The Grand Banquet erupted into chaos.
Silver goblets clattered. Chairs scraped. Nobles whispered like a rising tide of serpents, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. The scent of roasted meats now mingled with blood—the crimson pool spreading from the messenger's torn armor dyed the marble floor like a dark omen.
Lucian had made his move.
Kael leaned back in his obsidian chair, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the carved armrest—measured, unconcerned. The chaos unfolding before him was not a surprise. It was a prelude he had orchestrated.
He had always known Lucian would fall.
But watching it happen—watching him abandon honor for rage, morality for ambition—it was a rare delight.
At the far end of the hall, Nyx Velrath, resplendent in her blood-hued gown, raised her glass but did not drink. She watched the room with a predator's silence, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. She hadn't spoken a word since the messenger burst in, yet her silence was deafening.
Selene Nightshade stood. Her eyes were stormclouds.
"How many troops?"
The messenger gasped, choking on blood. "F-Fifty thousand. Led by the Holy Order's elite Paladins. The northern strongholds… they're falling. We can't hold."
A collective hush spread. Fifty thousand. It wasn't an assault—it was an invasion.
The Grand Duke of the Infernal Expanse scoffed. "So the Hero finally shows his teeth."
Kael's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"He shows desperation, not strength."
All eyes turned.
Selene's tone was sharp. "You've foreseen this?"
Kael rose to his feet slowly. Not rushed. Not defensive.
"I guided this."
Silence. Even the flames stilled.
He walked toward the center of the hall, every step echoing with authority. "Lucian no longer fights for justice. He fights because he knows he's losing. His kingdom is crumbling. His faith is hollow. He needs this war. Not to win—but to delay the inevitable."
The Grand Marshal growled, "So we let him burn our lands?!"
Kael didn't flinch. "No. We invite him deeper."
Selene's brow furrowed. "You would let them advance unchecked?"
Kael smiled—slow, sharp, dangerous. "I will encourage it. Let them believe they're winning. Let them stretch too far. When morale swells and their formation fractures, we strike—not with swords, but with silence."
He turned to Nyx. "Mother."
Her lips parted into a slow, delighted grin. "Say the word."
"I want the Shadows."
Gasps. The Velrath Shadows were legend—wraiths in human skin, assassins who moved between shadows like whispers in dreams.
Nyx purred, "You always did ask for the most dangerous toys."
"Will you lend them to me?"
"You're mine. What's mine is yours. They leave at dawn."
Selene hesitated. "If you deploy them… this will no longer be war. It will be eradication."
Kael's tone dropped. Cold. Final.
"Lucian declared war the moment he crossed the line. He abandoned righteousness. Now, he will know what lies beyond salvation."
No one argued. No one dared.
Kael turned to the bleeding messenger. "Tell our forces: do not retaliate. Hold the walls. Let the invaders come. Let them believe they've claimed victory."
The messenger staggered out.
Kael faced the court once more, voice steady as steel.
"Then… let them drown in fear. One commander at a time. One camp at a time. One breath at a time."
Nyx raised her glass. "To inevitability."
Selene slowly sat back down. "Do as you see fit, Duke Kael. But be certain of this—if you fail, the Empire burns."
Kael's crimson eyes met hers.
"If I fail, there will be no Empire left to burn."
And with that, he turned and walked from the hall, shadow trailing behind him like a specter of fate. He was no longer playing the game. He was rewriting it.
To be continued…