The declaration of outlaw had given Selene the authority she needed.
By the third night after the plaza incident, the council chambers echoed with the sound of steel.
Soldiers marched in tight formation, shields gleaming, their boots thundering against marble floors. Nobles watched from balconies, pride swelling as Selene addressed them.
"The Monarch thrives on secrecy," she said, her silver hair catching torchlight. "So we strip it from him. Tonight, soldiers will sweep every district. Every alley. Every ruin. And when his shadows rise, they will meet fire and steel."
The nobles applauded. The councilors nodded.
But beneath their cheers was unease. The Monarch had become too real to them now, his legend too heavy. To fight him was to step into his story.
Selene ignored their doubt. She had no patience for weakness. The soldiers were hers now, bound by oath and fear.
Tonight, the hunt began.
From the rooftops above the noble quarter, Kael watched the procession of soldiers. Hundreds, maybe thousands, poured into the streets, torches blazing, banners raised. Their chants echoed: "For Midgar! For order!"
Kael stood silent, his cloak melting into the night. His shadows swirled beneath him, restless.
"They call me outlaw," he murmured. "And so they march."
The Eye of Dusk pulsed violently at his chest, its whispers louder, sharper.
"Break them. Consume them. Let their fear become your throne."
Kael's jaw tightened. The temptation was real. One command, and his legion could turn the streets into rivers of ash. But that was not the path he had chosen.
He would not give Selene her spectacle. He would not become the monster she painted.
Instead, he would make her soldiers doubt her.
The soldiers spread into the slums, torches high, boots trampling mud. Citizens cowered in their hovels, whispering prayers.
"Search every alley!" a captain barked. "Find the shadow!"
Kael was already there, waiting.
From the corner of a narrow street, violet eyes glimmered. His cloak rippled as shadows pooled around him, swallowing the torchlight.
The soldiers froze.
"It's him!" one shouted, blade trembling.
Kael's voice rolled across the slum, calm and resonant. "You march for her. But she burns you as easily as she burns me."
Confusion rippled.
And then shadows erupted—not against the soldiers, but against the ground itself. The earth split open, revealing crimson-marked corpses buried shallowly. Cultists, slain days before in Selene's ritual.
The soldiers staggered back, gasps filling the alley.
"These are your allies," Kael said softly. "Your council hides their corpses. Your Hand burns them in silence. Ask yourselves—who commands you? Me… or her?"
The soldiers faltered. Their captain shouted, "Lies! He twists words!" But his voice wavered.
Kael stepped deeper into the gloom, his form dissolving. "Decide which master you bleed for. Shadows… or fire."
And then he was gone.
Back at the estate, Selene listened as the soldiers returned. Some wounded, others pale, their torches guttered.
"They saw him," a captain whispered. "But he did not strike. He… he showed us bodies. Crimson-marked. Said you—" He stopped, trembling.
Selene's blade lashed out, embedding into the table. The captain flinched.
"Do not repeat his lies," Selene hissed. "The Monarch weaves illusions. Nothing more."
But as the soldiers left, whispers trailed in their wake. Doubt, sharp and spreading.
Selene pressed her hand to her temple, silver eyes narrowing. Kael had not slain them. He had not fought them. He had poisoned them.
And poison was harder to burn than shadow.
High on a spire, Cid chuckled softly, crimson eyes gleaming as he watched Selene's soldiers scatter.
"Oh, Monarch. You don't even need to kill them. You just whisper, and their loyalties bleed."
He smirked.
"You're not fighting an enemy anymore. You're rewriting their story. And that…" He grinned wider. "…that's far deadlier than shadows."