"The palace is too quiet when death awaits its prey."
A lone figure knelt before the obsidian throne in the Grand Hall of Eldralis. His golden hair clung to his bloodied skin. The once-proud eyes of Arven Faelthorn, genius of House Faelthorn and the youngest High Magus in a century, held neither fear nor regret—only betrayal.
Before him stood the very nobles who had applauded his rise. The emperor's decree was final.
"Arven Faelthorn," the emperor's voice rang cold, "for the crimes of treason, demoncraft, and the attempted usurpation of the Crown Prince, you are hereby sentenced to death."
Arven's gaze swept the court. There stood Duke Eldemar, his mentor. Lady Cyrille, his childhood friend. Even his own blood brother, Kael, looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
"I did everything right. I gave you victories, inventions, loyalty... and still..."
As the executioner raised the blade, Arven whispered not a curse, but a vow:
"In another life… I'll rip this kingdom apart. Brick by brick. Smile by smile."
Blood spilled. The court cheered.
And somewhere, in a forgotten crypt deep beneath the palace, an ancient book opened its eyes for the first time in a thousand years.