Silver Watch was not a term, it was an event. A group of men and women united by a cause, united by a belief in something greater than themselves. But Draegor knew this, of course. Knew the danger they represented, how swiftly they could assemble, how rooted they were in the states that bordered his empire.
But Draegor had something they didn't—control. His hands were on the pulse of the world, guiding its beat, governing its course. The Silver Watch may have strength, might, and cohesiveness—but Draegor had the patience, the silence, and the strategy to bring them to their knees.
In the silence of the war chamber, Seraphis at his side and the boom of the storm which was moving in just beyond his walls, Draegor took deep breaths. The map spread out on the table in front of him was a canvas of conquest, each line and symbol a milestone in his design. The pieces were moving, ever so slowly, each pawn a deliberate step toward his goal.
Seraphis was the first to speak up, her words soothing but stern. "The Silver Watch shall not move with haste. They realize the import of this struggle. They have knowledge that by attacking first, they shall stand to lose all."
Draegor also nodded, eyes still on the map, touching the lines of it with the tips of his fingers. "They will wait, waiting out the moment. They are wise to their strength.
Zaelith entered the room quietly, his presence as quiet as a phantom gliding in the darkness. His silver eyes glinted as he took up position in the corner, listening to the discussion without voice. He was always Draegor's quiet protector, ever vigilant, ever patient.
"There are rumors," Zaelith spoke up at last, his voice low and controlled. "Whispers of a rebellion brewing in the southern nations. The tribes are displeased, Seraphis. They are not content with the peace you have brokered. It could be the work of the Silver Watch, or perhaps something more, but we must move quickly."
Seraphis regarded Draegor, who did not blink. "Rebellions are a spark. They can be extinguished easily—so long as we maintain the flame."
Draegor recognized, however, that Zaelith's restraint was not unwise. Rebellions, if left to spread, might become much more dangerous. His eyes moved to Seraphis, his loyal advisor, his most rational mind.
We shall have to get ahead of this rebellion before it gains strength," Draegor said calmly, his own voice as firm as the rock beneath his feet. "But not through force alone. No. We shall push them to realize their own mistake. We shall lead them to the very edge of their own desperation.".
Seraphis inclined her head slightly. "The rebellion will be quelled before it can reach full strength. I'll arrange for the appropriate measures to be taken."
As Seraphis left to carry out the orders, Draegor gazed out at the horizon. Outside, the wind had begun to pick up, swirling through the trees and speaking of change. It was a reminder—nothing in this world stayed the same. Not even the greatest empires. They were transitory things, and each empire had its moment of weakness.
The question was not if it would fall—but when.
And how.
Days dragged on, the tension building with each moment. Draegor did nothing in a hurry, for he realized that time was as great a weapon as was any blade. As his armies waited for the rebellion to flare up, he hid in the background, observing the rhythms, waiting for the ideal moment.
His officers, loyal men and women who had risen to their ranks under his command, prepared for the last time. But Draegor's focus was not on them. He was aware of the slightest movements, of the changes most would overlook.
Varek, ever salivating for battle, arrived at Draegor that night, his muscles stiff with anticipation. "The provinces in the south lie waiting to be seized, Draegor," he growled, the heavy smell of war hanging off of his voice. "Rebellion waits to be plucked like a fruit that is too easily reached for. We should strike before it establishes itself."
Draegor smiled faintly, his expression contemplative. "Patience, Varek. Let them believe they have power. Let them think they are the masters."
Varek frowned, but said no more, moving back into the shadows of the war room.
It was Zaelith who went on next, quieter of voice than Varek, but no less fervent. "The rebellion is not the only issue we face, Draegor. There are dissidents among our own ranks—silent ones who think they can gain from the disorder. They know our plans, and they are perhaps working against us. We cannot let this spread.".
Draegor's eyes narrowed, the gravity of Zaelith's words sinking in. The vulnerabilities in his empire were beginning to show themselves—just as he had always predicted they would. "Then we shall find those vulnerabilities and shore them up before they become a chasm.".
He walked over to look out across the balcony once more. The wind had stopped, but below the quiet lay an undertone to the air—a feeling of change to be. Draegor felt it in his bones. The world was shifting, slowly but irreversibly. His enemies were gathering, his allies were forcing themselves to their limits, and the tides of war were starting to creep up.
He was ready.
As the rebellion began to spread throughout the southern provinces, Draegor's forces moved with all speed. Seraphis had long since secured the loyalty of many powerful players, ensuring that their loyalty would remain steadfast to Draegor. But for every such loyalist, there were always those who were tempted by dreams of freedom, of power, of something greater than the iron hand of the Tyrant.
The soldiers who used to follow Draegor now wondered where they belonged. A few even deserted to the rebellion, thinking that they had a brighter future within another cause. Draegor felt the difference, as feeling the foreshocks of an earthquake.
But that was all it was worth—giving way in the sand beneath a pile of rock. And Draegor had never been one to remain still when the world shifted beneath his feet. He would give way. He would bend the world to his will, as he had countless times before.
And soon enough, the rebellion would wear itself out, as all the other fires had done previously. Because Draegor had long since learned that true power resided in waiting. True power resided in the still, calculating moments, when the world believed it had a decision to make, when the enemy thought they held the advantage.
And then, with a swift and deliberate action, Draegor would take everything. The storm was on them, and Draegor would be ready.
The world would soon know who actually had control of the currents of fate.