CHAPTER 88: THE SILVER DAWN

The air in the foyer was thick, clinging to their skin as they all stared, each man, guard, and servant rooted to the spot.

The lifeless bodies of Meholt and Zahai hung from the upper staircase railing, their faces drawn and dark in death, shadows pulling across the hollowed skin beneath their eyes.

Alan, the unreadable face of Aric’s guard, clenched his jaw, his hand gripping his sword hilt as though it were the only thing holding him steady.

The silence stretched, each person looking to the prince, awaiting his command.

Aric, his gaze unwavering, looked up at the bodies of his men and felt a cold settle in his chest. For a long moment, he didn’t move—only the faint flicker of his eyelids betrayed the shock beneath his composure, his grief buried deep.

Then, with a sharp breath, he turned toward Alan, his look cutting as a blade.

"Bring them down," he commanded, his voice low, yet biting.

Alan nodded once and gestured to the guards who had traveled with them. They moved quickly, their hands respectful but efficient, carefully lowering the bodies.

There was a quiet reverence in their movements, an understanding, perhaps even respect for the dead—maybe a sacrifice it was, one that would demand more blood to appease theirs.

Aric turned, his eyes steady, his voice as unbreakable as steel, and addressed the entourage that had followed him back to the estate.

"Return to your quarters," he ordered, motioning to the weary soldiers and members of his house.

"Usen"—he nodded toward a middle-aged woman with a calm presence, her face carved by years of service and loyalty—"handle the allocation of chambers."

Usen inclined her head, a quiet understanding passing between them, her movements brisk, her voice firm.

"Of course, your grace. Follow me, everyone." Her tone cut through the solemn hush as she directed them, her gaze lingering only briefly on the lifeless figures now laid gently against the foyer floor.

Once the others began to disperse, Aric turned toward the few who remained—those who constituted his council and closest advisors.

"The rest of you—follow me to the study." His voice was smooth, his expression unbroken as he led them away from the scene, each step filled with purpose.

---

Inside the study, warm candlelight was the only illumination across the room. Rich carvings adorned the walls, and shelves stacked with books and scrolls lined the perimeter.

Each seat in the chamber was occupied, the council gathered with tense, unsettled air as they settled around the grand oak table.

There was Lerai, the quiet mage whose mind held more secrets than most could imagine; Borag, once a bandit, now a general with a stoic face and sharp gaze; Serina, a mage whose very name most feared to utter, faint sparks trailing from her fingers even in rest; Alan, always nearby, a silent sentinel of loyalty; Old Man Hitoshi, the gray-robed strategist, spy, and information dealer whose wisdom spanned decades; and finally Mandel, a young man with sharp eyes that missed nothing—a recent addition, but already invaluable.

Aric took his seat at the head, his face lit by the low flame of a nearby lamp.

His fingers stilled as he looked across the council, reading the mixture of loyalty, unease, and determination etched on each face.

"We came to the capital to eliminate the second prince. With the letter we received, we can begin severing any claim he has to the throne," Aric began, his voice clear, edged with cold resolve. "But I believe leaving Darius unchecked could prove just as dangerous."

His gaze shifted to Old Man Hitoshi. "What do we know about Darius’s supporters? Speak freely. I want every detail."

The old man leaned forward, fingers tracing the edge of a parchment map on the table. He nodded slowly, gathering his thoughts as the room fell silent.

"Darius has always held sway over those who believe in change, who see a new path for the empire," Hitoshi began, his voice steady.

"They call themselves the Silver Dawn. They are not just nobles—among them are scholars, merchants, even men of faith. They see Darius as the pioneer of a new order, one where power flows not solely from the throne, but from those deemed worthy by merit."

"Merit?" Borag scoffed, crossing his arms. "They speak of merit while lining their pockets with stolen wealth."

The irony of a bandit saying so wasn’t lost on Mandel, who hid his laughter behind a subtle smile.

Hitoshi, however, nodded grimly.

"Indeed. The Silver Dawn hides its corruption beneath a guise of righteousness. At their head is Count Lysander Drakov, as cunning as he is ambitious. His territories border the empire’s east, where the brightest scholars and most skilled mages are trained. Drakov exploits his influence over these academies to push Darius as the nobles’ prince—a reformer."

"And House Drakov isn’t alone in this," Hitoshi continued, his gaze sweeping across them. "House Taelor backs them too—bureaucrats who have advised the empire for generations, yearning for decentralization of power. They see Darius as their instrument to achieve it."

Serina’s lips pressed together, her expression a blank canvas.

"And House Vane?" she asked softly.

"Merchants," Hitoshi replied with disdain. "They see profit in Darius, hoping he will loosen the emperor’s grip on commerce. If they could, they’d turn the empire into a free-for-all trade route, unchecked by imperial oversight."

Aric’s fingers drummed against the table as he listened, a faint tug at his lips. The Silver Dawn painted itself as idealists, yet it was built upon selfish ambition and avarice.

Still, they were dangerous. They offered not just an alliance, but the illusion of a new empire—a dream to tempt the discontented.

"And as if that weren’t enough, the treasury is nearly empty," Hitoshi went on, frustration sharpening his tone. "Funds meant for the empire’s defenses have been drained by embezzlement. The nobles enrich themselves while the lands grow poorer, the people more desperate."

A grim silence fell. Mandel leaned forward.

"And the Church?" he asked with scorn. "Where do they stand?"

"The Church of the Holy Flame," Hitoshi said bitterly. "The empire’s moral backbone, now little more than a puppet. They accept bribes, issuing decrees for coin, turning a blind eye to treason when it suits them. They preach peace while secretly funding war."

Aric leaned back, shadows sharpening his features into an unreadable mask.

"So, Darius builds his power on corruption and illusions," he mused. "The Silver Dawn poses as hope, but they are wolves masked with righteousness. Darius would tear this empire apart piece by piece if it gave him the crown... and he would smile while doing it."

Alan’s nod was curt. "If we don’t act swiftly, he’ll bring ruin not only to the Imperial City, but to the empire itself."

"But to strike Darius," Serina murmured, "is to strike at an illusion the nobles crave—a future of wealth and power without higher order. And illusions are difficult to kill."

Aric’s gaze sharpened, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Then we’ll begin by revealing the illusion for what it is. We’ll shine a light into the shadows he hides in, and let his allies see the truth of their beloved prince."

"And the stubborn ones—the unbelievers?" Mandel asked.

Aric paused, weighing his words.

"We’ll let them meet God. There is no better way to make a man believe."

Lerai, silent until now, finally spoke. His eyes flickered with a superiority that belied his quiet demeanor.

"I’ll prepare what’s needed. Just tell me how you wish to proceed."

Aric nodded, plans already solidifying, vengeance brewing behind his gaze.

"For now, we take stock of which allies in this city can be trusted. Darius may have woven a web, but every web has weak threads. Hitoshi—it’s your job to find them."

The old man nodded and moved.

The rest of the council followed, each one leaving with a crystal-clear understanding of what lay ahead.