The mansion exhaled in the stillness of aftermath.
Faint candlelight traced the corridors in strokes of gold and shadow, but the air, thick with the weight of unspoken questions, was no longer heavy with tension it was heavier now. Dense with truths denied and the sickening warmth of twisted affection.
Veythor sat alone on the balcony of his room, a faint smile dancing on his lips not one of warmth, nor victory. No, it was a smirk, carved from irony, from bitter amusement.
They embraced me.
Even after everything. Even after the blood on my hands was theirs, not mine.
He lit a cigarette, the smoke spiraling upwards like a wisp of his thoughts, and watched as the flame flickered, casting shadows. Eliya and Morgan were asleep now, worn from joy and exhaustion, cradled in a dream that should never have been theirs.
Veythor's mind drifted.
How simple it was to sculpt minds, to twist grief into loyalty.
They are foolish manipulated by their own emotions
I once was like them…
But not anymore.
From the hallway, Grey approached, his footsteps soft, measured. He stopped at the door, a decanter of wine in hand.
"They love you, my lord," Grey said, setting the glass before him. "Truly."
Veythor didn't respond. He lifted the glass, swirling it once before taking a sip. The taste was bitter, far too familiar.
"Love," he murmured, the word almost a sneer. "A weapon far more effective than fear."
Grey, silent, took a sip of his own. His mind, no doubt, was occupied with many things, but he said nothing.
Veythor's eyes gleamed in the firelight not the crimson red they used to be, but blackened with the glint of something far deeper, something ancient. His mind drifted again.
"I use what works. And I will keep using it. This world…" He paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
"…deserves to be destroyed. And so, I shall destroy it."
He stood, taking another sip, the burn of the wine grounding him. His body ached, the injuries still fresh despite Grey's assurances they had healed.
"Sir," Grey interrupted, his voice softer than usual, "there's a letter for you. It was sent by Lord Puxxian. It carries the emperor's seal."
Grey handed him the envelope. Veythor opened it, eyes scanning the contents quickly before a smile stretched across his face.
It was an invitation. From the emperor himself. A welcome party. The most powerful families were invited noble houses of the highest rank, and even second-class ones. The Prime Minister, too.
Veythor smirked, the wind clashing against his face as he took another sip.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting. The Prime Minister, huh? Things are about to heat up."
Veythor and Grey hadn't slept a wink. Cigarette smoke tangled with the cold air. Wine bottles stood like corpses on the table. Their silent vigil had become a ritual one of preparation, not celebration. Outside, the city groaned awake. The sun bled across the eastern horizon, stretching its arms over a kingdom soaked in secrets.
Grey, slouched on the couch, had finally passed out. Drunk. Useless.
Veythor stood up, peeled off the clothes of the night, and slipped into black a coat etched with blood-red thread around the chest, his pitch-dark robe flowing behind like smoke, and boots as silent as death. His hair, still damp from a quick wash, shimmered under the first light of morning. Without a word, he left the mansion.
The Royal Court awaited.
It stood in silence. The guards didn't speak. They didn't even breathe. Not in his presence. At the center of that quiet grandeur, Emperor Avantis sat sprawled upon the golden throne one leg crossed, fingers coiled around a gold-laced goblet. Beside him, his personal knight, Lord Puxxian, stood like a statue carved by war.
Avantis's mind wandered.
Political storms brew across Narzan. The nobles gnaw at each other like rabid dogs. And Veythor...
Let's see how long that snake survives. Bwahaha... He's no noble. No bloodline. Just a mutt who clawed his way from mud to marble.
Puxxian's voice shattered the silence.
"Your Majesty, Lord Veythor awaits your permission to enter."
A smirk flickered across Avantis's lips. "Let him in."
The great obsidian doors creaked open.
Veythor entered like a shadow given form.
He walked slowly, deliberately, and knelt at the center of the grand hall.
"Greetings, Your Majesty."
Avantis didn't smile. His gaze, sharp as razors, cut through the air.
"Spare me the courtesies. Where have you been these past seven days? Why were you injured?"
Veythor was prepared.
The emperor's eyes tried to pierce him, but Veythor welcomed the game. His face trembled slightly an act. His breath, heavy also an act. Fear danced on his expression like a puppet pulled by masterful strings.
"I was ambushed by Rebels," he said calmly. "Most are dead. Perhaps one or two escaped."
"And where did this happen?" Avantis asked, leaning forward.
"Near the Eternal Forest of Darkness."
"Why leave Kranel in the first place? What business did you have out there?"
Inside, Veythor laughed.
This decrepit monarch truly thinks I'll spill the truth under his gaze? Pathetic. Has age dulled his mind so greatly?
"A letter," he replied. "I received a message that a member of my personal unit had been captured by rebels. I went It was a trap."
Avantis's fingers tapped against the throne. "And how did you survive?"
"A saint found me," Veythor said, his tone practiced.
"A saint?" Avantis's voice sharpened.
"Yes," Veythor lied without flinching. "A dagger missed my heart by inches. I lost consciousness. The saint healed me he was traveling with his team."
The emperor stared for a long time.Avantis knew Veythor was clearly lying but this was a solid excuse and even if Avantis tries to put pressure on Veythor and get the real answers out of his mouth it won't work Avantis is no fool
"Are you hiding something from me, Supreme Commander?"
Veythor kept his eyes on the floor, his body trembling ever so slightly.
"No... I wouldn't dare. I speak only the truth. Please... believe me."
Avantis stepped down from the throne.
He drew closer.
"Are you sure?"
"I... I swear it. I am not lying, Your Majesty."
Then, suddenly, the emperor laughed.
"Haha... I was merely toying with you, Veythor. I trust you."
His tone changed.
"But tell me are you certain no noble family was involved in the ambush?"
Puxxian grinned faintly behind the emperor.
Veythor bowed his head slightly.
"I cannot say for sure. But without evidence, I will not point fingers."
"Good," Avantis said. "Then attend the welcoming ceremony. Your return must be honored properly."
Veythor nodded, still smirking. "Certainly, Your Majesty."
As the emperor and Puxxian exited the court, their laughter echoed through the hall.Veythor remained still.His mind, however, was alive.
They truly believed I was intimidated. Fools.
They see what they want to see. Hear what they wish to hear. They cloak themselves in illusions, call them truth, and wonder why their kingdoms collapse.
I once walked among them. But now, I see.
To suffer and know the truth is a higher grace than living blissfully in ignorance.
They will fall. Every last one. And that too... is destiny.