"I have received word. It concerns the Celestial Influence."
Gasps scattered across the benches.
I leaned forward.
'Duke Magleos. Master of magic research. His family owns the mage towers and the academies. He doesn't care for politics, only knowledge. But when he speaks, the wise listen.'
Magleos let silence linger, then continued.
"Noct, Ursol, and Chelon. The constellations will align at their peaks. A long winter comes. If war breaks out, we won't lose soldiers to the sword, but to hunger and cold."
Whispers rippled through the hall.
Silverquill raised his hand. Quiet returned. His voice sharp.
"Your source? How certain are you?"
Magleos brushed his fingers along his staff as he spoke.
"One hundred percent. The Grand Star Reader himself has spoken. Winter will last at least four years."
The benches stirred. Gasps. Murmurs. At the central table, silence weighed heavily. Even Silverquill lowered his head, deep in thought.
'Noct, Ursol, and Chelon align...I don't know much, but I think I heard that the seasons are controlled by celestial mana flows between the twelve constellations. If the Grand Star Reader of the Xhantari speaks…then it's the truth. A long winter is coming.'
Thud.
My thoughts snapped.
Duke Warpole had risen, palm slammed flat against the table. His armor gleamed under the light as his voice cut through the hall.
"We must strike first! If a long winter comes and we are unprepared, thousands will die. We need supplies, and for that, we need our own port. A direct way to the sea. If war breaks out, all three fronts will be locked, and Nerivane's trade will halt. Better to take a whole port for ourselves and be independent than starve."
The hall stirred. Some nobles nodded eagerly. Others stiffened in their seats.
'Duke Warpole. A warrior. His family forges the finest weapons, their legacy carved from battles. He sees every problem as an enemy line to shatter. Strong…but reckless. Dangerous.'
His words rang in my mind.
'War…seize the coast before the Union can act. Turn famine into conquest. Perhaps…an opportunity.'
My gaze flicked sideways to Father.
He sat motionless. Hands folded. Eyes steady on Warpole, weighing. Waiting.
Silverquill's voice answered calmly.
"And invite the wrath of three fronts at once? Aviel. Elos. Nerivane. The Holy Union may be fractured now, but nothing unites enemies faster than a common foe."
The silence that followed pressed. Warpole's jaw locked, but he didn't answer.
Then Father moved. He rose, slow and deliberate, and the hall hushed before he spoke. His voice rolled across the benches.
"To strike first is folly. To ignore is worse. We must prepare, not provoke. Expand our garrisons. Double our reserves. War will come, and we will watch them bleed. And when the moment presents itself, then we strike. Whether as a third force or as allies, it will be on our terms."
Every head turned. Some frowned, others nodded, but none dismissed his words.
Silverquill nodded his head.
"Marquis Ashspire speaks reason."
Ripples spread. Small nods. Small victories.
Warpole lowered himself back into his seat, armor clanging. His voice came low.
"Reason, perhaps. But opportunity does not wait."
'Opportunity.'
The word clung to me, sharper than any blade.
Silverquill's palm struck the table.
Thud.
"Enough. The Marquis is right. The Empire won't throw itself headfirst into war in the midst of winter. We stock supplies. We expand our armies. We watch. When opportunity arises, then we decide."
Nods circled the chamber. Agreement.
Silverquill's voice rang clear through the hall.
"The Dukes will remain. The rest are dismissed."
The benches broke into murmurs. Boots scraped. Cloaks rustled. Nobles rose and walked toward the door.
Father stood, his stride steady as he left the chamber, unbothered by the glances that followed.
I followed at a pace behind.
His silence was heavier than pride. He had spoken when it mattered. And they had listened.
My gaze swept the hall one last time as we passed beneath the wide doors.
The whispers told me enough.
'The Ashspires are still strong.'
And my own thought burned brighter than the rest.
'And we will grow even stronger.'
***
Evening - Carriage
The drive back was quiet.
Until—
Father broke the silence. His gaze stayed fixed on the window, his voice even.
"What did you see?"
I leaned back, hands folded across my chest, watching his face.
"Grand Duke Silverquill commands the room. He makes the decisions. He is the spine of the Empire. A good ally…but dangerous if he stands against us."
He gave a faint nod.
"Go on."
I went on.
"Ironbright and Cornvale are simple men. They care more for their lands and families than the Empire."
His head turned toward me, red eyes locking on mine.
"And Warpole?"
I drew a breath before I answered, meeting his gaze without flinching.
"Hotheaded. Shortsighted. He sees only war and weapons. But useful. If he is directed."
A small nod. Approval.
"Magleos?"
"He has wisdom. As a mage, he sees what we don't. His focus is knowledge, not power. The war or the Empire matters less to him than his magic. But his advice is worth hearing."
Father spoke the last name.
"Valmontis."
I thought for a moment before I replied.
"Wealth, and with it influence. Yet he doesn't use it to gain power. He acts only when profit or principle demands it. Predictable. That can be used."
The corner of Father's mouth curved. Not a smile, but approval.
"Good. Names are important. But habits decide the outcome. You read the room. Now, we draw our path."
The wheels slowed.
Through the window, the Ashspire gates came into view.
We had arrived.
***
Evening - Anton's Study
The study smelled of paper and oil. A map of the western borders lay spread across the desk, pins marking roads and cities.
Father sat back in his chair and poured wine into his cup. He didn't offer any. I didn't mind. I wouldn't drink yet.
He set the cup down.
"Tell me what you think."
I stood, leaning over the map, tracing lines with my fingertip.
"Aviel to the south. Elos to the north. Nerivane between them. Tension will rise between Elos and Aviel. Nerivane will be forced to participate."
I moved my finger along routes and junctions until I reached it.
"Here. The Dragonfall Plains. Where Aviel and Elos meet, and Nerivane has the least control. Rivers and mountains surround it. It's the best ground for battle. If war breaks out, that will be the bloodiest front."
Father watched my hand.
"And our place in it?"
I halted, eyes sweeping over the map until I found it.
"Aviel is surrounded by mountains. They have the advantage from the heights."
My finger tapped a mountain pass near our border.
"Steppe. The mountain pass leads into Elos territory. A moving force can slip through, cutting supply lines, and press toward the sea. If we hit fast and quiet, we hold the coast while the rest of their armies are occupied along the main fronts."
He watched me.
"And how do you plan to take it?"
My eyes met his.
"We wait for the conflict to escalate. If needed, we force it. We ignite unrest and spread propaganda through their cities. Then, when their guard is at its lowest, we move. Through the mountain pass, and advance to the coast. After that, the imperial armies follow while we hold the coast."
My smile widened as I finished.
"This war is an opportunity. A way to reclaim what we'd lost and seize more. A coastline in our hands would be a great achievement to leverage."
Silence settled.
Then Father lifted the cup, swirled the wine, took a measured sip, and set it down again. There was a pleased edge to his voice.
"You have teeth. And you know how to use them."
His tone sharpened.
"But don't take more than you can chew. Spark a war, and you become a criminal. Don't say such things lightly."
Then he rose, crossed to a side cabinet, and opened the bottom drawer. From within, he withdrew a narrow box wrapped in dark red cloth. He set it on the desk, unwrapped it, and pushed it toward me.
My heart raced. I took the box and opened it.
Inside lay the succession crest. The Ashspire crest was etched on it in hard gold. The edges were worn from generations of use.
My fingers hovered over it. My eyes drifted toward father.
Father met my eyes. His voice came low.
"You are heir."
For a moment, the world stilled. The words pulsed in my head.
'You are heir.'
Then time moved again. I closed my hand around the crest and pinned it to my vest over my left shoulder.
'It looked good...on me.'
Father poured a second cup, lifted it toward me.
I didn't let him wait. My hand moved faster than it should. I took the cup.
He raised his own and spoke.
"Listen."
I held the cup and listened.
His eyes locked with mine.
"You will bury indulgence. You will bury convenience. When you fail, and you will fail, you will bury your pride. Don't expect me to catch you. I will not. If you fall far enough to threaten the family, I will let you fall."
He paused, letting each word land.
"You will not chase applause or pleasure. You will count debts. Forgive nothing that costs. Forget nothing that buys you time. If the Empire burns, we hold the bucket. If the Empire feasts, we hold the knife."
"Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"Yes, Father."
He inclined his head once and lifted his cup toward me.
"You are heir."
Clink.
I met his cup with mine and whispered.
"I am heir."
***
Night - Favian's Room
Click.
The door closed.
I stood a moment, leaning my shoulders against the door, letting the quiet settle.
My gaze slid to the desk. The tall mirror leaned where it always had. I crossed the room and set my palms on either side of the frame.
The face in the mirror looked back. Not a stranger. Not a friend. Just me.
I spoke to the man in the mirror.
"He says he won't catch me if I fall."
My smile vanished.
"Did I ask to be caught?"
The reflection didn't answer.
'Good. I liked people who knew when to keep quiet.'
A short, sharp laugh left me.
"He thinks he gave me a name tonight. The name was always mine."
My fingertip tapped the crest pinned to my vest. I inclined my head and whispered to it.
"Old man, you told me you won't catch me if I fall. But who will catch you?"
A cold smile spread across my face.
I looked back at the man in the mirror. He watched me with the same smile.
"The war is an opportunity. A door we will open soon."
The man in the mirror asked.
"Is 'soon' enough?"
Silence.
Our eyes locked.
He spoke again, asking with a deep smile.
"If they won't light the fire at the right time?"
I closed my eyes for a moment, opened them again. The smile widened, matching his.
"I will light the fire myself."
***
Harmonia Calendar 715, Pyrr 25 - Roads of the Empire, Elandor
Night - Wagon
The first snow began to fall.
The wagon rolled over uneven streets, each bump answered by creaking wood. Moonlight slipped through the cracks, casting silver lines across my face.
Tears fell to the floor, glittering like diamonds in the light.
I had been crying from the moment I boarded until now. Curled on the floor, clutching my head, trying to make myself small. Pain tore through my skull. The headaches worsened. The visions never stopped.
And then—
Silence.
The vision vanished and with it the pain.
A face appeared in my mind.
And with it, a name.
I spoke it with trembling lips.
"Lukas Wane."