A moon's turn had passed since Thomas and Edward arrived in the stronghold of Talon. Though they bore dire tidings—warning of Emberhaven's impending doom—only King David took the matter to heart. He moved swiftly, gathering warriors and forging plans for the battle that loomed. Yet not all hearts within Talon beat in unison.
Daniel, David's own blood, moved in shadows of doubt. The mention of the empire they faced stirred unrest in his soul. The Persian Empire—vast as the oceans, ancient as the stars—stood undefeated, stretching across the known world. What was Emberhaven, a flicker of flame, before such a storm? Why not simply let it fall? he mused in silence.
Burdened by ambition, Daniel approached his brother in private counsel. With honeyed venom, he revealed his thoughts: that their brothers, the twins—Solomon and Henry—should be left to their fate, sacrificed for the promise of Persian wealth. Why fight when they could rule alongside such power? He hungered for a throne of his own, and in his mind, the blood of kin was a worthy price.
King David, steadfast and noble, was struck by sorrow. His eyes darkened as he replied, voice low and heavy with disappointment.
"I will pretend I did not hear such treachery, only because you are my brother. But mind this—know your place."
Shame painted Daniel's face red, but in his heart, a darker color stirred—hatred, blooming slow like poison ivy.
Two moons later, that hatred ripened into treason.
In silence, Daniel forged a plan: he would slay his brother and cast the blame upon the messengers from Emberhaven. With David dead, the crown would fall to him. The people would cry for vengeance, and the army of Talon would march—not in defense of Emberhaven, but against it. Whether by sword or scheme, Daniel would emerge victorious.
David, long having forgotten their fateful conversation, sat unwittingly beside the viper who meant to end him.
The night of betrayal came cloaked in feasting and laughter. In the grand dining hall, torches flickered as David, Daniel, Thomas, and Edward dined together, speaking of the march to Emberhaven set for three days hence. As goblets were raised and plates emptied, a shadow fell across David's face. He gripped his throat, gasping for air. A violent cough broke from his chest, and blood spilled from his lips. His skin paled, withering as if drained by some ancient curse.
Earlier that evening, Daniel had slipped a vile poison into his brother's wine.
"Guards! Guards!" Daniel cried out, false anguish painted across his face as he cradled the lifeless king. His tears glistened in the torchlight, a mask for the demon behind his eyes.
Soldiers rushed in, and Daniel raised a shaking hand toward the messengers.
"They did this," he said coldly, his voice trembling with rage. "They killed my brother."
Before Thomas or Edward could speak, they were seized by Talon's guards.
"We didn't do anything! We didn't do anything!" Edward screamed, his voice echoing in the hall.
Thomas, ever watchful, caught the subtle curl at the edge of Daniel's lips—a smile that revealed the truth. In that moment, he knew. The trap had been set long ago, and they had walked straight into it. He said nothing, only lowered his head and accepted what fate had written.
A general of Talon stepped forward, his eyes hard.
"What are your orders, my prince?"
Daniel rose slowly, an unnatural calm around him, as if the crown already rested on his brow.
"At dawn, they are to be executed before the people," he said, voice sharp as a blade. "We bury my brother with honor. And from this day forth, you shall address me as your king."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the general's obedient bow.
"As you command, my king."
And so the torches burned low in the hall, bearing witness to betrayal cloaked in tears—and the rise of a new, darker sovereign.