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Chapter 13
The bells of Calvenne rang with a strange tone. Not the call of celebration, nor the urgency of alarm, but something deeper, heavier — as if the very walls of the city groaned under the weight of secrets too long kept.
Kael, seated behind the counter of his shop, listened to the distant echoes while sipping dark wine. The rain had finally ceased, yet the air remained saturated with rumors and distrust.
The city was like a cracked jar, needing only the slightest shock to shatter completely.
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Invisible Flames
That evening, a messenger burst into the backroom, breathless.
> "Lord Varlen…" he said, using Kael's alias. "The Merchant Council is tearing itself apart. Two families accused each other of embezzlement and… blood has been spilled."
Kael didn't even lift his gaze from his glass.
> "Excellent."
The messenger hesitated, disturbed by the coldness of the response.
Kael added in a calm yet cutting voice:
> "Every drop of blood shed is proof this city was never united. Go back… and make sure the news spreads faster."
For he knew: a whisper, skillfully amplified, could destroy more surely than an army.
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Sélène's Confidences
Later that night, on the damp rooftops overlooking Calvenne, Sélène joined him. She carried a bundle under her arm — stolen letters from a careless noble.
> "The guards already suspect infiltration. If these letters circulate, accusations of conspiracy will erupt," she said, a mischievous smile curling her lips.
Kael took the parchments, scanning them briefly before speaking.
> "Perfect. We don't need to create chaos. We need only let it reveal itself."
Sélène studied him, her smile softening into something more delicate.
> "Sometimes you seem… almost happy, watching things collapse."
Kael replied without hesitation:
> "It's not the fall that pleases me. It's the silence that follows. Because in that silence… something new can be built."
She turned her gaze away, thoughtful.
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Poison in the Veins
In the days that followed, Calvenne was struck by a wave of strange incidents.
A convoy of food supplies vanished without a trace.
A renowned craftsman was found hanging, a confession letter nailed to his chest — forged by Kael himself.
An uprising erupted in the harbor district, dockworkers torching merchant banners and shops accused of speculation.
With each event, Kael had merely added the spark. The rest was the natural flame of fear and resentment.
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Doubts
One evening, while Kael sorted through his documents, Sélène's voice cut through the silence — soft, almost hesitant.
> "You could stop here, you know. The city is already broken."
Kael froze, then answered without turning toward her.
> "No, Sélène. Not yet. A crack can be mended. But collapse… collapse can never be repaired."
She watched him, eyes clouded by an emotion hard to read. Was it fear? Or admiration?
Kael didn't care. To him, everything was a piece on the board. Even her.
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A City on the Brink
Tensions had reached a point of no return.
The streets swarmed with makeshift militias, neighborhoods barricading themselves against one another.
The Merchant Council was no longer a council but a theater of screams and threats.
The City Guard turned on itself, accused of corruption by some, treason by others.
And in this spreading chaos, the name Varlen — Kael's forged identity — grew whispered as that of a man who could provide a solution.
But Kael had never intended to bring peace.
Only inevitable ruin.
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In silence, as night draped its cloak over Calvenne, he whispered to himself:
> "Just a little longer… and this city will extinguish itself."
And in his eyes, already, burned the glint of the next act.
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