[Third POV: Prince Valeyn]
Prince Valeyn Solcarth was alone when the report came in.
Not truly alone. There were always guards somewhere beyond the walls, always wards humming softly through the stone. But this chamber was his, chosen precisely because no one lingered here unless summoned. It sat high in the palace, overlooking the trade arteries of the capital, where lanterns still burned even as night thinned toward dawn.
Valeyn sat with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, posture loose, almost careless. Anyone watching would think him bored. His deep golden hair falling lazily on his pair of dark gray eyes.
Anyone who mattered would know better.
The man who appeared did not bow deeply. He did not need to. He had been trained not to draw attention to himself, not even with ceremony. He closed the door behind him and stood still, waiting.
"Well?" Valeyn asked without turning.
"The attempt failed m'lord," the man said quietly.
Valeyn's fingers stilled against the armrest. "Failed? How?"
The man hesitated, then answered carefully. "The target survived. One of our people didn't."
That was enough to make Valeyn look.
"Killed?" he asked.
"Affirmative."
Valeyn studied the person. He did not rush. He did not raise his voice. "Explain what happened."
"The target is the Crosser archivist as per identified," the man said. "Theo Finley. Based on what we were given, he wasn't supposed to be capable of close combat. High intelligence. Low physical stats and no formal training."
"And yet…?" Valeyn said softly.
"And yet he killed my comrade," the man replied. "It wasn't elegant. It wasn't fast. But it was decisive."
Valeyn leaned back, expression unreadable. "You're sure? Nothing off about it?"
"I watched the aftermath," the assassin said. "There was blood. Enough that it couldn't be mistaken. The killing blow was his."
Valeyn exhaled slowly through his nose.
"That's… unexpected," he said. "Why didn't you follow through?"
The man's jaw tightened. "Because someone else arrived."
Valeyn's eyes sharpened. "Who?"
"A man," the assassin said. "Crosser from his same realm. Strong. Far stronger than he should be at his apparent Standing. If my sense is accurate, engaging him would have meant my death without effort on his part."
Valeyn tapped his finger once against the chair. "You know who?"
"I don't… know his name," the man admitted. "But I recognized the mark on his gear. He belongs to that new merchant group. The one that's been spreading through Solcarth like it's always been here."
Valeyn went very still.
"The young madam," he said quietly. His expression thoughtful, serene.
The assassin nodded. "Yes one of her close companion as far as I know."
For a brief moment, something like unease flickered across Valeyn's features. He hid it almost instantly, but the shift was there.
"How confident are you," Valeyn asked, "that this archivist is connected to her directly."
The assassin did not hesitate. "Enough that she let him stay at her manor for a night. Enough that her people would intervene personally. I followed them and watched."
That settled it.
Valeyn stood, smoothing the front of his coat as he walked toward the window. The city below was already stirring, carts rolling through wide streets, merchants calling out prices, guards changing shifts as if nothing dangerous had brushed the night.
Lady Madison Ultima.
The young madam known in Solcarth Kingdom. Named already established for such a very short time.
A name spoken carefully in the palace. Not feared openly, but respected in the way one respected storms and collapsing cliffs. Not because she shouted or threatened, but because nothing touched her unless she allowed it.
Valeyn rested his hand against the glass.
"Withdraw everything," he said simply.
The assassin blinked. "Your Highness?"
"All orders related to the archivist," Valeyn continued. "Retract them. No surveillance. No pressure. No curiosity."
The man frowned slightly. "Even passive?"
"Especially passive," Valeyn said calmly. "If he is hers, then touching him is not worth the cost."
The assassin hesitated. "May I ask why?"
Valeyn glanced over his shoulder, his expression cool but edged with something sharper.
"You may," he said. "You won't receive an answer."
The message was clear.
The assassin bowed once, shallow but respectful. "Understood."
Valeyn turned back to the city as the man slipped away into the palace's quieter arteries.
Theo Finley.
An archivist who should not have survived an assassination attempt, much less killed one of Valeyn's operatives.
And worse, an archivist under the shadow of the young madam.
Valeyn's lips pressed together, thoughtful rather than angry.
This was no longer a matter of removing a loose thread.
This was a matter of knowing which threads not to pull.
He watched the city wake, mind already shifting elsewhere, already adjusting.
For now, Theo Finley would be left alone.
Not out of mercy.
Out of caution.
~~~
Prince Valeyn remained by the window long after the report ended.
Below him, Solcarth continued to wake. Merchants shouted prices. Guards rotated posts. The capital moved the way it always did, steady and confident in its own permanence.
Valeyn did not share that confidence.
The reason he had ordered the archivist's death had never been personal. He did not care about Theo Finley as a person, nor about Crossers playing scholar in a world that could crush them without effort.
What he cared about was Caedryn Voss.
Divine Containment Prefect of Solcarth.
A title that sounded administrative. Restrained. Almost dull. That was how Caedryn preferred it. Prefects were meant to be specialists, not rulers. Tools of the throne, not threats to it.
Caedryn had never behaved like one.
Valeyn's fingers tightened slightly against the glass.
For years, the prefect had pushed the limits of his authority under the excuse of safety. One sealed site after another. One relic confiscation after another. Always justified and reasonable. Always framed as protecting the kingdom from forces it could not afford to ignore.
And the throne had allowed it.
Because Caedryn was effective.
Because he was careful.
And because no one else understood gods the way he did.
That was the problem.
Valeyn turned back toward the room, his thoughts circling the same conclusion they had reached days ago.
The feather.
From the moment the divine remnant arrived in the capital, Caedryn's behavior had changed. Subtly. No declarations. No public moves. Just a quiet tightening of his circle, an increase in closed-door consultations, a noticeable absence from court functions that did not directly involve relics or containment doctrine.
Valeyn had eyes in the palace. Ears too.
Enough to know that Caedryn had already drawn his conclusion.
The feather was not just a remnant.
It was proof.
Proof that a sealed god was no longer sealed, that one of the ancient failures had slipped through the cracks of history.
And worse, proof that the methods used by the old gods to lock such beings away were no longer absolute.
If Caedryn was right, then the implications were catastrophic.
Not because a god walked Aetherfall. That alone was dangerous but manageable. Gods had always brushed against the world, directly or indirectly.
No.
The real danger was Caedryn getting ahead of the throne.
If the prefect could prove that a sealed god was active, walking freely, then his authority would expand overnight. Emergency powers. Expanded jurisdiction. Direct control over investigation, suppression, and response.
And once that happened, Solcarth would no longer belong to the royal line in anything but name.
It would belong to Caedryn.
Valeyn had seen this pattern before. Not here, but in records. In other kingdoms. In histories where safety became justification, and justification became rule.
That was why the archivist mattered.
Theo Finley was not powerful in the traditional sense. Valeyn knew that. His reports had been clear. High intelligence. Abnormal readings. Locked systems. Fragile body.
But Theo was the one who had revisited the site.
Theo was the one who had interacted with the relics directly.
Theo was the one Caedryn would want answers from.
If Caedryn got his hands on the archivist, the prefect would not need force. He would ask questions. Offer protection. Frame cooperation as necessity. And eventually, Theo would talk.
Archivists always did.
And when that happened, Caedryn would have what he needed. Confirmation. Direction. A living trail leading straight to the unsealed entity.
Valeyn could not allow that.
That was why he had ordered the assassination.
Not to silence a Crosser.
But to cut a link before it could be exploited.
He had miscalculated.
Not because Theo survived. Survival was chance. Statistics bending the wrong way.
But because Theo was connected to the young madam.
Valeyn closed his eyes briefly.
Madison Ultima changed everything.
If Theo belonged to her sphere, even loosely, then killing him would not just provoke Caedryn. It would invite attention from someone far more dangerous.
Caedryn was ambitious.
Madison was… untouchable.
Valeyn opened his eyes again, decision settling fully now.
With the assassination withdrawn, the game shifted.
He could not remove Theo directly.
But Caedryn did not know that yet.
And that meant Valeyn still had time.
Time to watch and maneuver.
Time to make sure that when Caedryn finally moved, he would not be moving alone.
Valeyn straightened, smoothing his coat once more, expression composed as ever.
The prefect wanted a god.
Valeyn wanted a kingdom.
And for now, the archivist would remain the quiet fulcrum between them, unaware that his existence alone had already set Solcarth's future into motion.