The grand halls of the Imperial Palace trembled with restrained energy. Beneath the surface of noble pleasantries and ceremonial grandeur, something darker pulsed—an unspoken storm gathering at the heart of the Empire.
Kael entered the chamber with the silence of a blade drawn in the dark. Dressed in obsidian silk trimmed with silver thread, he looked less like a court official and more like an executioner cloaked in civility. His mere presence turned conversations into whispers, whispers into silence.
The long table stretched before him like a battlefield. At its head sat Empress Selene—grace incarnate, veiled in violet and cunning. Her gaze was cool, precise, and calculating. She was no stranger to power, but tonight, she was forced to share the throne's shadow.
"Lord Kael," she began, her voice honey over iron. "You command more attention than the Emperor's decrees these days. Tell us—what does one do with such dangerous attention?"
Kael's lips curved faintly. It wasn't a smile—it was a warning.
"Attention is a currency," he said smoothly. "And I never spend without a purpose."
A shiver rippled down the spine of the hall. The nobles shifted uncomfortably. The older ones masked it behind practiced stoicism. The younger ones—eager and terrified—were less successful.
Before Selene could respond, the chamber doors groaned open.
A figure stepped in—hooded, silent, wrapped in the gray cloak of the Imperial Shadows, the empire's most secretive agents. The air grew colder. Their presence never heralded anything ordinary.
The Shadow bowed low, offering a scroll marked with the seal of the Imperial Intelligence Order.
Selene broke it with a flick of her finger, unrolling the parchment with a frown. Her violet eyes scanned the script once, then again—slower.
Her knuckles whitened.
The Empress's voice carried through the chamber like the peal of war drums.
"This is no longer a matter of court politics," she said.
The nobles went still.
Kael's gaze narrowed. He stepped forward, his voice calm and clear.
"The borders?"
Selene met his eyes. "Yes. Beyond the northern mountains—our scouts report strange movements. An organized force, hidden beneath storms and shadow. A name none of us expected to hear again."
Kael didn't blink. He already knew. The signs were all there.
"Who leads them?" he asked, though he already suspected the answer.
Selene hesitated for half a second too long.
"The Nightborn Legion."
The name fell like a blade onto the chamber floor. Gasps followed. A noble's wine glass shattered against the marble. Generals leaned forward, as if trying to will the news into falsehood.
But Kael... remained still.
The Nightborn were not merely an army. They were a myth sculpted from centuries of silence. An empire of their own, one forged in shadow and death. A thousand stories told of their black banners cutting through empires. Of their faceless commander. Of cities turned to graveyards in the span of a night.
But legends were never without architects.
Kael's mind turned—not to the threat beyond the mountains, but to the deeper rot.
They were summoned. And someone had done the summoning.
He let his silence stretch, savoring the unease.
Then he laughed.
A quiet, almost affectionate chuckle. It echoed too loudly in a room that dared not speak.
Selene's gaze snapped toward him, sharp and unreadable. "You find this... funny?"
Kael's eyes gleamed like cut obsidian.
"Not funny," he murmured. "Expected."
Gasps rippled across the chamber again.
"You think someone inside the Empire—inside this court—summoned them?" one noble asked, eyes wide with disbelief.
Kael stepped forward until he stood at the very edge of the high table. His presence pressed against the senses, suffocating and irresistible.
"I don't think it," he said. "I know it."
He turned, eyes scanning the faces around him. Panic. Anger. Guilt. But also composure—too much, in a few.
"Armies do not march from forgotten legends unless guided. The Nightborn have no desire for conquest… unless they are promised something greater."
He paused, letting that implication seep into every heart.
"And that means someone within this chamber has already made a pact. A traitor. Perhaps even more than one."
The nobles froze. Some looked to each other. Others looked away.
Selene leaned back in her throne, her face unreadable.
"And what would you suggest, Lord Kael?" she asked, voice low. "That we begin hunting shadows without proof?"
Kael gave her the faintest of smiles.
"No," he said. "We do something far more effective."
He turned back to the room.
"We let the traitor believe they have already won. That their plan is working. That we are fractured, panicked, blind. Let them reveal themselves through false security."
He looked back at Selene.
"And when they do… we don't just crush them."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper meant for her alone.
"We make them an example. A message to the Nightborn. And to whatever gods they pray to."
Selene held his gaze for a long moment.
And then she smiled.
"Then let the game begin, Lord Kael."
To be continued…