Eight months had passed since the bullet at Karion.
The world still trembled from it.
The siege had been broken, the enemy scattered like dust under fire and steel. But the memory of that single shot — the audacity of aiming at the King himself — lived in whispers across every city, camp, and council chamber of the Blackwood Union.
Inside the capital, the Black Throne stood unshaken, but heavier.
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Fort Karion – Daniel's POV
The banners were replaced, the stones scrubbed of blood, but Daniel still felt the ghosts on the walls. Eight months of command had changed him. He was no longer just a soldier turned commander — he was the shield of Karion. His name traveled with respect, his decisions carved into the fort's survival.
But he also carried another truth:
On that wall, the King had trusted him. Stood in silence, measured him, and still chose not to reveal himself until after victory. That trust burned in Daniel's chest more than any medal.
Yet, the weight of command was sharper now. His men followed him with devotion, but the shadow of Soren was always there. The BAM general's loyalty to Chris was unbreakable, but his tolerance for Daniel's rise was… strained.
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Soren's POV
Eight months had taught him patience.
He had wanted to tear the throat out of the man who dared touch the King that day. He had wanted blood, not strategy. But Daniel had shown restraint — and worse, Chris had approved of it.
The King needed both of them. He knew that. But Soren also knew this: one day, balance would break. And when it did, BAM would not kneel to any soldier, no matter the Blackwood blood in his veins.
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Amara's POV – The Castle
Eight months of silence, eight months of tension.
Chris had not spoken much about Karion. He did not boast. He did not rage. Instead, he carried the dented vest like a relic — the reminder of betrayal, of mortality, of how close the throne had come to bleeding.
Amara hated it. Not the vest, not the memory, but the change in him. He had grown colder. More calculating. As if the bullet had pierced his heart even if it hadn't pierced his flesh.
And yet, every night, when the palace was silent, she could feel it:
The storm in him had not ended.
It was waiting.
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Chris's POV – The Throne Room
Eight months.
Eight months since someone thought they could touch him.
He sat on the throne, fingers tapping the armrest. Reports piled before him: rebellions crushed, cities bent, alliances forged out of fear. His empire had only grown stronger since Karion.
But his thoughts were elsewhere.
On the sniper. On the nameless hand that had pulled the trigger. On the idea that someone, somewhere, believed he could fall.
And deep inside, Chris smiled.
Because that illusion — that possibility — gave him exactly what he wanted:
A reason to move again.
A reason to break more walls.
A reason to remind the world that Blackwood does not bleed.
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