On Medith’s ride back to the city, a heavy rumor hit like cold rain. The Eastern Nation had shifted, the ground slipping underfoot. Yet a noble hidden in the dark slipped her a message, a key that burned like a brand.
Soon after Paris took the throne, his claws reached for the royal vault. He seized the royal armory by force and clashed with the ancient Royal Blood Guard. Steel rang like winter thunder; blood pooled like dusk. In the end, he broke most of their strength, but some slipped the net, a shadow among shadows. The Royal Blood Commander was among them. Three ships cut through the cordon and fled north, their wake swallowed by fog.
After Vald died, Paris’s confidants took the state treasury, locking up the river’s source. With that, the entire Royal Capital, Heavenly Edge included, fell into Paris’s palm like a city under a hawk’s shadow.
Publicly, Paris claimed the Royal Blood Guard grew suspicious after Elyu and Ostos died. He said they turned their blades on the crown. He branded them traitors fleeing guilt and posted a supreme bounty. Provide leads, capture, or cut them down—earn an Earl’s title and a thousand gold, bait bright as sun.
People didn’t care much; their eyes slid past like rain on stone. The Royal Blood Guard had never shown their faces; even most nobles knew nothing. Rank and coin gleamed brighter than shadows.
Another tale rode in: Tianensai was accused of being entangled with Delaia and others. He resisted arrest and fled with former Fleet Admiral Kasda and Captain Lanst of Group Four, Squad Two. They used their status to break out unscathed, like fish slipping through dark water.
Recent upheavals sent hearts fluttering like spooked birds. Even fools could see the Eastern Nation was shaking, a scent of coup on the wind.
Under Paris’s heavy hand, worries sprouting across the land were stomped flat. Rumors swirled in the Royal Capital like dust, yet daily life barely wavered. Most folks didn’t care; in times like these, peace without war is the greatest blessing.
A chill crawled up Medith’s spine before thought could form. Paris… why are you so desperate? You’d risk splitting the Eastern Nation just to seize the treasury and the armory? Do you truly mean to spark a continental war? Her instinct caught the pattern, sharp as a blade.
A king who chains the vault and the arsenal to his wrist, even at the cost of civil war, fits two fates. He wants sole power, to be an Emperor through and through. Or he’s sharpening the blade for his own grand ambition.
Either way, he’s already won, like a hawk with prey in its talons. With elite fighters and a full royal corps behind him, he harvested everything he wanted.
But why seize power so urgently? What storm is he racing toward?
Medith didn’t know; the path ahead was fog. But she would not return to the Eastern Nation, not into that rising storm. Heaven alone knew what Paris would do to her now.
May 15.
Open the gate—her voice cracked like a whip! A bold woman, face burning with fury, kicked the nearly mended main gate of the Royal Capital.
Talant?! The city guard captain tightened his grip on his spear, fear freezing his throat like ice.
You don’t even recognize me? Open the gate, now! I don’t have time to waste—my time runs like sand. Talant clenched her jaw like a drawn bow, grievances and grief stacked like storm clouds.
Haidra’s face darkened; she clutched a wanted notice, her slender frame trembling like a willow in wind.
The captain hesitated, stuck like a stone in the stream. Talant’s eyes were hunting hawks, ready to swallow him whole. He gulped, then gave the order, words falling like stones.
Hyah! Hyah— Talant rode in with her people, a tide of cavalry pouring through the gate. Their aim flew like an arrow toward the palace.
