Morning in Arador comes without mercy.
Cold. Damp. And always under watch.
I stood at the foot of the king's tower long before the sun broke the horizon. I'd slept little. My mind had been stirring with questions, maps, and faces I couldn't yet read.
The guards didn't speak. Just opened the doors and let me through.
The royal tower swallowed light. A long hall of silent shadows, with only one voice waiting at the end.
---
King Alric sat alone at a broad oaken table, fingers steepled under his chin. No crown. No pageantry. Just a plain black tunic and parchment spread around him like a strategist before a battle.
He didn't look up when I entered.
Didn't need to.
"You've arrived earlier than I expected," he said quietly. "A good habit."
I bowed—not too deeply. Not like a sycophant.
"Your Grace."
He looked up. His eyes were pale, ringed by sleepless nights, but alert.
"You've made yourself known, Lord Wyvrling. Whispers travel faster than ravens these days."
"I haven't intended to stir gossip," I said.
"Intentions don't matter here," he replied. "Perceptions do. And right now, the court perceives you as something between an heir and a threat."
A quiet beat.
Then he motioned to a seat across from him.
"Sit."
I obeyed.
He poured wine for himself. None for me. I didn't take it personally.
"I knew your father," he said.
I nodded.
"I remember."
"He tried to hold a broken duchy together without bloodletting. Noble. Foolish. Admirable in a way. But history doesn't mourn the soft-hearted."
He studied me now—not as prey, not as a rival. Just a man weighing a tool.
Or a pawn.
"You're here because your name still carries weight," he continued. "And I don't discard useful pieces lightly."
"I don't plan on being discarded," I said, calm.
"Good."
He slid a sealed parchment across the table toward me. The wax was black, stamped not with a royal crest, but a spiral glyph I didn't recognize.
"You'll deliver this to the High Priest of Solance. Privately. And you'll not speak of it."
"What's in it?" I asked, even as I picked it up.
"You don't need to know," he said, tone still measured. "What matters is that you deliver it intact and untainted."
"Understood."
Alric stood. Walked to the window behind him.
"The world is changing, Lord Wyvrling. Gods sleep lighter. Old loyalties fray. If you're smart, you'll learn to move in the dark without losing your direction."
He turned back to face me.
"I don't take sides lightly. But I remember value."
It was not a threat.
It was not even approval.
It was notice.
I rose, gave a short nod, and left with the letter heavy in my palm.
---
I didn't return to my quarters immediately.
Instead, I wandered.
Arador's halls feel different once you've spoken with the man who holds your fate between two fingers. The shadows seem deeper. The smiles more false.
By the time I returned, my hands were colder than the stone steps.
Arden was waiting, sharpening his blade.
"You look like someone told you your execution's been rescheduled," he muttered.
"I'm delivering a letter," I replied. "That's all."
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Smart.
---
Lyra joined me later, uninvited, as I traced routes on the old map of the capital. She lounged on the edge of the table, twirling a dagger lazily.
"The king spoke to you alone," she said. "That's rare."
"Apparently, I'm a valuable piece," I muttered.
"Or expendable. Kings don't waste words on the harmless."
She leaned closer.
"Are you harmless, Vihan?"
"No," I said simply. "But I'm not reckless either."
---
I examined the seal again that night.
It didn't match any courtly house or religious faction I knew.
But something about it prickled the edge of my thoughts—like half-remembered nightmares.
I considered breaking it.
But didn't.
Not yet.
Instead, I locked it in a hidden satchel and turned my attention to something I could control:
training.
---
The next two days passed in sweat and silence.
Sword drills with Arden at dawn. Daggers at dusk. Stealth, stance, control. He didn't coddle me. Bruises bloomed like old wine stains across my ribs and forearms.
"You've got speed," he admitted. "But not enough precision. You kill like a cornered wolf. I want you to kill like a surgeon."
I grunted, winded.
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
Each swing taught me more. Not just about violence, but intent.
There's a difference between killing and defeating.
I was learning both.
---
Lyra took over at night.
Not with blades—but poisons.
"And politics," she added. "Because court poison is rarely liquid."
She taught me how to listen to silences. How to catch the twitch of a noble's mouth as they lied. How to read fear in servants and feigned confidence in rivals.
"The king's not the threat," she said once, brushing a red mark onto my map. "The ten nobles pretending to kneel to him are."
"And you?" I asked.
She smiled.
"I'm watching the board. Just like you."
---
By the third night, I was ready.
I left before midnight, dressed as a wandering monk.
The Temple of Solance loomed like a wound in the city's heart. Black spires. Silent bells. The gatekeeper let me in with a single glance at the sealed scroll.
The High Priest met me beneath the dome.
He was not what I expected.
Younger. Paler. Eyes like dead snow.
"This comes from the king?" he asked, voice level.
I nodded, offering the scroll.
He took it without thanks.
Then, silence.
For a moment, I wondered if he'd speak further. Ask questions. Test me.
Instead, he simply turned his back.
"You may leave."
And so I did.
Quickly.
But not before catching a glimpse of the altar—stone etched with the same spiral as the seal.
It pulsed faintly, like a slow heartbeat.
---
I didn't tell anyone what I saw.
Not Arden. Not Lyra. Not Caldus.
But something changed in me after that night.
Not fear. Not even ambition.
Awareness.
The king was balancing blades.
The High Priest was wielding older powers than I understood.
And me?
I was the courier between them.
But couriers survive when they're overlooked.
That's what I wanted now.
To vanish from the stage.
Train.
Prepare.
Wait.
Because one day soon, these giants would stumble.
And I'd be ready to carve out the space they left behind.
Not with pride.
Not with arrogance.
But with purpose.