The road back to Vel Dragan was quieter than the march north. The detachment that had subdued Dravenhold moved with disciplined precision, banners of the empire fluttering in the crisp wind. Golden eyes scanned the horizon, noting small villages, river crossings, and any sign of lingering unrest. Silas rode at the front, silent, his mind working faster than any scout or messenger could report.
Behind him, the freed citizens of Dravenhold, cautiously returning to work, whispered of the boy emperor who had faced their rebel army and triumphed with nothing more than strategy, discipline, and a spear. The tale would reach Vel Dragan before Silas did.
By the time the spires of the imperial capital rose on the horizon, the city was already alive with rumors. Courtiers, nobles, and spies waited for news, gathering in clusters, eyes sharp, mouths eager. The High Council would assemble immediately, Silas knew.
As the carriage carrying Silas rolled through the palace gates, the guards snapped to attention. News messengers had beaten him inside; the city buzzed with cautious excitement.
In the throne room, the council waited. Darius Valen's smirk was tighter than ever, suspicion dancing behind his eyes. Marcellus Thorne's hands rested lightly on a ledger, calculating, weighing. Sebastian Kearns' gaze flicked between Silas and the generals, as if trying to divine the outcome from subtle posture and expression alone.
Silas entered, the echo of his boots a drumbeat of authority. Golden eyes met every face. "I have returned from Dravenhold," he said, voice steady, resonant. "The rebellion has been quelled. Lord Allen Morvath, Captain Ivar Simons, and Sandra Mard are secured and will provide guidance in restoring order to the city. The citizens now recognize the crown's protection, and loyalty has been reaffirmed."
Murmurs ran through the council. Darius Valen's smirk remained, but his fingers twitched with unease. Damian Rystar exchanged a subtle nod with Ryker Dain, while Alric Vey's magical wards pulsed faintly, almost approvingly.
Silas continued, eyes sweeping the room. "I do not act merely with force. Strategy, diplomacy, and foresight guided every decision. Dravenhold's streets, markets, and defenses are stabilized. Soldiers and citizens alike see that rebellion brings ruin, but cooperation brings prosperity."
Marcellus Thorne leaned forward. "Your Majesty… impressive. But the northern provinces remain tense. Dravenhold is only the beginning. Rebellion elsewhere may be inspired by Morvath's defeat—or by envy of your… rapid victory."
Silas' lips curved slightly. "Then we act before ambition festers. Intelligence networks are already in place. Every northern village, garrison, and minor lord is accounted for. The crown's influence will reach them before whispers of dissent can take root. My return is not ceremonial. It is calculated."
Darius Valen's voice cut through, cautious yet sharp: "And the Imperial Drakes? Were they… fully compliant with your command?"
Silas' golden eyes glimmered. Discipline enforced. Loyalty demanded. Morale tested and proven. "Every soldier followed orders. Some hesitated; they were reminded of the consequences of indecision. The crown's authority is absolute, and it will be respected."
The room fell silent, each council member processing the implications. The boy emperor, only seventeen, had acted with the wisdom and decisiveness of a seasoned general. Kevin's past-life knowledge had not just guided Silas—it had transformed perception.
Silas inclined his head subtly, signaling the generals. "Report on the northern provinces' conditions and Dravenhold's restoration progress. And prepare for reassessment of garrisons across the realm. The empire's stability depends on foresight, not reaction."
The council and generals nodded, scribbling notes, exchanging looks, and whispering plans. Some grudgingly respected the emperor's cunning. Others, plotting quietly in corners, reconsidered their timing.
---
After giving his orders and overseeing the reports, Silas rose from the throne. The council and generals murmured amongst themselves, some still processing the weight of the young emperor's decisive action in Dravenhold. Without a word, Silas began to leave the throne room, his robes flowing like a shadowed tide of gold and black.
Damian Rystar, ever observant, rose immediately and fell into step beside him.
"Your Majesty?" Damian asked cautiously.
Silas' golden eyes met his. "Damian… follow me to my chambers. There is a matter I wish to discuss privately."
The two moved through the polished marble corridors, the murmurs of the council fading behind them, the clatter of boots and whispers of intrigue replaced by silence. Once inside Silas' chamber, doors shut, the sound of the palace world outside muted.
Silas turned, the weight of authority heavy on his shoulders yet tempered by controlled calm. "I am forming a unit, an intelligence network that will report directly to me. No council, no generals, no minor lords—only myself."
Damian's eyes narrowed, intrigued and cautious. "You want spies… loyal only to the crown, not the High Council?"
Silas inclined his head. "Correct. I need eyes and ears in every province, in every minor lord's court, and among potential threats—both internal and external. Knowledge is power, Damian. I cannot rely on the council or even some of my generals to tell me the truth. Ambition clouds judgment."
A faint smile flickered across Damian's face. "And you want me to lead this… network?"
Silas' gaze was steady, commanding. "Yes. You will maintain your current post, but this unit—this intelligence branch—will answer solely to me. No one else must know. Not a word to anyone in the council or even other generals. You will operate in secrecy, Damian. Discretion will be as valuable as loyalty."
Damian's lips pressed together, absorbing the gravity of the responsibility. "Understood, Your Majesty. It will be done exactly as you command."
Silas allowed himself a brief nod, golden eyes glimmering. "Good. Begin assembling the most capable men and women available. Train them, and report directly to me. They will be my unseen hand across the empire."
The two stood in silence for a moment, the enormity of the task settling between them. Then Silas' voice softened slightly, almost as a reminder:
"Damian… remember. No one can know. Not yet. The empire sees the emperor; only we see the shadows behind him."
Damian inclined his head. "It will be our secret, Your Majesty."
Silas turned toward the window, staring at the sprawling city below, the spires of Vel Dragan catching the evening light. This is only the beginning, he thought. Dravenhold was a test. The empire is mine to protect… and to watch over with eyes no one else possesses.