1721, Month of Rai, Darin Fief
Wind roared through the mountain pass, carrying flecks of sand and dust as it rushed down the cliffs into the slumbering city of Darin in the valley below. It rattled shuttered windows as it swept through the streets, whistling through empty torch brackets; until it reached an old manor, the entrance lined with towering pines that swayed and groaned in protest.
The wind tangled in their branches, shaking loose brittle needles before rustling through the grounds, seeping its icy breath into a chamber tucked deep in the manor's southern wing.
The chamber stank of burning tallow and damp stone. A steady dripping noise—an echo of the storm that had battered the western lands earlier that day—punctuated the silence, where men draped in heavy cloaks sat around a vast wooden table. Their faces flickered in the candlelight, their shadows twisted into grotesque forms on the stone walls.
The lords of the west had not met like this in years. Not in secret. Never with the weight of their overseer's summon pressing like a cold blade against their throats.
At the head of the table sat Offal' Kest, lord of Darin and overseer of the west; a man whose presence commanded even the most unruly of vassals. Age had lined his bronze skin, and streaks of gray ran through his once-bright white hair, bound in a warrior's knot. Deep red sigils inked his forearms, marking the wars he had survived. A mage at his peak, the title of Martial Sage had not been bestowed upon him in vain.
With narrowed eyes, Offal' Kest surveyed the gathered lords, whose expressions ranged from simmering resentment to barely concealed fear. He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening on the goblet before him. It was still full. No one had touched the wine. Not tonight.
Not when he had called a council of war.
"It is time to strike," Offal' Kest began, his voice low and measured. He let his words settle before continuing, "The Dowager has ruled unchecked for too long. The king is hidden, and every whisper of opposition is met with blood. She has sent my son to the border to die, and she will not stop until every noble house that stands against her is crushed beneath her heel. We have plotted and whispered, but hesitation has held us back. That ends now."
Karra' Ruan, a broad-shouldered vassal with silver threading through his dark beard, leaned forward, his brows furrowed. "And what would you have us do, my lord?" he asked, skepticism in his voice, "March on the capital? The Dowager Regent has eyes everywhere. You know what she did to House Hui when they so much as whispered against her."
"House Hui was reckless," Offal' Kest shot back, his tone hard. "They moved alone. They thought justice would shield them. It didn't. We—" he swept his gaze across the room, "—will not make that mistake."
One of the older lords, his left eye clouded and sightless, exhaled sharply, tapping his carved fan against the table. "You speak boldly, Offal', but you forget the balance that has held this empire together. If you move against the regent, and you do so without the other great-generals' support, they will not hesitate to march against you. You are asking us to wager our lives on a losing hand."
"The Mu, Ru, and He armies," the one-eyed Lord Wu continued, shaking his head, "would descend upon us the moment we raised our banners. We cannot fight their might. Not as we are."
A few lords muttered in agreement.
Offal' Kest allowed them their doubts, then leaned forward, voice lowering to a whisper. "What if I told you that balance is about to change?"
He let the silence stretch before he continued. "There is a pattern in the world," he said, his voice low, "One so rare it has been forgotten by most. But I have not forgotten. Nor have I allowed it to remain buried. The Breakthrough Matrix Season is approaching."
A murmur rippled through the chamber, hushed but urgent, like wind rushing through a sealed hall. Some lords exchanged glances, others sat motionless, their knuckles whitening over their goblets. Karra' Ruan scoffed. "You speak in riddles, my lord." he said, with a short laugh.
"Do I?" Offal' Kest's tone cut through the whispering like a blade through silk. "Or have we simply been blind to what has always existed? What I am telling you is not a gamble. It is a certainty. I have seen the signs. I have studied the cycles. Those who grasp this moment will ascend. And those who do not—" His gaze flickered across the table. "—will be left behind."
That quiet threat hung in the air. It was no longer just about rebellion. It was about power. And power had always been the language of lords.
Offal' Kest continued, his tone firm. "This is a truth known only to those who have searched for it. There will soon come a time when those standing at the threshold of Martial Sage will find their cultivation path unbarred. The lords among us who have stagnated for years will rise. The warriors we have nurtured will surpass their limits. We will stand against the regent's forces as equals. Perhaps," he paused, "Even as their betters."
The weight of his words settled over the lords like an unseen force. If what he said was true, if they could truly elevate their strength...
"How can you be certain?" Jin' Hei, a veteran warlord known for his caution, asked. His long, ink-dark nails tapped a slow rhythm against his goblet, the only sign of unease he allowed himself. "The existence of such an event is unknown to us all."
"Unknown to most," Offal' Kest corrected. "But I have spent years unearthing what was hidden. The records exist, tucked away in forgotten tomes, inscribed in the experiences of those long before us. I have been preparing for this moment since the day the regent stole the throne. And now, the time is near."
The lords sat in silence, absorbing his words. He could see the shift in their eyes; doubt giving way to consideration, fear giving way to something sharper. Resolve.
Karra' Ruan was the first to nod, leaning forward eagerly, "If this is true…" he sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes betraying his desire, "If we can rise to Martial Sage..."
"Then the Regent's hold on the throne is finished," Offal' Kest finished for him, his voice resolute. "We do not march to certain death. We march to reclaim what is ours. And when the Breakthrough Matrix Season dawns, we will strike."
"And what of the king?" asked Lord Wu, the one-eyed lord, with the quietness of a viper coiled in frost, turning his sightless eye towards Offal' Kest. "We have sworn fealty to him. If we rise against his regent, will we not be seen as traitors?"
"What king?" Offal' Kest let the words hang in the air. "Has anyone here seen him? Have you heard his voice? For all we know, he is dead, and we kneel to a ghost while that woman sits upon his throne."
The lords glanced at one another, and then at their overseer, who opened his mouth again.
"The west has always been loyal to the true Han bloodline," Offal' Kest continued, his voice low but cutting. "But the king is locked away, and every petition I have made for his coronation has been ignored. Do you not see? The Dowager has no intention of ever placing a crown on his head. She means to rule until we are gone—until there is no one left to oppose her, and the boy on the throne is hers to command without question."
Lord Kel, seated on the far end of the table, ran a thumb over the engraved bronze ring on his finger, the symbol of his post as a councilman of the imperial court.
He sighed. "Even if we move against her, and we muster every force we have, we must consider—what then? The east and south still bow to her, and the army is hers. If we manage to take the capital, how long can we hold it?"
Offal' Kest met his gaze, his eyes unwavering. "We do not need to hold it." he replied, his tone grim, "We only have to take the Dowager's head."
A hush fell over the table. Someone shifted uncomfortably, the wooden chair creaking beneath their weight.
Lord Wu swallowed. "You speak of regicide."
"I speak of survival." Offal' Kest lifted his goblet—but not to drink. He turned it over, until the last drop of wine seeped into the dry wood. "We have waited eight years for another way. There isn't one. If we hesitate, and we allow her to continue ruling as she has, she will destroy each of us in turn. My son is already at the border. My duchy bleeds coin into her coffers. Tell me, how long before she turns her eye to your lands?"
Karra' Ruan's hands shook as his lips pressed into a hard line. "She has affected us too," he said, voice low. "My daughter," he continued, "is mad with grief. Her fiancé was among the Huis who were slaughtered."
Lord Wu exhaled, nodding as well, his hands tightening into fists. "She took my nephew. A boy of fifteen. Sent him to the mines in the east for a crime no man can name. The last I heard, his bones were found in a cart, bound for the lime pits," his breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.
Offal' Kest inclined his head. "Then you understand. Unless we strike first, she will not stop until there is nothing left of us but dust." he concluded.
For a moment, no one spoke. The candle flames flickered in their sconces, their light warping the expression on the lords' faces—some impassive, some grim, others sorrowful. Jin' Hei ran his fingers along the rim of his goblet, deep in thought. Lord Wu's knuckles had gone white where his hands rested on the table, his breathing harried. One of the younger lords sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw as if to wipe away the weight of what had just been spoken.
Offal' Kest reached for his left hand with his right. Slowly, he pulled his Scith ring from his finger—the symbol of his loyalty to the empire, the authority of the court, the very oath he had once sworn, bound in the metal. For a moment, he turned it in his palm, the candlelight catching on the engraved sigil. Then he clenched his fist.
A sharp crack echoed through the chamber.
The lords watched as he let the shattered fragments fall onto the table.
"I have no use for the Dowager's chains," Offal' Kest said, his voice hard. "And neither should you."
One by one, the lords pressed their hands upon the wine-stained wood, sealing their unspoken oath.
The rebellion had begun.