The Empress's private chambers were silent except for the soft rustle of her silk gown. She stood by the window, a perfect doll waiting for its master. Aaron watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the curve of her neck.
On the obsidian altar, the ritual components shimmered. The Tear of the First Queen pulsed with a soft, milky light. The Whisper-Stone seemed to drink the very air around it. Beside them, the vial of Sanctified Mercury swirled with contained, volatile power.
His plan had been perfect. Duke Valerius and the rest of the council had practically fallen over themselves to approve the project. 'The Sacred Restoration,' they called it. A return to tradition. Fools. They saw what they wanted to see and handed him the keys to their kingdom.
"Are you ready, my dear?" Aaron asked, his voice soft. Isabella turned, her movements fluid and graceful, but her eyes were empty. There was no recognition, no soul behind the beautiful blue voids. That was his handiwork.
He guided her to the center of the room. "Don't be afraid. This won't hurt. Much."
He placed his hands on her temples. Her skin was cool, smooth as marble. He channeled the magic he had siphoned from Reynolds, a brilliant, searing energy that he had purified through his Eternal Throne. The irony tasted sweet. It was his old ally's power, now a tool to violate the Empress's mind.
As the raw energy flowed into her, her flawless features contorted. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and her body trembled. The serene mask was cracking. The power was a key, forcing open doors deep within her soul that his puppetry could not reach.
"That's it," he murmured, his thumb stroking her cheek. "Let me in."
Suddenly, her eyes cleared. The puppet was gone. The Empress was there, staring at him. And in her eyes burned an ancient, pure hatred.
"You… monster…" she whispered. Her voice was a raw, shaking ghost of its former authority. It was a single spark of defiance, a soul raging against its cage.
Aaron's lips curled into a slow, cruel smile. This was unexpected. A complication, but a delightful one. It meant there was still something real inside to fight him, to struggle against his violation. He leaned closer, his own voice a seductive caress more terrifying than any shout.
"There you are," he purred, his breath warm against her ear. "I was wondering if you were still in there. Don't hide from me, Isabella. We have secrets to share."
He pushed the magic deeper, harder. The violation was no longer just mental; it felt exquisitely physical. He ignored the flicker of her soul as one might ignore a moth beating against a windowpane. Her resistance only made the prize sweeter.
"Show me," he commanded, his voice a low thrum of power that vibrated through her bones. "Show me everything."
Her silent scream echoed in his mind as the final barriers of her bloodline shattered. It was not her memories that flooded his consciousness, but something far older, embedded not in her mind, but in her very blood.
Images burned through him. A city under siege, smoke coiling against a red sky. He heard whispers of a forgotten ritual, a desperate final gambit from the empire's dawn. The 'Sovereign Aegis.'
It was not a spell. It was arcane architecture on a civilizational scale. A way to channel the very soul of a ruler into the foundations of the capital, turning the city into an impregnable fortress. A bastion against a legendary mage. A shield against a god.
It was the key. The ultimate defense against Reynolds, against the ancient monster Akhmund. A power he never dreamed existed.
Isabella let out a raw, tearing scream that was no longer silent. The connection broke with the force of a physical blow, leaving Aaron staggering back, his head pounding.
He looked at her. Her eyes were vacant again, the light gone forever. She was just a puppet once more, a beautiful doll with its strings cut, slumping to the marble floor at his feet. Her black silks pooled around her like spilled ink.
"Rest now," he said, the words almost gentle. He felt a flicker of pity, and crushed it instantly. She was a tool. A beautiful, broken tool that had served its purpose.
He had his secret. The city could be his shield. He was untouchable.
Then, as elation settled, a familiar, gnawing hunger took its place. The cold dread of a new problem.
The Sovereign Aegis… the cost was catastrophic. A price that would have beggared the old emperor. He needed the ransom of a dozen kings.
The treasury was a drop in the ocean. He looked out the window at his city, his fortress-in-waiting. He had the blueprint for salvation, but the lock was a mountain of gold he did not possess.
He needed money. And he needed it fast.
"Marcus," he said to the empty room.
Seconds later, the door opened and his steward scurried in, head bowed, trembling slightly. Marcus had seen too much to ever feel at ease in his master's presence.
"My Lord Regent?"
"I require funds," Aaron said, his voice flat and cold. He turned from the window to face the terrified man. "A significant amount. Access the imperial treasury. Use the emergency war-footing protocols. I want it liquidated."
Marcus's eyes went wide with shock and fear. "My Lord, that would… that would collapse the markets! It would take weeks, and the council would never—"
"The council is irrelevant," Aaron cut him off. "You have your orders. And Marcus?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Bring me the Crimson Files. All of them."
The last bit of color drained from Marcus's face. The Crimson Files were the dynasty's darkest secrets, a ledger of blackmail, hidden assets, and forgotten claims so dangerous that even looking at them was a death sentence. To use them was to declare war on everyone.
"At once, my Lord Regent," Marcus whispered, bowing low before practically fleeing the room.
Aaron turned back to the window, a predatory smile touching his lips. He would have his fortress. He would bleed the empire dry to build it, and then he would bleed the world.