Aden and the hounds settled into the Imperial City, their presence caused a disruption in the usual harmony of the capital. The streets bustled with color and activity—vendors, nobles, and soldiers moving in a dance of organized chaos—but beneath the vibrance, the city pulsed with secrets and schemes.
They were given temporary quarters within the military sector, a stone compound usually reserved for returning commanders and decorated officers. It was well-guarded, comfortably cold, and quiet—perfect for keeping prying eyes away.
Rumors of Aden's rise from a condemned criminal to a war-scarred hero spread like wildfire. Servants whispered behind closed doors. Palace aides cast furtive glances. No one quite knew what to make of him: a man who had returned from Dahaka not broken, but reborn.
Some nobles regarded him with disdain. Others with dread. And a few with dangerous curiosity.
The capital itself was transforming. With the upcoming Founding Celebration and the Imperial Princess's birthday, colorful drapes spilled from rooftops and gold-trimmed banners lined the streets. Laughter echoed in markets. Yet Aden felt strangely detached, as if moving through a city wearing a mask.
Bren walked him through court etiquette one evening. "Keep your posture formal, your tongue sharp, and your ears sharper," he warned. "This place smiles while sharpening its knives."
Later that evening, over a quiet meal, Bren leaned closer to Aden, lowering his voice.
"There's been movement in the east," he said. "The Kingdom of Sael has officially allied with the Chronos Kingdom. the Emperor himself extended the olive branch—though I doubt it came without a price."
Aden glanced over with narrowed eyes. "That's unexpected."
"It's fear," Bren replied. "Fear of the Northern Kingdom growing stronger. The East knows they can't stand alone if the North decides to march. And this alliance? It's already causing unease among the Dukes here."
"Unease or paranoia?"
"Both," Bren said. "Some of the Dukes support the idea of using this alliance as a bridge for negotiations. Others see it as a threat. Tensions are high, and many of the Empire's factions are beginning to draw lines—silent ones, but lines nonetheless."
Aden remained quiet for a while, then asked, "What of the King of Sael?"
Bren shrugged. "A seasoned ruler. Calculating. And he doesn't forget the past easily. Especially not the name Vasco."
Aden narrowed his eyes as he spoke. "Vasco?, why is that?"
Bren in shock asked him. "Dude... Are you for real?, its because of the War 30 years ago"
Aden nodded as if he suddenly realized but in reality he didn't, he did not want to asks any further as he feared it would make for more suspicions
Later, Aden wandered alone through the city, finding himself before a marble statue of an old war hero. The inscription spoke of loyalty, duty, and sacrifice. But Aden felt none of those things. Instead, he wrestled with a different fear—his past life, the face and voice of the man he once was, was fading like a dream at dawn.
That night, sleep betrayed him. He sat by candlelight with the Vasco Memoir open once more. His fingers traced a passage describing, a forgotten movement technique—one that demanded perfect balance between breath and blood. With nothing else to keep him occupied, he went to the courtyard to practice under the veil of night, the silent city his only audience.
By morning, the hounds were dressed in fine attire bearing the Vasco crest. Layers of deep navy and silver, polished boots, and ceremonial blades. No longer prisoners, they now looked the part of nobility.
Meanwhile, the Imperial Castle roared with anticipation. It had been two months since Aden Vasco last walked these halls. Dukes, Margraves, Black Knights, and foreign officials filled the banquet chamber.
A sudden fanfare silenced the room.
From the northern gate, a royal escort arrived. Clad in white and blue, the King, Prince, and Princess of the Kingdom of Sael made their appearance. Along with them, several Dukes and Counts from across Sael had also arrived, their presence thickening the political air. The guests murmured in surprise. With the Emperor's subtle nod, Duke Tristan stepped forward to greet them, offering the traditional formalities.
As the King of Sael walked in, his gaze swept the room before it locked with Duke Ed Vasco's. For a moment, he froze. His mind was pulled back decades—thirty years ago, a battlefield littered with bodies. Flames, steel, and the name 'Vasco' ringing like a war cry. A name that bore the weight of corpses. The memory chilled him.
He composed himself, stepped toward Ed Vasco, and extended his hand. The handshake was brief, awkward, and full of unspoken words. Without another glance, the King of Sael continued forward, taking his seat beside the Emperor.
Servants scrambled to offer refreshments while nobles whispered among themselves. The presence of Sael's royalty had thrown the hall into a storm of speculation. Discussions swirled around the state of the eastern alliances, trade, and military strength. A few curious glances were cast toward the Emperor, wondering if the alliance between the Empire and Sael was about to change.
"Do you think they're here for political maneuvering or celebration?" one Count asked under his breath.
"With Sael, it's always both," another answered with a smirk.
The Sael's Princess engaged in light conversation with Duke Tristan, while the Prince stood silently, his gaze flicking about the chamber. The King of Sael, meanwhile, remained composed, scanning the room like a hawk judging the currents.
Just as the chatter resumed to a steady hum, a royal guard's voice boomed through the marble chamber:
"Aden Vasco, heir to House Vasco, is making his entrance!"
A hush fell like a blade. Every head turned.
Aden strode in, draped in elegance. His expression was as cold as ever, his eyes unfazed by the gazes that burned into him. The Vasco family crest flew high behind him, a banner of defiance and legacy.
The transformation was undeniable.
Even the Emperor leaned forward slightly.
Duke Remes's eyes narrowed. Duke Venmont stiffened. The King of Sael leaned closer to his children. "Take a close look at him," he murmured. "That's Vasco's son."
The Prince's brow furrowed. "He doesn't look like a diplomat."
"He isn't," the King replied, his eyes still on the empty corridor ahead. "He's a weapon dressed in silk."
"Is he dangerous?" the Princess asked softly.
The King's gaze flicked toward Ed Vasco and then to the high banner of the Empire. "He is what his father once was. But perhaps more."
As Aden walked toward the King's Chamber, the air thickened with an invisible weight. His aura poured into the space like smoke—dense, suffocating, and unmistakably powerful. It held the mark of a Black Knight, a rank just beneath Swordmaster. A level many spent lifetimes pursuing.
Black Knights exchanged wary glances, their postures tensing instinctively. Among the seated nobles, several shifted uncomfortably. The Dukes of both the Empire and Sael took notice, their eyes narrowing.
Duke Ed Vasco remained silent, his gaze locked on the man who bore his name. Though his expression was unreadable, something in his clenched jaw betrayed the truth—— he hadn't expected this.
One of the Saelian Dukes murmured to another, "That aura… it's not natural."
"Power changes a man," Duke Remes replied dryly. "But it also paints a target on his back."