25 - A Father’s Revelation

The door to Duke Alaric's study burst open with an urgency rarely seen from the shadows that served him. The figure barely managed to compose himself as he strode forward, his excitement radiating off him in waves.

"My lord! You won't believe—!"

Alaric barely lifted a hand, but it was enough. His sharp, commanding gaze pinned the man in place like a blade to the throat. "Calm yourself," he ordered, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "Breathe. Now, report."

The shadow figure exhaled sharply, forcing himself to steady before he spoke. And then, with measured words, he relayed everything—every whisper, every intricate detail of Aldric's plan. He spoke of the intelligence network being forged in secrecy, the recruitment, the funding, the layers of deception built to keep it hidden from prying eyes.

With each word, Alaric's expression remained unreadable at first, a mask of composed calculation. But as the report continued, something flickered beneath the surface—something rare. His fingers, resting lightly on the arm of his chair, tensed. His usual air of quiet amusement was gone, replaced by something deeper, something rare enough that even the shadow figure hesitated to look him in the eye.

Shock.

Duke Alaric, a man known for his unshakable cunning, his ability to predict the movements of nobles and kings alike, found himself momentarily caught off guard. Not because of recklessness or failure—but because his son had plan something beyond even his expectations. The depth of the plan. The meticulous foresight. The sheer audacity.

He exhaled slowly, barely audible, but the weight of it filled the room.

For the first time in his life, Duke Alaric was truly stunned by his son.

Alaric leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him as he let the weight of the revelation settle. If this was true… No. He knew it was true. Aldric had been thorough as of late, relentless in his pursuits. His son wouldn't propose something he couldn't execute. That much was certain.

And yet, this was beyond anything Alaric had anticipated.

A flicker of something unfamiliar crossed his face—pride. A rare and fleeting thing, but undeniable.

Where had this ambition come from? This ruthless, calculated brilliance? It was as if Aldric had transformed in mere months, shedding whatever boyish naivety had once lingered and emerging as something else entirely. A tactician. A strategist. A man with vision.

Alaric found himself unsettled by it, though not in a displeased way. It was an adjustment—a realization that his son had surpassed the expectations even he had set.

For the briefest of moments, the thought crossed his mind: I could take this plan for myself.

With his influence, his resources, he could refine it, accelerate it, bring it to life with precision and efficiency. His own intelligence network was already well-established—he could integrate Aldric's structure seamlessly and make it his own.

But then… something stopped him. His pride as a father.

No. This wasn't his to claim. This was Aldric's vision, Aldric's creation. His son had built something extraordinary, and he would see it through on his own terms. Alaric would not rob him of that.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he exhaled through his nose. Perhaps I've underestimated him for far too long.

As the shadow figure finished his frantic report, Duke Alaric remained silent, his fingers steepled in deep contemplation. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across his study, mirroring the swirling thoughts in his mind.

After a long pause, he exhaled slowly and reached for a small silver bell on his desk. With a single chime, the air shifted.

Alaric leaned back, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his chair as he observed the figure before him. From the very shadows of the room, a man stepped forward—his presence almost an extension of the darkness itself. Cloaked in black, he moved with an eerie grace, silent yet commanding.

This was Veylan, the First Shadow—the leader of Duke Alaric's intelligence unit and the man who had watched over Aldric from the unseen corners of the world.

Alaric let out a breath, a rare, wry smile tugging at his lips. "Old friend… tell me, do you think I'm getting old?"

Veylan tilted his head slightly, then reached up to unveil his hood. Beneath it, an aged face was revealed—weathered yet dignified, a man no less than sixty years old. He had once been the Duke's right hand, his head knight, before retiring into the shadows to serve in a different way.

"My lord," Veylan said, his voice steady and respectful, "you have many more years ahead of you."

Alaric chuckled, though there was a weight behind it. He leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles. "And yet, today, I feel as though my era is fading… and his is beginning." His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with thought. "Tell me, what do you think of Aldric?"

There was no hesitation in Veylan's response. "He is remarkable."

Alaric's brows lifted slightly, intrigued. "Oh? I expected something more measured from you."

Veylan met his gaze, unwavering. "I have watched him closely, my lord. The agricultural reforms he enacted—the creation of co-ops and food security programs—have already changed the lives of countless commoners. His heated flooring innovation, has brought warmth to homes during harsh winters, something even the wealthiest lords failed to consider. And now, where once they saw him as just another noble, they now speak of him with genuine respect. Some even call him a 'lord of the people' behind closed doors."

Alaric exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the armrest. That title—lord of the people—was not one given lightly. Nobles ruled, but few ever earned true loyalty beyond duty or fear.

A smirk ghosted across his lips, but it did little to mask the storm behind his eyes. "Is that so?" He drummed his fingers on the desk before standing, walking over to the window. The night stretched beyond the estate walls, vast and endless. "And what of his other endeavors? His… ambitions?"

Veylan's expression remained unreadable, but his words carried weight. "His intelligence network will rival anything this kingdom has ever seen." He hesitated, then added, "Perhaps even surpass yours, in time."

Alaric's grip on the windowsill tightened for the briefest of moments before he let out a deep laugh, shaking his head. "The boy doesn't just want power—he wants control."

Veylan inclined his head. "He doesn't seek to rule in the traditional sense. He seeks to shape. To ensure that no one—not the king, not the nobles, not even foreign powers—can act without his knowledge or influence."

Alaric turned back to face Veylan, his expression unreadable. For the first time in a long while, something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. Not fear. Not resentment.

Pride.

"Old friend…" Alaric murmured, rubbing his chin. "I wonder… have I created a son who will one day surpass me?"

Veylan's lips curled into the barest hint of a smile. "I believe you already know the answer to that, my lord."

Alaric raised a brow, intrigued.

Alaric leaned back, rubbing his chin in thought. "I only wanted to watch. To see what he would do, how he would handle the fugitive situation. I never expected something this big."

Silence hung between them.

For once, the First Shadow had nothing to say.

Alaric let out a slow breath, then his gaze hardened. With a wave of his hand, he reached for the bell once more and rang it three times.

The study door creaked open, and one by one, Five elite shadows materialized from the darkness, each one a master of espionage, assassination, and intelligence gathering. including Vaylan the leader of the operatives assigned to watch Aldric.

Their kneeling figures filled the candlelit room, a silent testament to the unseen power Duke Alaric wielded.

Alaric, seated behind his grand oak desk, laced his fingers together, his gaze sharp and piercing. His voice, cold and unwavering, cut through the stillness.

"Aldric's intelligence unit, Raven's Shadow, is forming as we speak. I am giving you all a new directive."

The six remained motionless, listening with rapt attention.

"You will infiltrate his ranks—not to hinder, but to strengthen. You will rise through the ranks, gain his trust, and position yourselves as his most indispensable operatives." His voice darkened, his presence commanding. "Not just as informants, but as leaders."

He let the words settle, watching for any flicker of hesitation. There was none.

"You will become the foundation of his network, guiding it from within. If an obstacle threatens to weaken him, you will remove it. If he stumbles, you will ensure he does not fall. He must never suspect that his greatest strength is a gift I have given him."

His gaze swept over them like a judge passing sentence. "And above all, he must never know you answer to me."

The six shadows bowed their heads in unison. Their voices, low and unwavering, spoke as one.

"As you command, my lord."

And just as they had come, they vanished, melting back into the darkness.

The room was empty once more, save for the lingering tension of what had just transpired.

Alaric exhaled, leaning back in his chair. His hand rested against his lips as he stared at the flickering candlelight.

"Raven's Shadow…" he murmured. The name felt almost predestined, as if it had been waiting for this moment.

A slow smirk crept onto his face. "A fitting name."