– Threads of the Unseen
The messenger did not sleep that night. The assassin's words echoed like blades scraping in his skull, and every shadow stretched too long. He moved through the city as if walking on glass, each step careful, measured, listening for whispers that might not even be there.
Meanwhile, in the palace, silence bred schemes. Advisors bowed in the hall but sharpened their knives in private. Courtiers smiled through clenched teeth, wagering how long the Sovereign's decree would hold before dissent cracked its shell.
Two factions stirred beneath the surface—one loyal to the Sovereign's silence, the other waiting, hungry, for the first sound of defiance.
The Sovereign, draped in shadow and candlelight, sensed it. His decree had silenced the halls, yes, but in silence, plots grew bold.
"Let them whisper," he said softly to his cloaked spy. "In the dark, whispers reveal their owners."
The messenger, unaware of these words, sought refuge in the old quarter. There, hidden taverns murmured of lost kings and forbidden songs. The people spoke with lowered voices, yet their eyes burned with curiosity. When he unrolled the scroll—its seal unbroken—the room fell into a hush so sharp it felt like a blade.
No one asked what was written. They didn't dare. But in their silence, something shifted—fear tangled with anticipation.
And from a corner table, cloaked in smoke, a woman's gaze fixed upon him. She did not speak, but her presence pressed into him like a promise: *you are not alone… and not safe either*.
The game had begun, but the rules were yet to be written.