The Imperial Pace was a fortress gilded in gold and deception. Beneath its splendor, power whispered through marble halls like a serpent waiting to strike. Outside, the world moved like pieces on a game board—armies mobilizing, alliances fracturing, unseen hands maniputing the tides of war. But within these sacred walls, Kael Arden was the storm that no one saw coming—silent, inevitable, and absolute.

  He stood alone in the grand strategy chamber, bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight. A vast map stretched before him, etched with scars of past conflicts and symbols of brewing ones. Borders bled, kingdoms shifted, and war loomed on every front.

  Across from him stood Ilyssia—elegant, sharp, her silver-white hair casting a faint glow in the dim light. Her keen elven eyes were fixed on the western edges of the map.

  “The western lords have begun fortifying,” she said, her tone as precise as a bde. “They suspect Seraphina’s ascension will plunge the realm into civil war. Some prepare to flee. Others to strike.”

  Kael’s fingers tapped against the war table, slow and rhythmic. “Desperation is a better sculptor than fear. Let them act. The bolder they move, the more threads they leave behind for us to pull.”

  Selene stood beside him, her obsidian armor gleaming dully. There was no hesitation in her now—only purpose. Her eyes burned with the certainty Kael had forged within her.

  “And the Eastern Army?” she asked. “They’ve sworn to Seraphina. But oaths mean little when shadows grow long.”

  Kael’s gaze shifted to Seraphina.

  The golden-haired princess had shed her fragility. Cd in armor that bore the imperial crest, she no longer looked like a pawn. She was ascending—slowly, steadily—toward the role Kael had crafted for her.

  “They follow me,” she said, voice firm. “Because they believe in a future without Castiel.”

  Kael studied her. “Then show them more. Give them dreams—visions of glory. But anchor every one of those dreams to you. Make it so their hope cannot exist without your command.”

  Her nod was slow, thoughtful. She understood. She was learning.

  A knock echoed through the chamber like a dagger striking stone.

  The guards parted, and Dorian Valcrest entered, his expression grim, urgency etched into every movement.

  “The Emperor has made his move,” he announced. “The Bck Legion marches. He’s opened the Abyssal Vault.”

  A silence fell—deep, immediate, suffocating.

  Ilyssia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The Bck Legion… So he’s finally called upon his st sin.”

  Forged in rituals that twisted the soul, the Bck Legion was a force whispered of in dread. No army, just a curse given flesh.

  Kael’s expression didn’t shift, but his golden eyes gleamed—not with fear, but with something colder. Calcuting.

  “So,” he murmured, “the old lion bares his fangs at st.”

  He reached forward and moved a single bck piece on the board—a subtle shift that meant devastation.

  “This is the moment we’ve prepared for.”

  Selene arched an eyebrow. “You expected him to call them?”

  “I invited it,” Kael replied. “A desperate man will always reach for the darkest weapon. He’s no longer pying to win. He’s pying not to lose.”

  His gaze turned to Seraphina.

  “The Emperor moves. Now we choose—do we let him believe this is his war to end, or do we steal the throne out from under him while he’s still reaching for his bde?”

  She inhaled sharply, the weight of destiny tightening around her like a crown not yet worn.

  Kael turned back to the board, advancing a golden piece beside the bck.

  The storm had gathered. The pieces were in motion.

  Soon, only one king would remain standing.

  To be continued...