The trees of Glenshade Woods stood like solemn watchers beneath a cloud-choked sky. Their branches whispered in the wind, secrets rustling through leaves as if even nature knew something was about to change. Beneath them, a procession of gilded carriages rolled slowly down the muddy trail — the Imperial Envoy.
Cassian watched from a rocky outcrop above the road, his cloak blending into the mist. Beside him, Evelyn crouched, her eyes sharp beneath the shadow of her hood. Anais, Roran, and Eliah were already in place, their teams hidden among the underbrush. Every piece of this plan had been crafted with precision.
Below, the guards of the envoy were minimal — too few for the treasures they carried. Tribute gold. Sealed letters from the Emperor. Keys to noble vaults. All moving beneath the mistaken assumption that their route was secret.
"Any final doubts?" Evelyn asked under her breath.
Cassian's response was cold and sure. "Only about how long it'll take before the Empire screams."
He raised two fingers. Then lowered them.
It began.
Explosions erupted at both ends of the trail, shaking the ground. Horses reared in panic, guards shouted orders, and chaos spread like wildfire. Arrows rained from the trees, precise and non-lethal — just enough to cripple and scatter, not kill.
From the fog came Cassian's masked insurgents, cloaked in gray and moving like wraiths. They overtook the guards, disabling them with practiced efficiency. Anais herself slid between two panicked soldiers, knocking them out before they even saw her.
Cassian leapt from the rocks, landing atop the lead carriage with a crash. He drove his blade into the wooden lock, tearing open the doors. Inside, the tribute gleamed—gold, scrolls, and something far more precious: a crimson-sealed letter with the Emperor's personal mark.
He snatched it up, eyes scanning.
Behind him, Evelyn appeared with Eliah, both dragging an envoy official into the mud. The man was noble-born—soft hands, silken robes, and terror in his eyes.
"You're mad," the envoy gasped. "You'll bring war down on your head!"
Cassian removed his mask. The envoy froze.
"Y-You're supposed to be dead," the man stammered.
Cassian leaned close, his voice like frost. "Dead men don't start revolutions."
He raised a blade, and for a moment the envoy flinched — but Cassian sliced the sash from the man's waist instead and shoved him back into the dirt. "Let the Empire see what its glory looks like, groveling in the mud."
The ambush was complete.
By the time the dust settled, no one was dead. But the Empire had been wounded—deeply and deliberately.
As his team melted into the woods, Cassian looked back one last time. The envoy, tied and humiliated, shouted curses into the wind.
But something caught Cassian's eye — movement at the far ridge.
A figure. Watching.
Pulse.
Cassian's blood turned cold.
So it begins, he thought.
In the Capital — The Throne Hall
The Emperor read the report in silence, his fingers tightening on the parchment. Court nobles stood in rigid lines, all too afraid to speak. Beside the throne, Prince Albrecht—the Third—watched with a smirk hidden behind his gloved hand.
"He made fools of us," the Emperor finally growled. "My envoy—stripped. My seal—stolen."
"An attack on your name, Father," Albrecht said smoothly. "This was no common banditry."
"No. This was personal," the Emperor hissed. "He's alive."
Gasps rippled through the court.
"Cassian Vale lives."
In a Secret Room in Old Greystone
Cassian spread out the stolen letters before his allies. One, in particular, caught Evelyn's eye.
"Orders to House Veinor," she read aloud. "They plan to garrison Blackhollow."
"And use it to trap rebels," Roran said. "They'll crush anyone we've inspired."
Cassian's mind raced. "Then we take Blackhollow before they can."
Eliah's eyebrows shot up. "You're talking about claiming a fortress."
"I'm talking about claiming the first piece of a new empire."
Later That Night
Cassian sat atop the crumbling tower that overlooked the city. The stars were hidden, but the wind carried whispers of what he'd begun. Behind him, Evelyn approached, two cups in hand.
She sat beside him, handing him one.
"To victory?" she offered.
Cassian took it. "To the first cut."
They drank.
Evelyn looked at him quietly for a moment. "Do you remember what you told me, back when we were just children playing by the old fields?"
Cassian shook his head.
"You said if the world ever tried to bury you, you'd dig your way out and burn the soil behind you."
He smiled faintly. "Sounds dramatic."
"It was. You were twelve."
They shared a soft laugh, one of the few moments of peace they'd allowed themselves in weeks.
"I worry about you," she said finally. "Not as your right hand. As… someone who sees you. All of you."
Cassian looked at her, caught off guard.
"You see the future like it's already yours," she continued. "But you're still human. You bleed, Cassian. And the deeper you go, the more you'll forget what it means to feel."
He looked down at his hand — calloused, scarred, marked by the weight of choices.
"I haven't forgotten," he said quietly.
She reached out, brushing his fingers with hers.
He didn't pull away.
They sat together under the dark sky, the beginnings of something soft threading through the hard edge of their war.
But peace was a flicker in the distance.
The Empire was mobilizing.
And Prince Albrecht had already summoned someone from the far north—a ruthless tactician known only as The Hollow General, a man who never lost, a man who burned villages to root out a single rebel.
Cassian would soon face more than betrayal.
He would face extinction.