The three assassins left the dark city before dawn could ever hope to rise, though the concept of dawn had long abandoned that place. They rode upon their mounts, horses lean and dark as midnight, their hooves striking the wet stones like muted drums. No sound of bird greeted them, no glimmer of light marked their way. The road stretched from shadow into shadow, the city gates yawning behind them like the maw of a beast that swallowed all hope of day.
Yet as their horses carried them beyond the city's bounds, the world changed. The weight of the air lifted, and the sky above them slowly began to pale. At first it was only a grey shimmer upon the horizon, then streaks of gold stretched faint across the heavens, and at last the morning sun broke.
It was as though the darkness belonged to the city alone — as though it were a curse, a prison of night no light could penetrate. When they turned their masked faces back, they saw it clearly: while the forest and road bathed in daylight, the city behind them remained cloaked in eternal dusk, the rooftops and towers swallowed in gloom. It was not natural. It was not of the world as it should be.
They said nothing. They rode on. The city of shadows vanished behind the veil of trees, and the path ahead wound deeper into the lands of Veridia.
Far from them, beneath the rising sun of another horizon, Kai and Blackwood were still astride their beast-horses. The creatures, larger than any common steed, moved with blinding speed, their hooves striking the dirt roads as though eager to devour the leagues before them. Wind whipped against Kai's face, tossing his dark hair back, and for a while he laughed like a boy free of walls.
But the laughter faded as swiftly as it came. His hand rose to his temple, and his vision dimmed. The golden fire of his eyes — those cursed, wondrous eyes of his bloodline — flickered. Where they had burned with unnatural brilliance, they now cooled, darkening back to their ordinary black.
Blackwood, riding alongside, noticed at once. His own mount thundered onward, but his gaze shifted to the prince with the wariness of a soldier who had seen too many signs of danger. "Your eyes," he said, voice low beneath the rush of wind. "The glow fades."
Kai grit his teeth, forcing the horse faster as though to outrun the truth. "It was only a surge. The potion's fire burns hot at first, but it does not last."
"Do not dismiss it, boy." Blackwood's tone was heavy as iron. "When the light fades, it leaves shadows behind. Power leaves scars. Remember that."
Kai said nothing, though the words struck deeper than he wished. He did not want to remember his sister's warnings, nor her stern gaze when she spoke of the Eye's danger. He wanted to believe the glow meant strength, meant promise. Yet the dull ache behind his brow whispered otherwise.
They rode in silence after that, the road carrying them farther from the capital until at last the towers of another city rose before them.
The Kingdom of Veridia was vast, its lands stretched wide and rich, its soil bearing both wheat for bread and ore for steel. Seven great cities stood within its domain, each a jewel unto itself, surrounded by villages and hamlets like stars around a constellation. Each city bore its own banners, its own lords, but all bent knee to the crown of Veridia — to Elara, the queen who sat silent upon her marble throne while unrest stirred beneath her.
The city they reached now was alive with movement. Its walls were high, its gates thrown wide as merchants streamed in and out. Markets spilled into the streets, voices shouting wares in a dozen tongues. Children darted between carts, chasing each other with laughter that rang bright in the morning air. To one who entered, it seemed a place of promise, of life, of a people untouched by fear.
And yet.
And yet beneath the laughter, there lingered unease. Words carried on whispers in corners where merchants counted coin too quickly. Eyes flicked nervously toward the north, toward the distant border where rumor claimed the Ardonian banners yet flew.
Kai saw it. Blackwood saw it. The people smiled, but their smiles were thin, their laughter stretched, their joy fragile as glass.
And why should it not be so? For though Veridia was mighty, though its lands were plenty, its capital — its very heart — was not cradled at its center. No, Aethelgard, the jewel of the kingdom, stood perilously at its border. A capital at the edge of war. A crown perched upon a cliff's edge.
And upon that border, the enemy camped.
Ardon's troops remained where they had no right to remain, claiming they hunted bandits. And though their envoy's tongue spoke peace, their swords spoke hunger. Every day they lingered, the unrest in Veridia deepened.
Yet still the queen did nothing.
No troops called. No banners raised. No proclamations made to still the panic. Only silence. And in that silence, rumor grew wild as weed. Some said the queen was afraid. Some said she conspired with Ardon itself. Others whispered of her eyes — the cursed golden eyes that saw too much, and perhaps too far.
Still no riot had broken, though by all reason it should have. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was hope. Or perhaps it was something more subtle, a hand unseen that kept the people from flame even as the spark fell upon the tinder.
And in the capital, upon her throne, Queen Elara readied herself for a step no noble had foreseen.
The morning court still echoed with protests, but she heard none of it. Her decision was made. She would go to Ardon herself. She would walk into the lion's den, not as prey, but as judge.
Her gaze lingered upon the nobles gathered at her marble table. She had seen their pride, their fear, their hunger for war. She had seen their unease. She had seen enough to know: among them was a voice not their own. A spy. A whisperer for Ardon's cause.
Words and rumors did not spread so swiftly by chance. Power alone did not shape them — influence did. And the only influence great enough to sow such unrest was here, within her court.
So she would give the traitor chance to strike. She would offer herself as bait, walking into Ardon's hall with silence as her shield. For only then would the mask fall, and the true hand reveal itself.
The nobles argued still, but she lifted her hand, and silence fell.
"I go to Ardon," she said. "None here shall sway me."
And though her words were calm, her eyes burned with a light darker than fire.
The court bowed their heads, some in fear, some in doubt. The queen sat back upon her throne, her mantle heavy upon her shoulders, her mind already turning upon the path ahead.
Far away, assassins rode through forest, their blades eager. In the north, an army waited at the border. And now, Veridia's queen prepared to walk into the heart of her enemy's kingdom, not knowing whether she would meet words… or steel.
The game had begun, though none yet saw the board entire.
And over all, the sun rose higher, as though mocking both kingdoms with its simple truth: that day comes whether mortals are ready or not.