The mood in Maleus and Thalan's chamber had shifted.
The letter was gone, burned to ash, but the weight of Rythe's words had settled deeply into the hearts of his siblings. They no longer looked lost in grief. There was focus now. Determination.
Lareth stood near the long window, his cloak hanging still, his gaze unreadable. When he finally spoke, it was with the same gravity Rythe always carried.
"He also instructed me," Lareth began, "to tell you that the time for watching has ended. Now is the time to act."
He turned to Maleus and added, "You are to summon Renna and Cale—the omegas."
At that, Rhalia raised a brow. "Omega knights?"
"Yes," Lareth nodded. "He chose them because no one in the court would suspect them. Because Ardan's prejudice has made them invisible to those who would plot treason."
Elion gave a small, bitter smile. "The same prejudice that almost cost us everything. Rythe turns it into a weapon."
"Exactly," Lareth said. "Renna and Cale are to infiltrate the court. Observe. Record. Report directly to Maleus."
Kael folded his arms. "What if the traitors grow bold in Rythe's absence?"
"They will," Lareth said plainly. "Which is why Rythe also gave another instruction."
He turned to Maleus again, but addressed the room as well.
"From this moment forward, by Rythe's will, Serin and Thalan are to be present at every imperial function, including court proceedings."
A hush followed his words.
Astrid let out a small laugh, delighted. "About time."
"He said, and I quote," Lareth continued, "that family is not only who you bleed with, but who bleeds for you. And these two have already proven they belong more than most who sit on gilded chairs and call themselves lords."
Rhalia reached for Serin's hand, pride gleaming in her eyes. Thalan looked startled, but Maleus pulled him close with a quiet nod, reaffirming his place at his side.
"And what if the court protests?" Dain asked, a smirk already forming.
"Then," Lareth said with a dry smile, "you are to enact Protocol Directive 3—sealed and signed by Rythe before he left. It's a full override decree of imperial hierarchy under wartime conditions."
Elion gave a low whistle. "He planned everything."
Maleus stood, jaw set. "Then let's begin."
A short while later...
Two figures entered the room—Renna, dark-eyed, graceful, and quiet as the moonlight, and Cale, sharp-featured and calm, with the quiet weight of someone used to being overlooked.
They bowed, but Maleus waved it off.
"No formalities. We trust you because Rythe trusted you. This mission is of the highest order—covert surveillance within the court itself. We believe there are traitors aiding our enemies."
The omegas exchanged a glance, but neither flinched.
"Your skills," said Rhalia, "will go unseen. That is your strength. Use it."
"And if we find them?" Renna asked quietly.
"Bring names," said Maleus. "Proof. Nothing less."
"Understood," Cale replied.
"And one more thing," added Astrid, her voice firm. "You are knights of the Crescent Sigil. Not tools. Not pawns. If anyone treats you otherwise—"
"Let us know," Kael finished. "And we'll handle it."
Renna gave a tight nod. "Thank you, Highnesses."
And with that, the quiet war within the empire began.
Far from the stone walls of the palace, beyond the reach of empire and crown, a lone rider passed beneath the shadow of dying trees and windswept hills.
Rythe, cloaked in dark leathers without insignia, moved in silence.
Beside him trotted the only companion he allowed himself—Fen, the massive black hound with eyes like silver coals and a presence like death in the dark.
The road was narrow, uneven, winding deeper into territory few dared to tread. The eastern kingdoms lay ahead—Velmire, Nexhal, Caldrith, each suspected to be harboring threats or secrets.
Rythe had changed his appearance—his hair dulled with ash, his posture more hunched, his gait more common. He wore the clothes of a traveling merchant's guard.
Only Fen betrayed his true nature.
But the shadows did not care for titles. They moved all the same.
He passed through border towns, unrecognized. Slept in forests. Spoke only when necessary. And always, he listened. To rumors. To whispers in taverns. To children's rhymes twisted by recent horrors.
Signs of something deeper—cities with missing children, nobles murdered in ways no one could explain, officials vanishing only to return... changed.
Once, in a border village near Nexhal, he found a corpse nailed to a temple door. Not just any corpse—a former Ardan diplomat.
On his chest, carved in bloodless script, was a single word:
"Silence."
Rythe stared at it long, then knelt beside Fen.
"So. They've already begun."
The hound growled low, ears perked.
Rythe rose, eyes scanning the dark.
"Let's find them."