Chapter 12- Kaelion

Chapter 12 - Shadows of betrayal

The chamber of Eidralis was a shrine to power and diplomacy, its grandeur a deliberate reminder of the stakes at hand. The obsidian pillars glistened like spilled ink in the ambient light of the arcanite veins laced through the domed ceiling, their glow faint yet persistent, pulsing with the magic that flowed through every corner of our world. This place was built to command reverence, and even I, with my long-standing disdain for the pretense of diplomacy, felt its weight.

The council room itself was circular, the table carved from blackstone, and the seats were arranged to ensure that no kingdom's representative sat higher or lower than the others. Yet equality here was a farce. Everyone at the table was a predator, and every word exchanged was a blade to be parried or thrust.

To my right, Braythorne's Lord Regent, Daroville Vexyn, sat with an ease that was entirely performative. His silver hair was impeccably styled, his robes embroidered with golden sigils of prosperity and wealth. The man reeked of entitlement, as though the world were his by birthright. Across from him, Zephyrran's envoy, Lady Cerys Idrynn, sat stiffly, her icy beauty unmarred by the sharp lines of disapproval etched into her face. Fryndalor's Duke Maervir was silent and sullen, his rough-hewn features betraying a distaste for the extravagance of the setting. Beside him, Nytherionplus' Representative, Altheron Vyre, lounged with the kind of careless grace that spoke of privilege and malice in equal measure.

And at the head of the table sat my King. His presence was imposing, his shoulders squared, his expression carved from granite. The silver circlet on his brow caught the dim light, a subtle symbol of authority that needed no elaboration. I stood behind him, silent and watchful, as always. A weapon, a shield, and—when necessary—a shadow.

"I hear your ships are being turned away from the Nytherionplus harbors," Altheron said lazily, his voice dripping with false concern as he turned to Daroville. "Something about inspections?"

Daroville exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigar with a snap of his fingers, the flame a flicker of controlled magic. "Inspections, my ass," he muttered, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. "It's extortion. Your border officials want bribes, and they're not subtle about it."

Altheron grinned, unrepentant. "You call it extortion; I call it incentive. Perhaps if your merchants declared their cargo properly, we wouldn't need to... encourage compliance."

The room chuckled, save for Lady Cerys, who folded her hands primly in front of her. "This isn't a tavern for your petty bickering," she said coldly. "Trade disputes are one thing, but this council is convened for matters far more pressing. The treaty governing magic, for instance. Shall we return to the agenda?"

"The treaty governing magic," Maervir rumbled, his voice like gravel, "is a delicate balance. Too delicate for the delicate to meddle with, wouldn't you agree." he chuckled, his head darting towards Altheron, earning a chuckle in response.

"And yet," Cerys replied, her tone sharpening, "meddling is precisely what's required. Aevoria's laws on Siphons—death on discovery—are untenable. You can't continue to enforce such draconian measures while the rest of us work toward rehabilitation and integration."

The King's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. "Aevoria's laws are not open to your interpretation, Lady Cerys. Our stance is clear because it must be. Siphons are a threat, not just to balance but to life itself. Rehabilitation is a fantasy."

"It's not a fantasy," she shot back. "It's progress. Fryndalor has had success with power dampening. Even Nytherionplus has managed to regulate their Siphon population without resorting to slaughter."

"And yet," I cut in, my voice cutting through the rising tension, "both Fryndalor and Nytherionplus have seen uprisings from their so-called rehabilitated Siphons. Or have you forgotten the Siege of Vyre?"

Altheron's grin vanished, replaced by a cold glare. "You tread dangerously, Commander."

"And yet," I said with a mocking edge, "I tread on truth."

The King raised a hand, silencing the exchange. "This council can debate the merits of fantasy and reality until the stars burn out, but Aevoria's laws will not change. The death penalty stands because it works. Siphons are eliminated before they can threaten the balance we're all sworn to protect."

Cerys stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "And what of the balance within Aevoria, Your Majesty? What of the innocents caught in your crusade? Is every Siphon a threat, or merely an inconvenience?"

The King's gaze hardened. "Every Siphon is a threat. And I will not gamble the safety of my kingdom on your idealism."

"You're a fucking hypocrite," Altheron spat, rising to his feet. "You speak of safety and balance, but all you're doing is consolidating power. You're paranoid, clinging to the past while the rest of us move forward."

The tension in the room reached a breaking point. My hand instinctively rested on the hilt of my sword, and I saw other guards shift uneasily at their posts.

"Enough," the King said, his voice like thunder. "This council is adjourned. Aevoria will not bend. Not now, not ever."

The representatives filed out one by one, their tempers simmering beneath forced politeness. I remained behind with the King, the weight of the exchange settling over us like a storm cloud.

---

Back in Aevoria, the storm broke when Captain Deylin barged into my study. The look on his face was a mix of pride and urgency, and I immediately braced myself for bad news.

"Commander," he began, his tone far too eager. "We've intercepted reports of unusual activity near the Zephyrran border."

I stilled. "How unusual?"

"Von's men were on rotation at the border posts, as per usual," Deylin began, his tone edged with unease. "However, two days ago, there was talk of a scuffle breaking out in the border market. Word spread fast—vendors, travelers, everyone was buzzing about it." He paused, his expression darkening. "Except for the men stationed there that day. They claim to have no memory of it. None at all."

A knot formed in my stomach, suspicion and frustration swirling into something volatile. "What exactly are you saying, Deylin?" I snapped, my patience fraying.

"Sounds like the work of a Mind Pierce, sir," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Probably several so cause that sort of widespread memory alteration"

The weight of his words hung in the air like a noose. Mind Pierces—rare and insidious—could manipulate memories, twisting reality into a lie. If one had been involved, it meant trouble far deeper than I cared to admit. It meant this fucking rebellion posed a threat that rivaled that of the veil. 

"When did you hear of this?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

"Two days ago, sir." His words faltered under the intensity of my glare, his confidence crumbling into stammered syllables.

Two days. Enough time for them to slip away, to gain an advantage I couldn't afford. My jaw clenched as the implications sank in. This wasn't a simple border mishap—it was a calculated move, and I had been left blind to it.

The words two days ago echoed in my head, a sour taste building in my mouth as the realization hit me. My instincts tightened like a coiled spring. This wasn't just some petty rebellion scraping for crumbs of strategy. Whoever had orchestrated this knew exactly what they were doing.

"Two fucking days ago," I muttered, pacing the length of the room, my mind churning. "Let me get this straight, Deylin. They planned this move to perfection—to the fucking day—knowing we'd be out of position at Eidralis. You understand what that means, don't you?"

Deylin flinched, his discomfort palpable. "Sir, I—"

"Shut up," I barked, slamming my palm onto the desk hard enough to rattle the papers and inkpots. "Those dates—our schedule to Eidralis—isn't public knowledge. The council meetings are cloaked in layers of bureaucracy, for fuck's sake. Yet somehow, they knew. They planned this around it. How?"

He swallowed hard but said nothing, his silence more damning than any excuse he could have offered.

I turned back toward the map spread across the table, the sprawling borderlands a labyrinth of paths and risks. "And if they slipped into Zephyrran..." My voice trailed off, but the unspoken conclusion hung heavy in the air. Zephyrran's borders were the gateway to Ravaryn. Centuries ago, Ravaryn had broken away from the commission imposing several sanctions on other kingdoms concerning many things. No kingdom is able to send forces near that damnable city, shielding even the guilty from reach.

Ravaryn. If they reached it, they'd be untouchable. At least, untouchable without me cutting through a mountain of diplomatic bullshit and spending resources I couldn't afford to lose—not to mention the political fallout.

The rebellion had played this hand too cleanly, too precisely. Someone had fed them information. Someone with access to the kind of details only a select few should have.

"You realize what this means, don't you, Deylin?" I said coldly, turning to him with narrowed eyes.

"Sir?"

"There's a leak," I said, voice dropping into a growl. "Someone close enough to know our council schedule. Close enough to know when my hands would be tied, when the border would be vulnerable. Someone in Aevoria is feeding them intel."

His face paled, and I could see the gears turning in his head, the same suspicion I felt taking root in his thoughts.

"And here's the kicker," I continued, my tone laced with venom. "If they had a Mind Pierce, that means they had the time to fucking plan this down to the last detail—covering their tracks, erasing memories, and slipping through the cracks while the rest of us were chasing our tails. They knew exactly where we'd be and when. That's not coincidence, Deylin. That's betrayal."

Deylin's voice trembled as he finally managed to speak. "If they're in Ravaryn, Commander... what's the plan?"

The plan. There was no fucking plan. Not for this. Ravaryn was the one place even the Crown had to tread lightly. Its status as a neutral haven meant every damn kingdom had a vested interest in keeping it untouched. Dragging someone out of there would mean stepping on toes—powerful toes.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. "If they've made it to Ravaryn, it's not a plan we'll be talking about. Not yet." My voice hardened, the frustration bubbling into anger I couldn't quite tamp down. "But let me make one thing clear, Deylin—whoever the fuck is feeding them information won't stay hidden for long. And when I find them..."

I left the sentence unfinished, but the cold promise in my tone was enough to make Deylin avert his gaze.

I turned back to the map, my mind already racing. There had to be a move—something that wouldn't make the entire continent erupt into chaos. Because if I let this rebellion slip through my fingers now, it wouldn't just be my head on the line. It'd be the King's crown. And I'd be damned if I let that happen.