The capital loomed like a beast carved from gold and ash.
Lucian stood upon the high ridge overlooking Aurelion City—the Empire's heart, where marble towers speared the sky and banners bearing the royal sigil fluttered against the rising sun. From this distance, it looked serene. But beneath the gilded rooftops, he could feel the rot pulsing. Every stone whispered betrayal. Every shadow hid ambition.
And he had come to claim it all.
The convoy rolled through the western gate in perfect formation. At its head rode Lucian, draped in a black and silver cloak, the Ardelion sigil—a wolf devouring a crown—embroidered across his chest. The streets were lined with merchants, peasants, and soldiers. Some whispered his name with reverence; others spat curses beneath their breath.
But all watched.
Lyra rode beside him, her eyes flicking between the crowd and the city walls. "They're expecting us," she murmured.
"They've expected me since the day I returned," Lucian said softly.
She frowned. "Still—entering the capital after Veltrane's fall… isn't this risky?"
Lucian's lips curved faintly. "Everything worth claiming begins with risk."
The convoy halted before the massive gates of the Imperial Citadel. Imperial Guards—clad in gold-etched armor—blocked the entrance, their halberds crossed.
"Lucian Ardelion," one of them barked, "by order of His Imperial Majesty, you are summoned to the Grand Hall for immediate audience. You will leave your men and weapons behind."
Lucian dismounted gracefully. "Of course."
He handed his sword—a slender, curved blade forged in Ardelion steel—to one of his aides. As he walked forward, the sunlight glinted off the sigil on his cloak, and for a brief moment, even the guards hesitated.
There was something in his stride—unhurried, unyielding—that made men forget he was just a boy.
The hall of the Emperor was a cathedral of power—vaulted ceilings painted with angels, pillars carved with the faces of kings long dead.
At the far end, upon a golden dais, sat the Emperor of Aurelion. His once-mighty frame had withered; his skin was pale, his breathing labored. But his eyes still burned with the weight of a man who had ruled empires and shattered rebellions.
To his right stood the Crown Prince—tall, handsome, and smiling with the polish of a viper. His gaze met Lucian's the moment the doors opened.
The silence that followed was electric.
Lucian bowed. "Your Majesty."
"Rise," croaked the Emperor. His voice was brittle, but the tone commanded obedience. "You have made quite the storm, young Ardelion."
"I merely swept away the debris, Your Majesty."
The Crown Prince chuckled. "Debris? You mean nobles of ancient blood, loyal houses of the Empire? You call that debris?"
Lucian's eyes flicked toward him, cold and precise. "Loyalty, Your Highness, is a word too often used to excuse cowardice."
The Prince's smile vanished. "Mind your tongue."
Lucian stepped forward, unflinching. "If truth offends, then perhaps the court has forgotten what truth sounds like."
A murmur rippled through the nobles in attendance. The Emperor raised a frail hand, silencing them.
"You speak boldly for one so young," he said. "Tell me, what drives you? Ambition? Revenge?"
Lucian met his gaze. "Neither. Clarity."
The Emperor tilted his head. "Clarity?"
"That the Empire is dying, Majesty. Not from enemies at its gates, but from decay within. Corruption bleeds the people while the court feasts on the illusion of control. Veltrane was only the first infection."
The words hung heavy in the air.
The Prince took a step forward. "You dare accuse this court—"
"I accuse no one," Lucian interrupted smoothly. "I expose what everyone already knows but fears to speak."
The Emperor stared at him for a long moment. Then—slowly—he laughed. It was a dry, rasping sound, but there was genuine amusement in it.
"You remind me of myself… long ago," he said. "When I still thought truth could change men."
Lucian's expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "Truth doesn't change men. Fear does."
That earned another laugh—this time from the nobles, uncertain and nervous.
But the Emperor nodded. "Perhaps you are right." He turned to his son. "What do you think, Valen?"
The Crown Prince's smile returned, thin as a blade. "I think he is dangerous. A boy who speaks of decay often seeks to burn the old tree entirely."
Lucian inclined his head. "Sometimes pruning is not enough."
The Prince's fingers tightened on his sword hilt.
The Emperor raised his hand again. "Enough." He coughed, crimson staining his handkerchief. "Lucian Ardelion, for your service in uncovering treachery within the nobility, I grant your House restoration of full rights and holdings."
A wave of whispers followed.
Lyra's eyes widened from the back of the hall. Even Lucian blinked once before bowing. "Your Majesty honors me."
"But," the Emperor added, his voice low, "I will also grant you a warning. You have power, boy. But power draws hunger. Even from those who share your blood."
Lucian's gaze flicked toward the Prince, who was smiling again—too perfectly.
"I understand, Majesty," Lucian said softly. "I'll remember that."
That night, a messenger arrived at the Ardelion manor in the capital.
"The Crown Prince requests your presence," the man said.
Lyra frowned. "It's a trap."
Lucian poured himself a glass of wine, swirling it lazily. "Of course it is."
"Then why go?"
"Because traps reveal intent. And intent reveals weakness."
He rose, adjusting his cloak. "Tell them I'll attend."
The meeting took place in the Prince's private garden—an expanse of white blossoms glowing faintly under moonlight, each flower alight with bioluminescent threads.
When Lucian arrived, the Prince was already waiting, seated beside a table of crystal wine and silver fruit.
"Ah," Valen said, raising his glass, "the prodigy himself."
Lucian sat without invitation. "You summoned me."
"I did," said the Prince smoothly. "To… congratulate you. You've shaken the Empire in ways even I could not. Veltrane was a fool, but useful. His death leaves a void."
Lucian tilted his head. "And you want me to fill it?"
The Prince smiled. "Not alone. I offer you partnership. Together, we could purge the rot and rebuild something greater. The Emperor's time ends soon. The Empire will need hands that understand both strength and subtlety."
Lucian's expression was unreadable. "And you believe I'll kneel?"
Valen's smile sharpened. "No. I believe you'll choose the winning side."
Lucian leaned back, his voice soft but cutting. "Your Highness, I've already chosen. I just haven't told anyone what the game is."
The Prince's composure cracked for the briefest instant before he laughed, masking irritation. "You're clever, Lucian. But clever men die young here. Be careful not to mistake wit for power."
Lucian stood. "And you, Your Highness, should not mistake a crown for control."
He turned to leave, but paused at the gate. "The next time you summon me, bring honesty with the wine. Poison is far too common these days."
Then he was gone, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow made flesh.
That same night, deep within the palace, the Emperor sat alone.
His breathing was weak, his hands trembling as he held a single sealed letter—the one Lucian had left for him before departing.
He broke the seal.
"Your Majesty,The Crown Prince moves faster than your illness allows. When the last breath leaves you, the wolves will descend upon the throne.If you seek an heir who understands what the Empire needs, look not for loyalty—look for clarity.When the stars fall over the capital, that will be my answer.—L. Ardelion"
The Emperor folded the letter slowly, eyes distant. "Clarity," he whispered. "Perhaps… that's what the Empire needs after all."
Two days later, a caravan carrying Ardelion trade goods was attacked near the northern border. Dozens were killed—Lucian's banners burned in the mud.
The attackers left behind royal coin.
It was no longer politics. It was declaration.
Lucian stood before the charred remains, cloak whipping in the wind. Around him, his soldiers knelt, awaiting orders.
Lyra stepped forward. "You know who did this."
Lucian nodded once. "The Crown Prince wants war before the Emperor dies. He wants chaos to crown him."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "Then what do we do?"
Lucian's voice was calm—almost gentle. "We give him chaos. But our kind."
He turned to his soldiers. "Ride north. Secure the towns. Spread word that bandits under the Prince's banner slaughtered innocents. Let the people see who bleeds them."
"And you?" Lyra asked.
Lucian looked toward the distant capital, where the spires glowed under the twilight.
"I'll return to the palace," he said. "The wolf must stand before the dying crown."
The Emperor's chamber smelled of incense and medicine. Servants whispered of omens—stars flickering red, wolves howling outside the city walls.
When Lucian entered, the Emperor was awake, his voice faint but steady.
"You came," he said.
"I gave my word," Lucian replied.
The Emperor studied him, eyes clouded yet sharp. "You'll tear this Empire apart."
Lucian's expression softened. "Only to rebuild it."
The Emperor smiled weakly. "Then I name you what you already are."
Lucian frowned. "Majesty?"
"The Crownless Ascendant," the Emperor whispered. "The one who rises where thrones fall."
Then his eyes closed. The last breath of a ruler faded into silence.
Outside, thunder rolled across the horizon.
And in the distance, the wolf howled.