By the time they reached the village outskirts, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the quiet lanes. The soldiers stationed near the fences—still dutiful, if grumbling—watched the trio approach with mild disinterest.

  Brinna, however, made a beeline straight for Jorran, who was leaning lazily against the porch rail, spear resting at his side.

  “You,” she barked, startling him upright.

  Jorran stiffened, snapping to attention. “Ma’am—uh, Brinna.”

  She stepped in close, her eyes narrowing. “You want to make up for that little incident a while back? Here’s your chance.”

  Jorran’s ears turned red instantly, his grip tightening on the spear. “I—I already told you, ma’am, that was a misunderstanding—”

  Brinna cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Save it. I don’t care about your excuses. What I care about is keeping these two alive.” She jerked her chin toward Ilyari and Tazien, who were hanging back, watching.

  Jorran blinked, confused. “Alive?”

  Brinna’s voice dropped, low and deadly serious. “We’ve got spies. Not just any spies—dangerous ones. They were following Ilyari today, probably scoping them out to turn them against the Empire—or worse.”

  Jorran’s face went pale. “Worse?”

  Brinna leaned in, eyes hard. “Kidnap. Maim. Kill. You name it. And if they manage to do it, that embarrassment’s going to land squarely on your captain’s desk—and on yours.”

  He swallowed hard, his bravado faltering.

  Brinna straightened, tapping her cane firmly against the ground. “I want you to keep watch—close. All night. If even a mouse twitches near their door, I want your spear at its throat. You hear me?”

  Jorran stood straighter, clutching his spear tighter. “Yes, ma’am. I—I won’t let anything happen.”

  Brinna’s eyes sharpened. “Good. Because you won’t just be keeping them safe. You’ll be keeping your own record clean. One slip-up, and trust me—I’ll have your name in every complaint letter from here to the capital.”

  Jorran blanched but nodded quickly, his jaw set. “Understood.”

  Brinna gave a sharp nod, then turned back to Ilyari and Tazien. “Inside. Now.”

  They obeyed without a word, slipping through the door as Brinna followed, bolting it tightly behind her.

  She sighed, leaning her weight on her cane. “You two stay put. Do not leave this house until I tell you it’s safe.”

  Ilyari and Tazien both nodded, tension still humming in their veins.

  Brinna’s eyes softened slightly. “I got a good look at the men tailing you today. I won’t let them get near you again.”

  She adjusted her shawl and moved toward the door. “Get some rest. And no peeking out the windows.”

  Ilyari hesitated. “What about you?”

  Brinna gave her a small, wry smile. “I’ve got old bones, but I’ve still got fight. I’ll be watching too.”

  With that, she stepped out into the dark, leaving them to their uneasy quiet.

  ?????????

  Later that night, long after the lamps had dimmed and the streets had fallen silent, the trap was sprung.

  It started with a soft clink of metal near the window—a shadow moving against the wall.

  Inside, Captain Relkan crouched in the dark, eyes sharp and waiting. Around him, his soldiers stood poised, silent as stone.

  The window creaked.

  And then—just as the intruders started to climb through—the captain’s voice rang out, low and cold:

  “Got you.”

  The room erupted as soldiers lunged forward, grabbing the intruders and forcing them down, shackles snapping tight around their wrists.

  Outside, Jorran’s voice bellowed, “We have them! Intruders captured!”

  The night filled with the shuffle of boots and clink of chains as the would-be kidnappers were dragged away—trapped, caught, and cursing their failure.

  Inside, Captain Relkan stood, brushing off his armor with a scowl.

  “Idiots,” he muttered darkly. “Did they really think they could pull something like this under my watch?”

  He turned to one of his men. “Send word to the capital. Tell them we’ve captured infiltrators—guild affiliates, by the looks of it. The Emperor will want a full report.”

  The soldier saluted and moved quickly to relay the message.

  Relkan cast a last glance around the quiet room, eyes narrowing. “Something’s brewing,” he muttered under his breath. “And we’re only seeing the start.”

  The scroll landed on the Emperor, Sulan-Kai’s desk with a soft thunk—neatly sealed, the ink still fresh from the night patrol.

  He didn’t look up at first, finishing his wine with a careless swirl of the cup. The chamber was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the brazier behind him.

  His advisor stepped forward carefully. “A fresh report from Captain Relkan, Your Majesty. Regarding the… incident in the lower district.”

  The Emperor let out a slow breath, setting his cup down with deliberate weight. He broke the seal and skimmed the report, eyes darting back and forth—growing narrower with each line.

  By the time he reached the end, his jaw was tight, his fingers gripping the parchment so hard the edges crinkled.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Assassins,” he muttered darkly. “Or spies… or worse.”

  He tossed the scroll across the desk, where it landed in a crumpled heap.

  “They can’t even manage a simple watch,” he snapped, glaring toward the window. “And now we have guild rats sending thugs to kidnap imperial wards?”

  His advisor shifted uneasily. “Your Majesty… the guild denies involvement. They claim the man they sent to Veylan’s shop—one Herrik—disappeared two days ago. His family reports the same. No one has seen him since.”

  Sulan-Kai’s eyes flashed. “Convenient,” he hissed. “Too convenient.”

  He stood abruptly, the heavy fabric of his robes swirling around him. “Send a full inspection team to the guild. Tear through every ledger, every contract. I want to know exactly who these men were, and who gave the order.”

  The advisor bowed. “At once, Your Majesty.”

  ButSulan-Kai wasn’t finished. He paced toward the window, staring down at the glittering city below, his fingers drumming against the cold stone ledge.

  “This reeks of outside interference,” he muttered, more to himself now. “Nyameji loyalists, perhaps… or worse—foreign agents.”

  He turned back sharply. “And those two children—why? Why now?”

  The advisor hesitated. “Do you wish to detain them for questioning, Your Majesty?”

  Sulan-Kai’s eyes gleamed, thoughtful but cold. “…No. Not yet. Too much attention. Let’s see what rises from the weeds first.”

  He moved back to his desk, gathering up the report again and tapping it against his palm. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur.

  “But keep them watched. Closely. If they so much as breathe in the wrong direction… I want to know.”

  The advisor bowed low. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  The Sulan-Kai’s eyes lingered on the crumpled parchment, his expression grim and calculating.

  Sulan-Kai sat rigid on the cold iron throne, eyes locked on the border report laid across his lap. His jaw clenched tighter with each word: Three villages lost. Crops burned. Farmers executed or fled. Supplies dwindling.

  A knock cut through the tension.

  “Enter,” he snapped.

  The doors swung wide and Prince Kaelen swaggered in first, his polished armor gleaming, golden hair perfectly in place. His smirk was almost too confident, his mother’s sharp arrogance clear in every step.

  “Father,” Kaelen called, bowing just enough to pretend respect. “We heard about the setback. Ugly business—but simple to fix. Allow me to march on them, burn their hovels to ash, and string up any rebels left standing.”

  He strode closer, chest puffed out. “Frankly, we’ve been too soft. A few charred corpses along the border will remind everyone who rules these lands.”

  Sulan-Kai’s eyes flicked up sharply. “And the fields? The food? What will you feed the capital once those crops are gone?”

  Kaelen waved a hand lazily. “We’ll replace them. Resettle workers. Or import, if we must. Better to crush rebellion now and sort out grain later.”

  Before Sulan-Kai could answer, Prince Varek appeared, gliding into the room with quiet grace. Dark-haired, sharp-eyed, his demeanor was calm but cold—every word measured like a blade ready to strike.

  “Brother,” Varek greeted with a silk-smooth voice, bowing with just the right amount of grace. “Father.”

  Kaelen crossed his arms, scowling. “Oh, here comes the coward’s counsel.”

  Varek’s smile didn’t waver. “And here you are, ready to scorch the empire to the ground. As always.”

  He stepped forward, addressing Sulan-Kai directly. “Father, if I may… there are smarter ways to win. We have prisoners now—why not work through them? Let us press them for names, routes, allies. Quietly. If we know who’s backing them, we can root them out before more blood spills.”

  Kaelen snorted. “Spies won’t talk.”

  “They will,” Varek replied coolly, “if we ask the right way.”

  Sulan-Kai’s gaze sharpened. “You suggest torture.”

  Varek’s lips twitched upward. “I suggest precision. A sharp knife cuts faster than a blunt sword.”

  Kaelen scoffed, turning red. “You hide behind words. I’ll handle this with steel.”

  “And when your steel runs out of grain, what then?” Varek asked, voice low and deadly. “Will you eat your armor?”

  Sulan-Kai slammed his fist on the armrest. “Enough.”

  Both princes fell silent, Kaelen seething and Varek smirking faintly.

  Sulan-Kai’s eyes burned with cold fire. “Kaelen, ready the battalions—but hold the fire. We need those lands intact. Varek, you have the prisoners. I want results in two days. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Father,” Kaelen ground out, bowing stiffly before storming from the room, his armor clanking angrily.

  Varek lingered just a moment longer, eyes glittering. “We’ll find the truth, Father. And when we do… this little rebellion will crumble.”

  “Go,” Sulan-Kai ordered with a sharp gesture.

  Varek dipped his head and exited smoothly, leaving the throne room in tense silence.

  Sulan-Kai sat still for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway.

  Then, slowly, he rose—his cloak whispering along the cold stone—as he turned toward a shadowed hallway behind the throne. His boots echoed as he strode deeper into the palace, leaving the grand chamber behind, passing rows of cold statues and dark tapestries until he reached a narrow door at the far end.

  He unlocked it with a silver key and stepped inside.

  The room was suffocatingly dark. Heavy curtains covered the windows, and only the faintest flicker of blue light spilled from a single object: a towering mirror, old and framed in blackened silver.

  Sulan-Kai closed the door, locking it behind him, and approached the mirror—its glass rippling faintly like water disturbed by an unseen hand.

  He stared at his reflection. But it was… wrong.

  In the dim light, his mirrored image smirked back—the eyes too sharp, too knowing—and laced with glitching, corrupt Code, black and jagged like barbs piercing through its skin. Strange symbols twined and shimmered across its throat and arms, writhing like a living sickness.

  Sulan-Kai’s jaw tightened.

  “I have done everything,” he hissed under his breath. “And still… cracks form. Traitors rise. Even my own army fails me.”

  The reflection’s lips curled, its voice seeping out like oil—soft, dangerous, and cold.

  “You grew comfortable, Sulan-Kai. You let them forget who commands this empire. And now… they dare to rise.”

  Sulan-Kai’s fists clenched at his sides. “It is not me they rise against. It is the old blood. The cursed line. My niece’s wretched spawn—they are at the heart of this poison.”

  The reflection’s smile widened, eyes gleaming darkly.

  “Yes… and they have allies. Spies within your guilds. Fingers reaching through your own walls. They want the Code of Fallen to rise again—to tear down everything you’ve built.”

  Sulan-Kai’s throat bobbed, rage simmering beneath his skin. “What would you have me do?”

  The reflection’s glitching fingers pressed against the glass, black veins crawling outward.

  “Cut deeper. Root them out, one by one. Make examples. Turn every eye inward with fear, until no one dares whisper of rebellion. And watch… watch your sons. One is too foolish. The other… too clever.”

  Sulan-Kai exhaled slowly, eyes burning with fury and something close to dread.

  “I will crush them all,” he vowed, voice low and deadly. “Every last thread of that cursed bloodline. I will see them erased from history.”

  The reflection only smiled wider, glitching code writhing hungrily across its face.

  “Yes,” it whispered. “We will.”

  The room pulsed—once—and the mirror’s glow dimmed, settling into cold, watchful silence.

  “This plan…” he muttered, voice rough but edged with frustration. “It’s become too loose. Too many moving pieces. These… seeds of rebellion are sprouting faster than we can crush them. Even with your guidance, old loyalties die harder than expected. I question if we can truly turn them away from the ancient magic quickly enough—before it festers again.”

  The reflection froze, its glitching grin faltering for the first time. For a heartbeat, the room went eerily still.

  Then the master’s voice roared out, dark and splitting, like a thunderclap across shattered stone.

  “Weakling.”

  The mirror rippled violently, black code streaking across the glass like claws, wrapping and twisting around Sulan-Kai’s image until it looked strangled.

  “You DARE question the plan? After all I have given you? Your heritage is weak—that much has always been clear. It was YOU who delayed. YOU who wavered. It was YOUR hesitation that allowed the old bloodlines to crawl back, to multiply like vermin beneath your very feet!”

  Sulan-Kai flinched instinctively, though he stood his ground, fists trembling at his sides.

  “I have crushed them,” he growled through clenched teeth. “My niece. Her cursed husband. I destroyed their kingdom and scattered their people.”

  “Too late!” the reflection hissed, eyes blazing with jagged symbols of pure malice. “Too SLOW. You let them breed like rats in the shadows, and now the brood rises again. You failed to finish the purge, Sulan-Kai, and now YOU will bear the weight of the consequences.”

  Sulan-Kai’s eyes flashed with fury. “I will finish it! I am the ruler of Kaisulane! My grip is iron—my soldiers will silence this filth once and for all.”

  But the master’s voice dropped, ice-cold and razor-sharp.

  “Will you? Or must I turn to your sons? That boy of yours… your eldest… he is eager. So very promising. Ambitious. Obedient. Perhaps it is time we consider… replacement.”

  Sulan-Kai’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened, something ugly twisting deep in his gut.

  “I am the chosen one,” he spat bitterly. “YOU told me that. You promised.”

  The master’s smile slithered back across the reflection, oily and terrible.

  “And you will remain the chosen… if you prove worthy. Do better, Sulan-Kai. Make your empire kneel—or I will raise up one who can.”

  A heavy silence settled.

  Sulan-Kai swallowed hard, his throat tight and raw, but his eyes gleamed now with something sharp—desperate and determined.

  “Very well,” he rasped. “I will remind them all who holds power in this empire. I will drown out their old faith in blood and ash.”

  He stepped back, chest rising and falling as his mind raced.

  “There will be a festival. A day of… reckoning. We will call it a purification. A city-wide sacrifice in the streets—a grand denouncement of the old Code. We’ll burn their symbols, destroy their relics, and offer up sacrifices—fresh blood spilled in your honor.”

  The master’s eyes glittered, code writhing hungrily across the glass.

  “Yes…” it whispered, voice curling like smoke. “Let them fear. Let them bleed. Only then will their hearts turn fully to us.”

  Sulan-Kai bowed his head low, one fist pressed against his chest in silent oath.

  “I will not fail,” he vowed. “Not again.”

  The master’s grin stretched wider, dark code pulsing as it whispered: “Good.”

  And with that, the mirror’s light dimmed, the room falling deathly quiet once more.

  Sulan-Kai stood in the dark, breathing hard, his heart pounding with a twisted cocktail of rage, fear, and grim resolve.

  He turned sharply on his heel, cloak snapping, and strode back out of the chamber—his mind already planning the blood-soaked festival that would send a message to all those who would oppose his goals.