A Shadow’s Strike

The night air was thick with tension. Kaelith stood on the balcony of his private chambers, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Something felt… off.

Seraphine was still in the study, poring over the ancient texts, searching for answers about the sigil. He had left her there, trusting she would return to their chambers soon. But the unease gnawed at him.

Then it happened.

A loud explosion shook the palace walls, followed by the distant clang of steel. Kaelith's instincts flared as he spun toward the source. The west wing. The council chamber.

A bold move—one that reeked of Veylan's hand.

Kaelith grabbed his sword and strode toward the door, his mind already racing through possibilities. Seraphine. The council. The kingdom itself. The attack was precise, calculated.

He reached the hallway just as a guard stumbled toward him, bloodied and gasping.

"Your Highness… they—they struck the council… massacred…" the guard collapsed before finishing his sentence.

Kaelith clenched his jaw. This wasn't just a warning. This was a declaration.

And Veylan had just made his first move.