The grand hall of Calvaren's Sapphire Palace shimmered with golden chandeliers and polished marble floors, every surface reflecting the ostentatious wealth of the city's ruling elite. Nobles strutted like peacocks in embroidered silks and fine perfumes, their jeweled smiles belying the venom that laced every word.
Velas entered through the arched threshold like a storm approaching calm waters. Mira walked several paces ahead, melting into the crowd with practiced grace. Seraphina stayed close to Velas, her eyes vigilant and spine straight, wearing a dress of bloodred silk that made her look like a noble's nightmare come to life.
Velas wore black—sharp, elegant, infernal. His presence stole attention like fire in a dry forest.
"Who is that?"
"Foreign prince?"
"No—someone darker."
"Look at his eyes..."
He let the whispers coil around him. Each guess was a net cast blindly into deep water. Let them fish. Let them fear.
At the far end of the hall, Duke Harven stood near the royal dais, sipping from a crystal goblet and laughing with the Archbishop. The moment his gaze locked with Velas's, the mirth drained from his face. A calculated mask replaced it, but it was too late. Velas had already seen the flinch.
"Let the dance begin," Velas muttered.
Seraphina leaned in. "He didn't expect you to come."
"He expected a threat," Velas replied, "but not one that walks like a king."
The ballroom was filled with subtle warfare. Every greeting a duel, every compliment a blade. Velas engaged with calculated precision, his words laced with hidden truths and daring innuendos.
"I believe you're unfamiliar," said a baroness whose dress cost more than most farms.
"Not unfamiliar," Velas replied with a small bow. "Just undiscovered."
The lady's fan fluttered faster.
As the string quartet launched into a lilting waltz, Mira returned from her reconnaissance.
"Four spies. Two watching the exits, one posing as a servant. The last tried to follow me. He won't again."
"Good," Velas said. "Then Harven's rattled. He'll act soon."
Seraphina nodded. "He won't risk waiting too long. Not with so many eyes watching."
The room began to shift. Conversations turned sharper. Certain nobles excused themselves. A tension beneath the polished surface warned of blood.
Velas made his move. He walked toward Harven, cutting through the dance like a dagger. The crowd parted. Eyes turned.
"Duke Harven," Velas said with a predator's smile.
Harven turned. "Ah, the mysterious guest. I'd wondered when you'd approach."
"No need to wonder now."
Harven offered a sip of wine. "You've stirred quite the... conversation tonight."
"Let them talk," Velas replied, declining the goblet. "Talk is cheap. Fear is expensive."
Harven's eyes narrowed. "Careful. Threats make for short careers in Calvaren."
"Only if they're empty," Velas said smoothly. "Mine aren't."
Their eyes locked. Around them, nobles feigned distraction but hung on every word.
"You walk like a man with a cause," Harven said. "But causes die here. The city chews them up."
Velas leaned in, whispering low. "Then I'll make Calvaren choke."
Harven's jaw clenched. "Bold words, bastard."
"True ones," Velas said. "Enjoy your drink, Duke. You may not taste many more."
He walked away.
---
Back in the crowd, Mira guided them toward a narrow stairwell behind the musicians' alcove. "He's meeting his conspirators in a hidden parlor. I followed a runner—saw the door."
"Then let's listen," Velas said.
From the upper passage, they watched through a latticework vent.
Below, Harven stood surrounded by cloaked figures. One laid out a scroll—bearing Mira's forged seal.
"He's preparing to denounce you," Seraphina whispered. "They think you're an ancient threat returned."
"They're not wrong," Velas replied.
Harven hissed below. "If we don't kill him tonight, he'll turn the city against us."
"Then strike," one of the figures said. "The assassins are here."
"Good," Velas said.
He leapt from the ledge. Landed in the center of the room.
Shock. Chaos. Blades drawn.
But before any could strike, his power surged.
A ripple of infernal energy spread from him, melting candles, cracking stone.
"I heard you had plans," Velas said, eyes burning gold. "I came to listen."
"You dare—" Harven began.
"I dare everything."
He raised his hand. Fire licked his fingertips.
"You plot behind veils and call it nobility. But I bring truth. And fire."
Seraphina and Mira descended behind him, swords drawn, ready.
Harven turned to flee, but Seraphina blocked the exit.
"No more running," she said.
Velas stepped forward. "Tonight ends your reign of whispers, Harven. You called for knives. I brought judgment."
He didn't kill the duke. Not yet. He left him weeping before the broken remains of his conspiracy.
---
Back in the grand hall, nobles gawked as Velas mounted the dais. His coat was singed. His eyes gleamed with unrestrained fury.
"Enough games!" he roared. "Enough shadows!"
The room froze.
"This city has been ruled by masks, by backroom deals, by cowards who fear sunlight. No more."
He pointed to the stained glass of the gods behind the throne.
"Even they turned their faces away. But I do not. I see you. I see all of you."
The crowd stirred—some in awe, others in terror.
"I am Velas. I am the end of old lies. I claim no noble house. I claim legacy forged in blood, fire, and truth."
The Archbishop rose from the side of the room, his voice hollow with disbelief. "You dare crown yourself?"
"No," Vel
as said. "I don't need a crown. I only need their fear... and their hope."
He stepped down into the sea of silence.
And they parted.
---