Selene Varadis did not sleep.
For three nights she paced the marble halls of the Vellor estate, silver hair loose, crimson blade always at her side. She could feel the tide shifting. The people whispered the Monarch's name not with dread, but with awe. He had twisted her proclamation into fuel, his shadows painted as saviors of the weak.
It enraged her. Not because he was winning—but because he was clever.
So Selene changed the game.
If he wished to play the protector, then she would flood the city with prey.
It began quietly.
A tavern in the merchant quarter set aflame, its patrons locked inside.A caravan ambushed outside the walls, bodies strung up in grotesque display.Children snatched from the slums, their families left begging in the streets.
Every act carried a message, scrawled in crude strokes of violet: The Monarch is watching.
Kael's spies returned to him with ash in their hands and fury in their whispers.
"She burns, Sovereign. She kills in your name. She makes monsters wear your shadow."
Kael stood silent in his cathedral, violet eyes glowing faintly. His cloak stirred with the restless movements of his legion.
Selene was clever. She forced him into a dilemma—stay hidden and let the people believe her lies, or reveal himself to save them.
Kael's lips curved faintly. Then I will do both.
Two nights later, Selene struck again.
A crowd of fifty citizens—merchants, mothers, children—were dragged into the central plaza, bound in chains. Crimson-marked cultists surrounded them, torches high, blades gleaming.
At their head stood a cloaked figure, his mask painted in crude violet. He raised his voice for all to hear.
"In the Monarch's name, we demand sacrifice!"
The crowd screamed.
On the rooftops, hidden in the dark, Kael watched. His shadows seethed, their whispers rising in fury.
He raised a hand, silencing them. His violet gaze fixed on the false Monarch. So this is how you bait me, Selene. By putting a mask on a pawn.
His lips curved. Then let us rip it off.
The torches dimmed.
Shadows poured into the plaza, swallowing the cobblestones, crawling up the cultists' legs. Screams rang out as violet fire ignited in the dark.
The false Monarch staggered back, his mask cracking under the pressure.
And then Kael stepped from the shadows.
The crowd gasped as he emerged—tall, cloaked, violet eyes burning beneath his hood.
His voice resonated, calm, steady, cutting through the chaos.
"The Monarch does not burn children. He burns corruption."
He raised his hand. Shadows lashed out, dragging cultists screaming into the dark. Their torches guttered and died, leaving only violet flame.
The false Monarch tried to flee. Kael's tendrils seized him, tearing the mask from his face.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
It was a noble's son, his skin etched with fresh crimson runes, fear dripping from his eyes.
Kael's gaze narrowed. A pawn Selene sacrificed.
The boy screamed. "She—she made me! Lady Varadis—she—"
A crimson arc severed his words. The boy's body fell in two, cut cleanly by a blade hurled from the rooftops.
Kael's head lifted sharply. His violet gaze locked on silver hair glimmering in the distance.
Selene stood atop a tower, her blade dripping crimson, her eyes burning with cold fury.
For a heartbeat, the city held its breath.
Kael stood in the plaza, his shadows protecting the innocent. Selene watched from above, her blade gleaming like fire. Their eyes met across the distance, predator to predator, sovereign to sovereign.
Kael's voice carried upward, calm and unshaken.
"You think to bait me. But every mask you shatter feeds my legend."
Selene's lips curved faintly. "And every time you appear, Sovereign, you step closer into my noose."
Then she vanished into the night, her cloak trailing like smoke.
The crowd stared at Kael in silence. Some wept, clutching children saved from chains. Others whispered his name with reverence.
Kael turned, cloak drifting.
"Remember," he said softly, "the shadows guard those who cannot guard themselves."
Then he melted back into the night.
The people would remember. Not Selene's lies. Not her fire. But the night the Monarch stood in the plaza and chose protection over fear.
High above, crimson eyes gleamed.
Cid smirked, resting his chin on his fist. "You just can't help yourself, can you? Saving children, defying her in public, making the crowd whisper your name."
His grin widened.
"You're not just a Monarch. You're a myth in the making. And myths…" He chuckled softly. "…are my favorite rivals."