– Whispers and Blades
The Sovereign's decree spread like wildfire through the court. It was not shouted, nor announced with drums—it seeped, whispered from lips that dared not linger too long. Yet everywhere the messenger walked, he felt its weight pressing down.
The Crown of Silence had spoken. And now, silence hunted him.
In the palace's upper chambers, the Sovereign summoned his inner circle. Advisors bent low, guards stood like statues, and in the shadows, cloaked figures lingered—spies and killers loyal only to the throne.
"Let him run," the Sovereign murmured, eyes fixed on the flame of a single candle. "Each step he takes spreads the net wider. By silence, we shall choke rebellion before it breathes."
Outside, the messenger threaded through the marketplace, cloak pulled tight, ears sharpened for pursuit. Every glance, every laugh, every footstep seemed weighted with suspicion. He ducked into alleys, traded coin for a hood, and pressed deeper into the city's underbelly.
But danger did not wait long. As night fell, a dagger whistled past his ear, striking the wall beside him. He spun, heart thundering, to face a figure cloaked in black.
"You carry more than parchment," the assassin said, voice flat as steel. "You carry unrest. The Sovereign commands silence, and I am its blade."
The messenger's pulse roared, but he forced his voice calm. "If silence is your Crown," he said, stepping backward into the shadows, "then words are my rebellion."
Steel gleamed in the moonlight. The chase was no longer political—it had become personal.