The training grounds behind the Crescent Hall were lit with golden lanterns, casting soft glows against the darkening sky. All the Crescent Knights stood assembled in perfect formation. Armor gleamed. Swords at their sides. Eyes steady.
Among them stood the newly appointed omega knights, shoulders squared with pride and nerves. Beside the line, Lareth stood still, observing everything with quiet intensity.
Then Rythe stepped forward.
He wore no crown, no cloak. Just his battle-worn armor and a black sash pinned with the Crescent Sigil. Behind him, the massive hound Fen padded quietly, ever watchful.
Rythe looked over his knights—his chosen warriors. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"For years, we've drawn a line between those who protect the empire from within… and those who bleed for it beyond our borders."
His gaze passed slowly across their faces.
"The Imperial Knights defend our people. You—my knights—you go to war. You've fought battles others never even heard about. You've seen things even the court can't imagine. And you've never faltered."
He took a breath and nodded at the omega knights at the end of the line.
"Each one of you earned your place here. I trust you—not because of your name, your title, or your gender. I trust you because I've seen you fight. I've seen you endure. I believe in your strength."
The omegas bowed their heads in silent emotion, shoulders trembling—not in fear, but in pride.
"But today," Rythe continued, "the roles must shift."
"I will be gone for a while," he said quietly, ignoring the flinch in the crowd. "Where I go, no one can follow. What I seek, only I can uncover."
Whispers began to rise, but a single glance from Rythe stilled them.
"While I'm away, you will not sit idle. You will protect Ardan. All of it. Its cities, its farms, its mountains, its people. As the Imperial Knights do, you will stand as its shield."
He turned slightly to Lareth.
"Lareth will command you. His word is mine. Follow him. Trust him."
Lareth gave a slight nod, jaw clenched with visible tension.
Rythe's voice softened, but it did not waver.
"Be strong. Be brave. Be worthy of the name you carry."
"You are Knights of the Crescent Sigil. Make Ardan proud."
And then, without another word, Rythe turned. The knights moved as one, lowering to one knee, fists to chestplates in salute.
"Until your return, Highness," they chorused.
Rythe did not look back. Fen followed silently at his heels, his dark coat rippling in the wind.
And just like that, Prince Rythe of Ardan, the empire's sword, disappeared into the night—leaving behind a force that now stood not only for war… but for unity.
The warm glow of the hearth flickered across the spacious sitting room of Maleus and Thalan's private wing, painting golden shadows on the walls. Outside, the sun had long since vanished, leaving the palace shrouded in a still, tense quiet.
Gathered within were all of Rythe's siblings—Maleus, Elion, Rhalia, Kael, Vaela, Dain, and Astrid. Thalan sat close to Maleus, silent but visibly tense. Serin, Rhalia's alpha spouse, was seated near the window, her brow furrowed in thought.
"He left… just like that," Elion muttered, arms crossed. "No proper farewell. Not even a chance to argue."
"Because he knew we would argue," Vaela said, her voice tight.
"And maybe he didn't want to see us watch him walk away," added Dain, quietly.
The door creaked open.
Lareth stepped in, silent and composed, but wearied by days of unspoken burden. In his hand, he held a sealed letter.
"He left this for you," he said, extending it to Maleus. "Told me to give it to you all when he was gone."
Everyone leaned in as Maleus broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. They read together—shoulder to shoulder, eyes flicking over the familiar precise handwriting of their brother.
"To Maleus, and to my blood:
By the time you read this, I will be far beyond the empire's borders.
Maleus, Lareth holds the full record of instructions I've left behind. They are not suggestions. Follow them exactly. For the safety of Ardan and all our people.
There is something you must all be wary of. I believe that within our court lies treachery. That someone—or more than one—has long since betrayed us. The enemy we now face is cunning and precise, and that precision can only come from knowledge they should not have. Knowledge someone is giving them.
I told the court I'd be going undercover because I needed the traitors to know. To make their move. To flush them into the light.
But this also means I walk into danger. They will relay the truth to our enemies—of that I have no doubt. I must move quickly, carefully.
I fear Ardan will face internal unrest soon. Be ready. Be measured. Be united. Trust no one beyond this room.
I've placed trusted knights in the shadows—your guards, though you may not see them. Act without fear, despite the chaos that will surely come.
Do not look for me. Keep Ardan safe. That is your charge, as it is mine.
—Rythe."
Silence settled like a blanket over them all.
No one moved.
Elion slowly reached for the letter in Maleus' hands. Without a word, he rose, crossed the room, and dropped it into the fire. The flames eagerly devoured the parchment, curling the edges into ash.
The moment it turned black, Thalan—voice small but steady—asked into the silence:
"If he knew telling the court would expose him... that it could cost him his life... why still say it out loud?"
No one answered.
Because they all knew the truth.
He said it out loud…
So that if he fell, they would know where to look.
So that if he was hunted, it would be worth something.
So that even in death—he would draw the traitor out.
But none of them could speak that truth.
Not when it sounded too much like goodbye.