For three days, the kingdom did not breathe.
Selene's declaration had shattered the silence, but after the first wave of banners and betrayals, an unnatural hush spread across Aerthrial—a fragile pause between rebellion and retaliation.
Inside the Valeburne estate, Selene stood beneath cold marble arches, tracing her fingers over the frost-laced railings. Her crimson eyes watched the distant rooftops where her banners fluttered—small pockets of defiance against centuries of tradition.
Lira approached quietly, scrolls in hand.
"They're hesitating," she whispered, setting reports on the stone table beside Selene. "Half the court is still deciding whether to denounce you or join you."
Selene's lips pressed into a thin line. "They're waiting for someone else to make the first mistake."
"Or the first kill."
Selene's gaze didn't waver.
"I know."
Across the city, Lucien moved in shadow.
He wore no armor tonight—only a simple black cloak, golden hair tied back, eyes sharp beneath the hood.
He walked the backstreets of Aerthrial not as a prince, but as something older, something hungrier.
A revolutionary.
Alaric stayed at his side, silent as always, but his hand hovered near the hilt of his blade. Not out of distrust—but because things were shifting too fast, and every alley could hold a new fracture.
Lucien felt it in his bones.
The rebellion had passed the point of no return.
Now came the collapse.
Either of the kingdom.
Or of themselves.
In the Eastern capital, Evelyne Greymoor met with foreign emissaries in the dead of night. Her emerald eyes gleamed beneath candlelight.
"They've chosen chaos," she whispered, fingers playing with the bloodstone ring on her hand. "So we'll give them chaos."
Her generals watched silently as she unrolled the next phase of her plan—a pact with Aerthrial's oldest enemies, kingdoms once kept at bay by delicate treaties.
Now those treaties would be burned.
If Selene and Lucien wanted rebellion, Evelyne would give them war.
Not just civil war.
But foreign invasion.
By midnight, the first border clans began to mobilize.
In the southern dunes, Ash Serpent riders prepared their spirit beasts.
In the eastern frostlands, Whisper Wolves gathered beneath silver moons.
Aerthrial would not face just itself anymore.
It would face the world.
Back in the Valeburne estate, Selene read the reports from her spies, her chest tightening as the truth became clear.
Evelyne had invited outsiders into a civil war.
And that meant innocent blood would spill. Thousands—maybe tens of thousands.
Lira's voice broke through the cold.
"We can still stop this, Selene. If you surrender—"
Selene's hand cut the air, silencing her.
"No."
Her crimson eyes burned beneath the frost-lined window.
"I won't let them rewrite love as a crime."
Lucien felt it too.
As he stood beneath the statue of the first king of Aerthrial—a monarch who once declared emotions weaknesses—Lucien whispered a quiet oath.
"We'll break the cycle," he murmured.
Even if it broke them first.
By dawn, crimson snow still fell.
But this time, it wasn't just a symbol of rebellion.
It was a warning.
The quiet before collapse never lasted long.
And in Aerthrial, winter was only beginning.