The sky was just beginning to pale—the storm had broken hours ago, but the streets still glistened with puddles, reflecting the bruised remnants of night. The air hung heavy with the scent of rain and stone, and not a soul stirred as Aden stepped onto the cobbled road, the hem of his new cloak whispering behind him.
His hood was drawn low, a shadow cast across half his face. What little was visible might've been mistaken for a statue's edge—sharp, cold, unmoving. Beneath the folds of cloth, his jaw clenched with every step.
He didn't look back.
The city had never felt more distant. The spires of the imperial palace were still visible behind him, just barely, their ivory glow dimmed by fog and fatigue. He walked slowly at first, letting the silence press in, letting it settle. No soldiers. No fanfare. Just the soft tap of his boots and the distant caw of a crow still awake.
Aden reached the stable.
The merchant inside barely looked up. Sleep clung to his eyes. He held out a hand, and Aden dropped the Emperor's coin pouch into it without a word. The man blinked at the weight, then nodded quickly and disappeared into the stalls.
A moment later, a black horse was led out—sleek, alert, eyes catching what little light the morning offered. Aden approached slowly, brushing his fingers against the animal's jaw.
"You and me, then," he murmured, voice barely above a breath.
He saddled it himself.
But just before mounting, something shifted.
A flicker in the periphery. A breath too quiet behind the silence.
Aden straightened slowly, letting his senses extend—still half-new, half-wild since Dahaka. He didn't turn. Not yet.
There. One rooftop to the left. Another in the alley across the street.
Two figures, hidden well—but not from him.
They're good, he thought. But not good enough.
He let the silence stretch, then finally turned his head—just enough to meet the rooftop gaze.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then, without words, one of the shadows raised their hand—and unfurled a small black banner bearing the imperial crest. Silver thread caught the rising light: the Crown and Flame, unmistakable.
A message without a voice.
Aden exhaled through his nose.
So… Julius hadn't sent him out alone.
Insurance? Or protection?
He couldn't tell. Not yet.
He turned away again, climbed into the saddle, and gave the horse a soft kick.
The hooves struck the road with purpose, slow at first—then faster. The buildings blurred, the past trailing behind in the mist.
He didn't look back at the crest again.
Didn't need to.
The Emperor had made his move. Now Aden would make his.
Toward the Bastion of Blades.
Toward silence.
Toward reckoning.