---
The chamber was quiet.
Not the heavy, oppressive silence of secrecy—but the deliberate stillness of two men who had spoken enough words in their lifetime to know when none were required.
August Engelbert stood near the tall arched window, hands clasped behind his back, staring down at the city. From this height, the roads looked flawless. Lanterns burned evenly. The walls held firm.
Peace, preserved by stone and ignorance.
Behind him, Sir Thomas Aurelius leaned against the stone table, arms crossed. He did not look at the city.
He had seen enough of it already.
"Do you know," Thomas said at last, his voice calm, almost casual, "what the most dangerous thing is right now?"
August did not turn immediately. He considered the question as if it were a riddle meant to insult him.
"The Seven?" he replied.
Thomas shook his head once.
"No."
August turned slowly. His expression sharpened.
"Voryn," he said.
Thomas allowed a faint breath through his nose. Almost a smile.
"Yes," he admitted. "He is dangerous."
A pause.
"But something is more dangerous than him."
August frowned slightly, displeased. "More dangerous than a man who kills controlled demons and speaks of ancient threats as if they are weather?"
Thomas finally looked at him.
"Much more dangerous."
August's gaze narrowed. "Then speak."
Thomas straightened, uncrossing his arms.
"Other royal families."
The words settled between them.
August stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.
"…Yes," he said. "That is correct."
Thomas stepped closer to the table, placing one hand flat against the stone.
"The Seven are an external threat," he continued. "They move openly once they decide to move. You can prepare for that."
He lifted his eyes.
"Royal families don't move until it benefits them. And when they do—it's already too late."
August's jaw tightened. He turned back toward the window.
"They've noticed," he murmured.
"They couldn't miss it," Thomas replied. "A man like Rexor de Strauss doesn't just create fear. He creates direction."
"And direction," August said quietly, "invites ambition."
The silence returned—but now it was uneasy.
---
Thomas did not return to his quarters.
Instead, he descended.
The corridors beneath the court were older than the kingdom itself. Here, stone was not polished. It was worn smooth by centuries of power passing through unnoticed. The torches burned lower, their flames muted, disciplined.
The guard stopped before an unmarked door and stepped aside without a word.
Thomas entered alone.
The room beyond was dimly lit. No windows. No banners. No furniture save for two chairs positioned opposite one another.
One of them was already occupied.
The man sitting there remained half-hidden by shadow. His posture was relaxed, almost careless—but nothing about him suggested comfort. His presence was sharp. Intentional.
"Sir Thomas Aurelius," the man said, voice smooth. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting."
Thomas closed the door behind him.
"I didn't agree," he replied evenly. "I allowed it."
The man smiled faintly.
"As expected."
Thomas took the opposite chair, his gaze never leaving the shadowed figure.
"Speak," he said. "You wouldn't come this far to waste my time."
The man inclined his head slightly.
"My grandfather," he said, "has taken an interest in Rexor de Strauss."
Thomas did not react.
"That alone narrows the list," Thomas replied.
The man chuckled softly.
"Nathaniel von Astreas," he said.
The name carried weight.
Old weight.
Thomas's eyes sharpened. "He doesn't take interest lightly."
"No," the man agreed. "He takes it seriously."
A pause.
"Not because of the boy's strength," the man continued. "Not because of his lineage."
"Then why?" Thomas asked.
"Because of his idea."
Thomas leaned back slightly.
"Going into the Outer Lands," the man said. "Not hiding behind walls. Not waiting for threats to arrive."
The shadowed figure leaned forward just enough for his eyes to catch the torchlight.
"My grandfather believes that ideas shape eras," he said. "And this one… disturbs stagnation."
Silence followed.
Then Thomas spoke.
"And what does Nathaniel von Astreas want?"
The man's smile deepened.
"He requests your allowance," he said, "to form a party."
Thomas's gaze hardened.
"A request," he repeated.
"Yes."
Another pause.
"And I," the man added calmly, "will be participating as well."
The air shifted—not from threat, but implication.
Thomas studied the man carefully.
"You come with ambition," Thomas said. "And ambition has a habit of disguising itself as cooperation."
The man inclined his head again.
"Then we are alike."
Thomas stood.
"If things move," he said, "they move carefully."
"They already are," the man replied.
Thomas paused at the door.
"Then tell your grandfather this," he said without turning.
"If Rexor de Strauss survives what's coming… it won't be because of noble interest."
The man smiled in the darkness.
"That," he said, "is exactly why Nathaniel is interested."
---
Rexor felt it before he understood it.
The pressure.
Not physical—political.
The air in the royal quarters felt different now. Less passive. Less indifferent. The guards spoke with restraint, not dismissal. Messages passed outside the door more frequently, though none were meant for him.
Something was shifting.
"They've stopped deciding whether we matter," Rexor muttered.
Voryn stood near the wall, arms relaxed.
"They are deciding how to use you," he corrected.
Rexor frowned. "That doesn't bother you?"
"No," Voryn replied. "It was inevitable."
Rexor exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"I wanted to warn them," he said. "Not become part of their games."
Voryn looked at him.
"You didn't choose the game," he said. "You changed the board."
Rexor fell silent.
---
The summons came without ceremony.
No delay. No explanation.
Rexor and Voryn were escorted together this time.
That alone told them enough.
August Engelbert stood waiting when they entered the chamber. His posture was straighter. His expression more composed—not skeptical, but resolved.
"You were right," August said without preamble.
Rexor stiffened slightly.
"The Seven?" Rexor asked.
August nodded. "Everything your companion said checked out. Old reports. Disappearances. Changes in demon behavior."
He paused.
"They are improving."
The words carried finality.
Voryn did not react.
Rexor felt his jaw tighten.
"And," August continued, "you have attracted attention."
Rexor's eyes flicked upward.
"Noble families," August said. "Not curiosity. Interest."
Rexor exhaled slowly. "That was never my intention."
"Intentions are irrelevant," August replied. "Results are not."
He turned, pacing once across the chamber.
"Sir Thomas Aurelius," August said, "has decided to act."
Rexor looked sharply at him.
"A party will be formed," August continued. "For the Outer Lands."
Silence fell.
Not disbelief.
Anticipation.
"This is not exploration," August said. "It is preparation."
Rexor felt something settle in his chest. Not relief. Responsibility.
"When?" Rexor asked.
August's gaze fixed on him.
"Soon."
---
When they returned to their quarters, the city beyond the walls glowed as it always had.
Perfect.
Untouched.
Rexor leaned against the wall, staring upward.
"They still think they're safe," he said.
Voryn nodded.
"And that," he replied calmly, "is what makes what's coming unavoidable."
Rexor closed his eyes briefly.
Somewhere beyond the city, beyond the walls, beyond denial—things were moving.
Not loudly.
Not yet.
But movement had begun.
And once it did—
There would be no returning to stillness.
---