The first thing Aden noticed wasn't the towering walls or the gilded banners fluttering in the spring wind—it was the silence.
The Imperial Capital, Eldris, had never been known for restraint. Its streets had always thrummed with noise—merchants shouting, nobles preening, pilgrims whispering prayers, and children laughing as they weaved through cobblestone paths.
But today, as the black carriage bearing the Vasco sigil creaked past the outer gates, a hush fell upon the crowd like a shroud of mourning.
Behind Aden, a dozen elite knights rode in formation, clad in blackened armor edged with crimson. The emblem of the Vasco House—a burning sword cleaving a dragon—glinted on their pauldrons. He was a Black Knight now.
Nobles leaned from balconies, fans and goblets forgotten in their hands. Their eyes were wary, curious, calculating. Some stepped back behind silk curtains, unwilling to be seen witnessing the arrival. Others narrowed their gaze, memorizing every detail of the young man inside the carriage.
Inside, Aden sat with one leg crossed, back straight, gaze forward. His black uniform had been freshly pressed, but it wasn't its cut or quality that drew attention—it was the aura coiled around him, like a predator barely leashed.
The carriage rumbled through the Marble Avenue, the grand promenade that led to the heart of the palace district. On either side, Imperial banners waved lazily alongside the standards of ancient noble houses. But none stirred whispers like the Vasco crest.
He could feel it—fear, tightly leashed behind masks of nobility. The court had heard the rumors: Aden Vasco, once a disgrace, had returned from Dahaka not broken, but baptized. He had killed monsters and men alike, survived trials that should have turned him to ash—and now he wore the title of Black Knight like it had always belonged to him.
A promotion bought with blood, the city murmured. But whose?
As the carriage slowed before the Sunfang Gate, the outermost entrance to the Imperial Palace, the guards shifted uneasily. Even seasoned imperial knights straightened with too much stiffness as the door opened.
Aden stepped down slowly.
Silence greeted him like an old friend.
He paused just long enough to let the onlookers drink in his presence—the sharp line of his jaw, the unflinching black of his eyes, the way the wind curled around him like smoke drawn to flame. The silence thickened.
Whispers began.
"Is that really him?"
"He's taller than I expected…"
"His aura… it's suffocating."
"Didn't the last Black Knight candidate lose his arm during the rites?"[1]
"Shhh! Don't let him hear you."
Aden adjusted his gloves, eyes scanning the palace courtyard ahead. Dozens of noble carriages had already arrived. House Veris, House Dandriel, even the twin-headed lion of House Karron. House Tristan, House Remes, The great families had come.
But they hadn't expected him.
He began walking. His knights followed.
As they passed beneath the Sunfang Gate, one of the gatekeepers hesitated, then loudly declared:
"By order of His Imperial Majesty, we welcome Sir Aden Vasco, Black Knight of the Empire!"
The voice rang out. Courtiers flinched. The capital bowed—but not in reverence.
They bowed the way prey bows when it sees the shadow of a larger predator looming overhead.
Aden smiled faintly.
Let them whisper. Let them scheme.
He wasn't here to play their games.
He was here to break them down.
[1] Here, they are talking about lord Verrion, the one who dueled against Aden Vasco.
He was also a Black Knight candidate, but since he lost one of his arm, he is now out of the race.