Chapter 1: The First Fracture
The black banners of Viridale no longer flew with pride. They hung in tatters over the spires of Highthorn Citadel, sodden with ash and old blood. Inside, beneath stained glass depicting forgotten saints, the Council of Lords argued like starving wolves, gnawing on the carcass of a dying empire.
Lucan Vire watched from the shadows, silent as ever.
He did not sit with them. No, he stood behind the obsidian columns that bordered the chamber, wrapped in dark silk robes, his fingers laced in front of him, unreadable eyes fixed on the proceedings.
The Chancellor of Records, bloated and sweating, slammed a jeweled ring on the table."We cannot cede territory to the Warborn! Malrik is a beast in human skin!"
"Better a beast than a corpse," spat Lord Darrim, his mouth flecked with wine. "He commands ten thousand soldiers. What do you command, Chancellor? Paper?"
Lucan smiled faintly.He had written both of their speeches the night before.
"Enough," a woman's voice cut through the chamber like a drawn blade.
Selene Varrow emerged from the council shadows, dressed in deep crimson velvet, her pale throat bare save for a serpent-shaped pendant. She moved like silk sliding off a blade—beautiful, but not soft. Never soft.
"The empire's spine is shattered," she said, folding her arms. "You're arguing over bones while the flesh rots."
Lucan stepped forward then, the first time in hours. "Let us speak not of rot," he said smoothly, "but of growth. Decay nourishes the soil. Perhaps it's time something new grew from the corpse."
All eyes turned to him. They always did. Some with fear. Some with envy. Some—like Selene—with interest.
"Are you proposing something, Lord Vire?" Darrim sneered.
Lucan gave a practiced, harmless smile. "Only that we stop pretending the empire still breathes."
At that moment, a runner burst into the chamber—blood on his tabard, one eye swollen shut. He knelt before the council.
"A message from the border! Thorne Malrik has taken Ironreach. Executed the governor. His banners now fly over the inner provinces."
Gasps. Curses. Panic.
Lucan Vire's smile never shifted. He stepped closer to the council table, letting the silence stretch. Then:
"I propose we negotiate."
"You would kneel to that savage?" the Chancellor barked.
Lucan's tone turned ice-cold. "I would kneel to no one. But I would shake a knife's hand—if it meant slicing my enemy's throat."
Selene gave him the smallest nod, hidden behind her goblet. Her smile said: you're already planning the betrayal.
Of course he was.
Meanwhile…
In the shattered ruins of Ironreach, Thorne Malrik stood atop the governor's tower, fresh blood drying on his gauntlet. The heads of aristocrats lined the city gates behind him, still dripping into the soil.
Vael Corren lit a cigar beside him, watching the carnage with a lazy grin. "You always make an entrance, Malrik."
"I make statements," Thorne replied, voice gravel over fire.
Vael blew smoke toward the stars. "Lucan Vire will call for peace."
"Then we answer with steel."
"No," came a new voice.
Maera Vex stepped from the dark, her face hidden behind a silver veil, her eyes glowing with strange fire. "We answer with prophecy. Let Lucan come. The next blood to spill will crown a god."
Back in Highthorn…
Later that night, in a hidden chamber beneath the council hall, Lucan met with Selene.
He poured her wine without asking. She sipped it without thanks.
"I will meet with Thorne," he said. "But not to bargain."
"To kill him?" Selene asked, arching an eyebrow.
Lucan looked at the flickering candle between them. "To feed him a vision. Of an empire he believes he can rule. While I cut the ground beneath his feet."
Selene smiled.
"So begins your game."
Lucan Vire's voice was quiet, but full of purpose. "The game began years ago. The moment I stopped believing in kings."