Aaron watched him go, his expression hard as stone. Their alliance was a sham, a brittle truce in a silent war.
And both knew it well.
The heavy doors of the throne room boomed shut. Silence fell, thick and cold. Aaron's predatory smile slowly faded, replaced by a look of pure ice. He was alone with his thoughts and his spoils.
His gaze fell upon the gifts Reynolds had left. The stone-faced golems stood silent guard. The list of mages lay on a side table. But his attention was on the ancient tome bound in dark dragon-hide.
Imperial Rule Magic.
He picked it up. The leather was cold and ancient. He had already read it, deciphered its brilliant theories. Theories about drawing power from the land, from the very souls of his subjects. A shortcut to immense strength.
And a shortcut to ruin.
To be certain, he channeled a sliver of his own mana into the cover. He didn't need to just read the trap; he needed to feel it. His "Mana Absorption" talent hummed to life, a predator sensing a rival.
Instantly, he felt it. A faint, hungry pull from the runes woven into the book's magic. It was a parasitic enchantment, a siphoning matrix designed to leech away a portion of any power he gained. It would all flow silently to a hidden phylactery.
One that pulsed with the magical signature of Reynolds.
It was a brilliant, vicious plan. Bleed the new Regent dry before he even realized he was wounded. Hollow out the Empire from its very core.
Just as his fingers traced the final, parasitic rune, a voice echoed in his mind. It was not his own.
It was cold, ancient, and dripped with amusement. A voice from the deepest Abyss.
"A clever little trap, isn't it?"
Aaron's blood ran cold. He recognized the signature instantly. Archmage Akemonde.
"Reynolds is a pawn, as always," the voice rasped, a dry whisper of dead leaves. "A greedy fool playing with tools he doesn't understand."
Aaron stood perfectly still, his face an emotionless mask. He projected no surprise, no fear.
"But the phylactery he uses… I know its location. I can teach you how to make it backfire. Violently."
The offer hung in the air, a poisoned dagger.
"For a price, of course," Akemonde finished.
The presence vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only a lingering chill and an impossible choice.
Aaron slowly closed the book. He was caught. Caught between two sharks in a dark sea. One wanted to feed on him slowly. The other offered to kill the first, but would surely demand a bigger piece of him in return.
He paced before the empty throne, the silence of the hall pressing in. This was a game on a level far beyond Reynolds's simple greed. Akemonde did not play for trinkets. He played for kingdoms and souls.
"Isabella," Aaron said, his voice calm.
The doors opened, and the Empress entered. She moved with perfect grace, her stunning face utterly blank. Her eyes, once filled with cunning and ambition, were now beautiful, empty pools. She was his puppet, his perfect, silent weapon.
She stopped before him and curtsied, awaiting a command.
Aaron reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. Her skin was warm, but there was no life behind it. "One wants my power," he murmured, almost to himself. "The other wants my leash."
Isabella did not react. She was merely a mirror for his own absolute control. A chilling reminder of what it meant to be truly owned.
He let his hand drop. He turned from the living doll to the cold, divine metal of the Eternal Throne. This was his true power. A portable divine domain, forged in faith and conquest. It did not hunger. It did not bargain. It simply was.
He placed his palm on its armrest. A surge of pure, untainted energy flowed into him, a stark contrast to the parasitic magic of the tome. The whispers of Akemonde seemed distant now, like the temptations of a lesser demon.
He didn't need their poisoned gifts or their treacherous deals.
Why choose between the leech and the shark, when you could make them devour each other?
A slow, cold smile spread across Aaron's face. A plan began to form in his mind. It was simple, brutal, and elegant. It was a plan built on their own greed and arrogance.
He would not just survive. He would feast.