Morning came, heavy and gray. The city still wore the black of mourning, but beneath the sorrow, the air was charged—tense, alive, and waiting to ignite. The imperial bells tolled once more, summoning nobles to the Grand Square where the Crown Prince would deliver his first decree as Regent.
Lucian Ardelion stood among the gathered crowd, cloaked in muted silver and black, his crest hidden beneath a plain pin. Around him, whispers swirled like smoke—some grieving, some suspicious, and others already calculating where to kneel next.
From the balcony above, the Crown Prince appeared. Draped in the Emperor's colors, he carried himself with regal grace, but Lucian saw the tremor in his hand, the uncertainty in his eyes. Fear, carefully disguised as confidence.
"My father, the great Emperor Aldros," the Prince began, voice ringing through the square, "left this world in peace, his legacy shining eternal. I now take the mantle he left behind—not as conqueror, but as shepherd."
Lucian almost smiled. Shepherd? he thought. You're a wolf pretending to guard sheep.
As the speech droned on, Sera's voice whispered through the crystal earpiece in his ear. "It's done. The couriers have begun distribution."
"Good," Lucian murmured under his breath.
Throughout the capital, sealed letters—bearing the symbol of the late Emperor—were being quietly delivered to noble estates, trade houses, and the barracks of high-ranking officers. Inside each one was a copy of the ledger Lucian had shown in the chapel—evidence of bribes, treasonous deals, and secret shipments tied directly to the Crown Prince.
A single spark. That was all it would take.
By the time the Prince's speech ended, ripples had already begun. Noble families whispered behind fans and masks; soldiers exchanged uneasy glances; merchants sent urgent messengers to confirm the truth.
The illusion of unity cracked.
Lucian turned to leave, slipping through the crowd as the first droplets of rain began to fall. The Empire's mourning banners darkened under the drizzle—black on black, a funeral for the illusion of peace.
He walked toward the upper district, where his small estate waited—a quiet fortress of stone and strategy. Inside, Sera awaited him, hands clasped behind her back, her expression grim but steady.
"The Prince has ordered the arrest of three guildmasters," she reported. "He's trying to silence the source before the rumors spread too far."
Lucian removed his gloves slowly. "Too late. Panic spreads faster than his guards can move."
She hesitated. "He'll strike back. You know that."
Lucian looked out the window toward the distant palace, where the Emperor's banner still hung half-mast. "Of course he will. The moment a man realizes he's lost control, his first instinct is to burn everything he can't rule."
As if answering his words, a deep rumble shook the city. Smoke rose from the lower district—an explosion.
Sera moved instantly. "That was the Guild Quarter!"
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "He's purging evidence. Killing his own allies to bury the truth."
He turned, his voice sharp. "Send word to Eryndor. I want the survivors secured before the palace guards arrive. And… prepare the archives. We move to Phase Two tonight."
Sera nodded and vanished down the corridor.
Lucian stood alone for a moment, watching the smoke rise, his reflection flickering in the glass like a shadow split in two. You want to rule through fear, he thought, but you forget—I was forged by it.
The door opened again. A messenger stumbled in, breathless and pale. "My lord! The Regent has summoned all Houses to the palace. He demands loyalty oaths before sunset."
Lucian turned, his expression unreadable. "So he wants them all under one roof…" He paused, then smiled faintly. "Perfect."
The messenger blinked. "Perfect?"
"Yes," Lucian said softly. "Because that's where the truth will burn brightest."
That night, the palace blazed with candlelight and tension. Nobles gathered in their finest mourning attire, hiding blades beneath silk. The Crown Prince sat upon the throne—not the Emperor's, but a temporary seat placed below it, a symbolic reminder that he was still Regent, not ruler.
Lucian entered last, his steps unhurried. Every gaze turned toward him, every whisper died.
"Lucian Ardelion," the Prince greeted, his smile sharp and cold. "The prodigy of the Academy, the hero of the Tournament. Tell me—will House Ardelion kneel to the throne, or stand against it?"
Lucian met his gaze, calm and deliberate. "House Ardelion kneels only to the Empire," he said evenly. "Not to the man who stains its crown."
Gasps rippled through the court. Guards shifted uneasily. The Prince's eyes hardened. "You dare—"
Lucian stepped forward, raising a small crystal sphere between his fingers. "I dare nothing, Your Grace. I merely bring truth."
He crushed the sphere. Light spilled through the hall—projected images of the ledgers, letters, and sealed contracts. The Prince's secret dealings, displayed for every noble eye.
The court erupted. Voices shouted, nobles cursed, and the guards hesitated—unsure whether to protect or arrest their Regent.
The Prince rose, fury and panic warring in his face. "Lies! Forgeries!"
Lucian smiled, just slightly. "Then you won't mind if we verify the signatures?"
For a heartbeat, silence hung like a blade.
Then chaos.
The Regent's advisors fled, soldiers drew steel, and nobles screamed as the first explosion echoed from the city beyond. Smoke filled the hall. Sera appeared at Lucian's side, blade drawn.
"The fire's spreading," she said.
Lucian's gaze swept the chamber—the throne, the shattered decorum, the crumbling illusion of order. "Let it," he said softly. "Every empire must burn before it's reborn."
As flames licked the marble pillars, Lucian turned away, cloak swirling like shadow. Behind him, the Regent shouted orders lost in the roar of fire.
Outside, the capital burned—streets alight, banners torn, and the symbol of the old Empire dying in smoke and ash.
And in the heart of the inferno, Lucian Ardelion walked calmly into the storm he had created.
Not as the Crownless Wolf.But as the architect of the Crownless Ascension.