It had known unrest. It had known rebellion. It had known whispers of dissent quickly crushed beneath law and ritual. But fear—the kind that crept into the bones of stone and made banners feel like lies—had never touched it.
Until that night.
The bells rang late.
Not the ceremonial chimes that marked prayers or council hours, but the old alarms—unused for generations. Their sound tore through the city, uneven and panicked, echoing from tower to tower.
Lucien stood at the highest spire overlooking Lumiére.
The city stretched beneath him, lights flickering like a nervous heartbeat. His red hair caught the moonlight openly now. There was no hiding left.
"This is the point of no return," Adrien said beside him.
Lucien nodded. "Good."
Below them, Lumiére's defenses activated. Glyph-barriers rose along districts. Elite enforcers poured into the streets. Command signals raced through the city's spine.
And then—
They failed.
Ombre moved first.
Shadows detached themselves from walls and streets, slipping into command centers, armories, signal towers. Messages became distorted. Orders contradicted themselves. Officers turned on each other, convinced betrayal was everywhere.
Malrick followed.
Not with explosions. Not with chaos.
With precision.
Suppression glyphs were inverted. Control runes rewritten. Defensive systems recalibrated to recognize new authority signatures. Lumiére's greatest strength—its order—was dissected and repurposed in real time.
"They built this city like a machine," Malrick said calmly through the comm-link. "Machines obey better masters."
Adrien descended into the streets.
Wherever resistance formed, it broke.
Not slaughtered—**overwhelmed**.
His presence alone shattered morale. Elite enforcers found their strength failing, their bodies refusing commands. Walls cracked under his steps. Weapons shattered on impact. He did not chase. He advanced.
Lucien moved last.
Straight toward the palace.
Guards lined the great steps, trembling. Some recognized him instantly. Others only felt the weight of something ancient pressing down on them.
"Stand aside," Lucien said.
Many did.
Those who didn't were rendered unconscious—collapsed under the pressure of his will alone. Kharos' blessing flowed through him now, not as rage, but as **authority**.
Inside the palace, Queen Bella de Vraille stood before the council chamber, crown still upon her head.
She had felt it hours ago.
The city rejecting its masters.
"They're here," an advisor whispered.
Bella closed her eyes once.
"So history repeats," she said quietly.
The doors shattered inward.
Lucien stepped through.
Brother and sister faced each other across the hall, separated by ten years of lies, silence, and blood.
Bella did not draw a weapon.
Neither did Lucien.
"It was always you," she said. "The city feared you before it knew your name."
Lucien met her gaze. "And you ruled it anyway."
Around them, Lumiére burned—not in flame, but in collapse. Authority structures falling. Control unraveling.
Above the city, the sky darkened unnaturally.
Something vast stirred beyond the veil.
Far away, in the highest sanctum of Valderia, **Lordess Lumara opened her eyes**.
"Kharos," she whispered.
The war had begun.
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