The grand hall of Dravoryen had never felt so heavy.
Once, Toru had walked through these towering doors with the eyes of nobles piercing him, mocking him, whispering about his weakness. Tonight, those same eyes followed him again—but not with laughter. With suspicion. With fear.
The air smelled of incense and wine, but beneath it lay the stink of doubt. The banners of House Dravoryen hung proudly from the marble columns, yet even they seemed to sag under the weight of the unspoken war building within these walls.
Toru stepped forward, his boots echoing against polished stone. Every step was steady, every breath controlled, though his chest still remembered the adrenaline of the duel days before.
At the end of the hall, upon the dais of black stone, sat King Daemon Dravoryen. His crown gleamed faintly beneath the torchlight, but his sharp, wolf-like eyes were brighter still, watching everything.
Beside him, on the right, sat Crown Prince Aedric—the pride of the kingdom, the son everyone adored. His posture was impeccable, his smile sharp enough to cut. And yet, when Toru entered, that smile twitched, as though straining to hide the bitterness beneath.
The hall fell silent as the weak prince of Dravoryen stopped before the throne.
---
Aedric's voice was the first to break the silence. Smooth, dripping with mockery.
"So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "the court's latest amusement has arrived. Tell me, little brother—how does it feel to win a duel when all your life you could barely lift a blade?"
A few nobles chuckled nervously. Others kept their eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to be seen on either side of the tension.
Toru's jaw clenched. He remembered the voice of his old military instructor from his previous life:
"Strength isn't only in the body. It's in standing tall when others expect you to kneel."
He raised his gaze, meeting Aedric's glare without flinching.
"It feels," Toru replied evenly, "as though I finally reminded this court that I am not a shadow to be ignored. Steel cuts deeper than words, brother. And I promise you—I've only just begun sharpening mine."
Gasps filled the hall. Nobles glanced between the two princes, sensing blood in the water.
Aedric's smile froze. For the first time in years, someone had spoken to him not as heir, not as untouchable, but as a rival.
---
The tension spilled like wine into the banquet afterward. The great hall transformed into a sea of hushed voices, clinking goblets, and darting eyes.
At one table, Lord Veynar, corpulent and cunning, leaned in close to his companions.
"This sudden show of strength—it is dangerous," he whispered, fat fingers gripping his cup. "If the King begins to favor him, all our careful balance will shatter. We must not allow it."
His neighbor, Lord Hadric, frowned. "And yet, can you not feel it? The people are talking. Merchants, soldiers, even common folk. They whisper of the weak prince's duel as though it were a prophecy fulfilled."
Veynar sneered. "People are sheep. Today they cheer him, tomorrow they will forget him. He is still a runt compared to Aedric."
Across the hall, Lady Seraphine, draped in emerald silk, spoke in a sharper tone.
"Or perhaps you fear him because he is no longer as weak as you hoped. A prince who can fight, who can win respect on the field—such a man may be worth following."
Her words earned approving nods from a few younger nobles. The room fractured: half clinging to the safety of Aedric's established power, half curious about the storm Toru seemed to summon.
The seeds of division had been sown.
---
Far from the glittering hall, in the torchlit barracks, soldiers argued with voices rising into the night.
General Kaelen, scarred by decades of war, slammed his palm against the table.
"A boy cannot transform overnight! Do you truly believe one duel makes him fit to lead?"
Opposite him, Captain Roderick, young, fiery, and loyal to what he had witnessed, shot back.
"I saw his eyes, General. He fought with discipline, not desperation. That was training. That was experience. You cannot fake that."
The room buzzed with disagreement. Younger officers, hungry for change, leaned toward Toru's side. Veterans, wary of upsetting the order of succession, refused to believe.
The army itself was splitting—not yet broken, but cracks had begun to spread.
---
Elsewhere in the palace, within a chamber lit only by candlelight, Queen Elenya spoke to Aedric. Her voice was honey laced with venom.
"My son," she said, brushing her slender fingers across his cheek, "do you see how your father watches him now? Daemon smiles when Toru breathes, yet frowns when you speak. The court is shifting. Your inheritance is slipping."
Aedric's fist tightened on the armrest of his chair. "He is nothing. A weakling who hides behind one victory."
The Queen's lips curved into a chilling smile.
"And yet… it is enough to make fools whisper. If left unchecked, their whispers may become cheers."
"What do you suggest?" Aedric asked, his tone dark.
"Not steel," the Queen said smoothly. "Steel leaves stains, questions. No—if your brother must fall, he must fall with dignity. Let him stumble over his own ambition. Or… let others drag him down."
Aedric's eyes narrowed, cold fire flickering within.
---
Later that night, Toru stood alone in the moonlit gardens, breathing in the silence. The scent of roses lingered, masking the stench of politics still clinging to his skin.
He flexed his hand, still sore from the duel. The scar burned faintly, as if reminding him of the price of victory.
From the shadows emerged Kael, the spy who had sworn loyalty to him. He bowed low, his cloak brushing the ground.
"Your Highness," Kael said, his voice low and rough, "troubling news. Several nobles have already declared themselves firmly in the Crown Prince's camp. More still are waiting to see which way the wind blows."
Toru's eyes narrowed. "And what of those who whisper my name?"
Kael's lips curved faintly. "They whisper with curiosity. Perhaps even hope. But curiosity alone is fragile. It can be bought, or broken."
Toru turned his gaze to the silver moon above, his jaw tightening. The voice of his old instructor from his previous life echoed again:
"Do not wait for the enemy to strike. If they prepare a trap, strike first. And strike deeper."
A calm resolve filled him.
"If they plan to test me," Toru murmured, "then I will test them first. Let us see who truly stands with me—and who waits with a knife."
Kael's eyes gleamed in the shadows. "You sound more like a king than a prince, Your Highness."
Toru did not answer. He simply looked out over the silent garden, knowing the storm had only just begun.
---
Within Dravoryen's palace, factions sharpened their knives behind velvet curtains.
The nobles divided, the generals fractured, the royal family plotted in whispers.
Toru, once mocked as the weak prince, now stood at the center of a storm greater than he could have imagined.
And the storm was not slowing. It was gathering.
For every victory drew new enemies.
And every shadow in Dravoryen was watching.