Chapter 19: Sparks in the Shadows

The Grand Hall of Caer Thalyss was a marvel of architecture — marble pillars coiled with silver filigree, stained glass depicting gods and heroes casting their eternal gaze over the nobles below. It was designed to awe. To remind all who entered that power, like the gods themselves, was eternal.

But Aelric only saw the cracks.

The whispers behind fans and goblets. The sidelong glances. The subtle gaps between once-united noble families.

The Crown looked strong. But beneath the surface? Fissures spiderwebbed through the foundation.

Perfect.

"Your move, Lord Veyne."

Aelric turned, hiding his smirk as Seraphina approached. Tonight, she wore courtly crimson — subtle embroidery of phoenix feathers across her shoulders — a quiet signal to those paying attention. His ally.

"For someone under assassination orders," she remarked dryly, "you mingle well."

"Knives in the dark lose their edge in public," Aelric replied, scanning the room. "They'll wait."

His eyes settled on a group near the dais — the gilded cluster of power surrounding Lord Albrecht Morgrave. Cold, sharp-eyed, every gesture calculated. The serpent of the court.

"They're watching," Seraphina warned.

"Good," Aelric replied simply.

At his side, Rhea drifted through the crowd, subtle as smoke. Bren remained near the entrance, a looming reminder that even in silk and marble, violence was never far.

The Summit was nearing its climax. In two days, the Council would meet — choosing policies, allocating resources, determining fates. And Aelric's presence here was… unorthodox, to put it mildly.

A Riftborn commoner. Now nobility by reluctant decree. Untethered by the System. Unclaimed by the gods.

A disruption.

"You're baiting them," Seraphina observed.

"I'm testing them," Aelric corrected. His gaze drifted across the hall — noting who avoided his eyes… and who didn't. Lords, merchants, lesser nobles — and a handful of quiet, dangerous faces wearing no sigils at all. Discontent brewing, hidden beneath silks and false smiles.

Perfect.

Aelric moved, weaving through the crowd with Seraphina at his side. Each polite greeting, each subtle glance, built a map in his mind — allies, enemies, the uncertain middle ground.

Near the far alcove, a young noble intercepted him — nervous, barely twenty winters, clutching a wine goblet like a shield.

"Lord Veyne," the young man stammered. "I— I wanted to say— I mean, thank you. For the— for the Riftborn reforms."

Aelric studied him — faint accent from the outer provinces, House insignia faded with poverty. One of the minor bloodlines clinging to relevance.

"Your family's Riftborn?" Aelric asked.

The boy nodded. "My brother… conscripted by the Crown. Never came home. They— they branded us after. Said it was divine will."

Aelric's jaw tightened, but his voice remained level. "Those days are ending."

The boy's eyes lit with cautious hope. "Then… you're not alone?"

Aelric smiled faintly. "No one changes kingdoms alone."

As they parted, Seraphina's expression shifted — less teasing now, more calculating.

"You're not just here to provoke Morgrave," she realized. "You're gathering… believers."

Aelric's eyes returned to the dais — to the king's polished mask of indifference, and the coiled serpent by his side.

"They're building a kingdom for the gods," Aelric murmured. "I'm building one for the forgotten."

And in the shadows, the sparks began to catch flame.

...

The palace orchestra played softly, filling the Grand Hall with a veneer of refinement. But the true music tonight was tension — plucked across whispered conversations and sharp glances.

Aelric felt the eyes before he saw the man.

Lord Albrecht Morgrave.

The serpent.

Cloaked in midnight blue, his silver-threaded cloak falling across broad shoulders. His hair was the color of steel, his eyes colder still — calculating, precise, devoid of wasted emotion.

The crowd parted for him like prey before a predator.

"You've been making quite the impression, Lord Veyne," Morgrave said smoothly, stopping before Aelric. His voice was like velvet over a dagger's edge. "The court hasn't seen such… spirited discussion in years."

Aelric smiled with equal sharpness. "I find spirited discussion preferable to… silent assassination."

A flicker of acknowledgment passed through Morgrave's eyes — the faintest of smiles touching his lips.

"An unfortunate misunderstanding," Morgrave replied. "I'm told you handled it admirably."

Aelric's fingers brushed the phoenix-feather pendant hidden beneath his tunic. His allies watched — Seraphina cool and poised beside him, Rhea lurking near a pillar, Bren's bulk looming at the hall's edge.

Morgrave's gaze swept over them, lingering briefly on Seraphina. "You make… interesting friends."

"I find interesting friends survive longer," Aelric replied evenly.

Morgrave chuckled — low, quiet, devoid of humor. "The gods dislike disruptions, Lord Veyne. You… are disruption incarnate."

"I'm merely inconvenient," Aelric corrected. "For now."

The older lord's smile sharpened. "Ambition is a dangerous indulgence for one without divine favor."

Aelric's expression hardened, but his voice remained steady. "I favor the forgotten. The ones your House… overlooks."

For a moment, silence pulsed between them — the quiet before the blade strikes.

Then Morgrave's eyes cooled further. "Enjoy your brief moment, Lord Veyne. The system… corrects itself."

With that, he turned, disappearing back into the murmuring crowd like smoke.

Seraphina exhaled softly. "You baited the serpent."

Aelric's jaw tightened. "He already wanted my head. Now… he'll come for my allies too."

"And?" Rhea approached, eyes sharp. "Plan?"

Aelric's gaze swept the hall once more — the forgotten nobles, the quiet dissent, the cracks in the marble facade.

"We stop playing defense," Aelric declared. "We cut the serpent at the root."

Because beneath the gilded halls and divine banners…

This kingdom was already rotting.

And Aelric?

He was done waiting.