By Victor Simdrix
Chapter 21 – Corvin's Web
Night had settled over Valebridge, but the city did not sleep. Whispers slithered through the streets like rats, feeding on fear. At taverns, market stalls, and crowded alleys, one name kept surfacing like smoke over dying embers — Nyra Veylock.
And behind every whisper stood one man: Corvin Ashbane.
In the shadow of his manor, Corvin gathered his loyalists — men draped in dark cloaks, faces half-hidden by hoods. The firelight flickered over his sharp features as he addressed them.
"Fear is the strongest chain," he said smoothly, swirling a goblet of crimson wine. "A crown binds only the head it rests upon. But fear? Fear binds everyone. Tonight, we pull those chains tighter."
A murmur of approval passed through the room.
"They see Nyra as a savior," one of his spies muttered. "She's fought for them. Bled for them."
Corvin smiled thinly. "And that is why her fall will break them. What is adored today can be despised tomorrow — if the story changes."
From a locked chest, he produced a parchment already sealed with the royal crest. His forgers had done well. The letter accused Nyra of secretly consorting with Malakar, of feeding his armies routes through the mountains.
"Spread this," Corvin commanded. "To soldiers, to villagers, to every wandering merchant who will carry it to the next town. By dawn, her name will taste like ash in their mouths."
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Meanwhile, Nyra walked the high walls of Valebridge, the cold wind stinging her skin. The city below glimmered with torchlight, yet she had never felt so alone.
She didn't need to hear the whispers to know they were there. Every glance lingered longer than it should. Every guard's hand hovered a little closer to their sword.
Eryndor Flamebearer found her on the battlements. His face was weary, his armor dented from patrols, but his eyes still carried a fire of their own.
"They're turning against me, aren't they?" Nyra asked quietly.
Eryndor hesitated, then nodded. "Corvin works faster than fire itself. Lies spread quicker than truth."
Her throat ached. "And Kaelith? Where does he stand?"
Eryndor's jaw tightened. "The prince is torn. He wants to believe in you — but the crown sits heavy on young shoulders. Corvin whispers in one ear, I whisper in the other. Which voice do you think is easier to believe? The one that sows fear… or the one that demands trust?"
Nyra turned away, her chest burning.
"I was never meant to be their hero," she muttered. "I'm just a weapon waiting to burn everything down."
Eryndor gripped her shoulder. "No, Nyra. You're more than that. But you'll have to fight harder now — not just for Valebridge… but for yourself."
In the darkness below, a bell tolled — not for warning, not for celebration. It was the city's signal of judgment.
Corvin had moved faster than she thought. The council had summoned Nyra to trial.
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