Morning light crept through the smoke-heavy sky, turning gold to rust.But there was no warmth in that dawn. Only the smell of ash and blood.
The upper districts pretended.Nobles in their marble halls sipped spiced tea and discussed the "unrest" with wrinkled noses.Merchants tallied their losses behind gilded doors, already raising prices on grain and cloth.And the clergy offered prayers they no longer believed in — soft words to gods that had long turned their backs on the city.
But in the alleys and markets, the truth ran sharper.
"They say it's the fallen prince.""The Lion returned to bite his own kingdom.""No… no, it's the Ice Princess. She's culling the rats before they bite.""Fools, both of you. This is the beginning. Others are moving. The snakes have smelled blood."
In a darkened room above a pawnshop, one such snake sat in silence.
Duke Armand von Silesse, known to some as the Spider of the West, watched the flames from his window.His long fingers steepled beneath his sharp chin, silver hair falling like threads of moonlight.
Behind him, his spymaster shifted nervously. "Shall we intervene, my lord? Before the fires spread further?"
Armand's lips twitched in a thin smile.
"Intervene? No, no. Let them dance. The girl and the boy…"
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"Let them tear each other apart. And when they lie bleeding, we will harvest what remains."
Far across the city, in a crumbling fortress long abandoned by the crown, another pair of eyes watched.Not noble. Not polished. But dangerous all the same.
Cassian Blackdog, leader of the Broken Fang mercenaries, grinned as his men brought him reports.
"So, the prince is baring his teeth at last. And the princess… well, she's always been a cold bitch."He slammed his fist on the table. "Tell the boys: we sharpen blades tonight. War is profit. And this city? This city's about to drown in gold and blood."
The men roared their approval, drunk on the promise of plunder.
Meanwhile, in the Grand Academy, a different storm brewed.Scholars argued over the meaning of the fires.Students whispered of revolutions and empires rising from rubble.And in the quietest corners, the true radicals began to stir.
But at the heart of it all, two names danced on every tongue.Leonhart.Evelyne.
In the lower quarters, Leonhart stood amidst the wreckage of the night's battle.His men worked tirelessly — burying bodies, looting supplies, fortifying their stolen territory.The air stank of sweat and iron.But to Leonhart, it smelled like opportunity.
Donmar approached, wiping grime from his face. "We hold Tanner's Row and Hollow Bridge. Black Swan's in ashes, just like you ordered. Verrick's rats are either dead or fled."
Leonhart nodded, gaze distant.
"And the people?""The gutterfolk? They're watching. Scared, mostly. But some… some are starting to call you their king."
Leonhart's lips curled in something between a smile and a snarl.
"A king, am I?"
Donmar shrugged. "You burn the nobles. You feed the hungry. You fight their enemies. That makes you better than any crown in their eyes."
Leonhart turned away, voice low.
"They can call me what they like. I didn't start this to be worshipped."
His hand clenched around the hilt of his blade.
"I started this to break the chains. And I will. Even if I have to drown this cursed city in its own blood."
Across the city, in her tower of glass and iron, Evelyne stood before her war council.
Her dress was black silk today — no ornaments, no jewels. Only a silver clasp at her throat, shaped like a thorn.
Her captains reported in clipped voices:
"The Black Irons control the main roads. The merchant guilds are cooperating — for now.""The noble houses are divided. Some offer aid, others… watch.""Your orders, Princess?"
Evelyne's eyes, sharp as razors, swept across the room.
"We do not crush him yet."
The captains stiffened. One dared to speak. "But, Highness, the longer we delay—"
She cut him off with a look that could freeze stone.
"Leonhart is no longer the reckless boy we exiled. He is cunning. He baits us to overreach."She stepped closer, voice soft but deadly."We let him grow just enough. Then, when he thinks he has won, we drive the blade deep. Not before."
The room fell silent.
Later, as the council dispersed, Evelyne stood alone at the window, watching the smoke rise.
Her reflection stared back — pale, flawless, and cold.
But beneath that icy surface, her heart thundered.
You're stronger than I thought, Leonhart…Good. Make this worth my time. Make this worth the pain you caused.
Her hand curled into a fist.
Because when I crush you… I want the world to see how high you climbed before you fell.
Night fell again over the city.But this night, the flames did not rise.Instead, whispers slithered through the streets.Deals were struck in dark corners.Knives were sharpened.And the first seeds of rebellion began to sprout among the common folk.
Leonhart stood on the balcony of his claimed fortress, overlooking the chaos he had unleashed.
Beside him, Widow Fang limped forward, her face a map of old scars and new bruises.
"You've stirred the pot, boy," she rasped. "Now every snake and wolf in this city smells blood."
Leonhart's gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"Good," he murmured."Let them come. I'll break them all. Piece by piece."
Fang chuckled darkly. "Careful, little lion. Even kings bleed."
Leonhart's eyes narrowed, hard as stone.
"Then I'll bleed this city dry before I let it take me."