of the realm teach apprentices a single verse before they are allowed to cut stone:

“Shape, but do not thin; shine, but do not blind. The hand that seeks flawlessness forgets the feel of the world.”