The bells tolled twelve times, their iron voices echoing across the capital like the heartbeat of a dying god. From his balcony, Lucian watched the city draped in mourning—black banners hung from marble spires, incense smoke curled through the chill air, and nobles in gilded carriages made their way toward the imperial chapel. The Emperor was dead, and the Empire held its breath.
Lucian's reflection in the balcony glass was calm—too calm. "So it begins," he murmured.
Behind him, Lady Sera knelt beside a parchment sealed with crimson wax. "A decree," she said softly. "Signed by the Crown Prince himself. He names himself Regent until the coronation."
Lucian turned, eyes like shards of winter glass. "Regent," he repeated, tasting the word as if it were poison. "A throne claimed by a man who killed the one who sat on it."
Sera hesitated. "We can't prove that yet—"
He smiled faintly. "Proof is irrelevant. Perception is all that matters."
He took the parchment, held it briefly over a candle, and watched the flame lick the edges before letting it burn to ash. "The prince moves fast. Faster than I expected. But haste breeds mistakes."
Beneath the black veil of mourning, the capital was already stirring. Whispers ran through taverns and corridors: the Emperor's sudden collapse, the rushed announcement, the sealed palace gates. Every rumor was a weapon—and Lucian had mastered the art of turning rumors into blades.
By dusk, he entered the chapel beneath the old citadel, where a dozen cloaked figures waited. The flicker of candlelight revealed faces both loyal and fearful: Lord Eryndor, the aging general who'd once fought for Lucian's father; Sera, his shadow and confidant; and three lesser nobles who had more ambition than sense.
Lucian stepped to the altar. Behind him, the stained-glass image of the divine wolf—the Empire's symbol—glowed in dim light.
"The Emperor is gone," Lucian said quietly, "and the vultures circle. The Crown Prince will seize the throne by dawn. His loyalists will purge anyone with a claim or a conscience."
Lord Eryndor's fists tightened. "Then we move now? Before the city bends the knee?"
Lucian shook his head. "No. We let them kneel. Let them believe the war is already won. The first strike is always the loudest—but it's the second that decides the victor."
Sera's eyes glinted. "And what of us?"
Lucian looked at each of them, his voice turning cold and deliberate. "We won't fight a war of swords. We'll fight a war of truths. Documents, witnesses, confessions—things that kill reputations faster than daggers pierce flesh."
He raised a hand, summoning a holographic projection from a small crystalline sphere. The image flickered—letters, sealed documents, ledgers detailing bribes and secret dealings between the Prince and the Eastern Trade Guilds.
"This," Lucian said, "is rot wrapped in silk. And I intend to unwrap it publicly."
The younger noble, trembling, whispered, "You plan to expose the Prince during mourning? That's treason."
Lucian's lips curved into a ghost of a smile. "No. It's clarity."
He walked toward the altar's flame, his shadow stretching long against the stone walls. "The Empire doesn't need a new Emperor," he said softly. "It needs someone who understands how power truly works. Not through crowns, or decrees… but through control."
Silence filled the chapel.
Then he turned, eyes burning with quiet resolve. "The war has already started. I simply intend to win it before anyone realizes they're fighting."
A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles—fear, awe, loyalty mingling as one. One by one, they dropped to a knee.
"For House Ardelion," Eryndor said, voice rough with conviction.
"For the Crownless," Sera added, her gaze steady.
Lucian looked at them all and nodded once. The embers had been lit.
Outside, thunder rumbled across the horizon, echoing like the drums of a coming storm.
By dawn, the capital would wake to mourning banners, a new regent, and the illusion of peace. But within the chapel's quiet walls, Lucian Ardelion had already declared war.
And this time, he would not fight for survival.He would fight for ascension.