I — What He Didn't Say
The Vixens had heard the rumors.
They just hadn't heard them from Jax.
When he finally explained what happened, he described it as—
"A small skirmish."
A disagreement.
A political complication.
He spoke calmly about Imperial overreach. About confiscation demands. About potential diplomatic consequences. He mentioned concerns about retaliation from the Empire… and from sympathetic factions like the remnants of the Slave Guild.
He made it sound controlled.
Contained.
Manageable.
It wasn't until Merriweather told the story that the truth began to take shape.
And while the fairy may have added dramatic flair—
Her version was far closer to reality.
"He appeared out of nowhere!" Merriweather insisted, hands flying wildly as she reenacted it. "Like a hero in a legend! And then the dragon—oh, you should have seen the dragon!"
She described Dante's shadow blotting out the sky.
She described the army.
The panic.
The screams.
The shadows.
The slaughter.
The Vixens had gone very still as she spoke.
He faced one hundred soldiers?
Alone?
He summoned the full shadow legion?
Dante too?
Nyxian's eyes widened slowly.
Bunny's ears drooped in stunned disbelief.
Zee pressed a hand over her mouth.
Llandra's expression grew dangerously quiet.
When they confronted him later, Jax only shrugged.
"They attacked first."
That was it.
No embellishment.
No pride.
No recounting of the devastation he had unleashed.
He wasn't hiding the truth.
He just didn't see the need to magnify it.
But the Vixens did.
They saw what he had risked.
They saw what he had revealed.
The town had witnessed his full power for the first time.
And that changed everything.
Not because he was injured.
He wasn't.
Not because he struggled.
He hadn't.
But because he stood alone.
For Brannic.
For Merriweather.
For Solmere.
For them.
Bunny said it first, softly that night:
"You didn't even hesitate."
Jax looked at her, confused.
"They were threatening my people."
That was all the explanation he required.
And somehow—
That made it heavier.
II — The Other Fire
Across town, a different kind of gathering was taking place.
No shadows.
No dragons.
No sword.
Just fear.
A dozen merchants crowded into the back room of a once-prosperous textile shop.
The room used to smell like coin and fine dye.
Now it smelled like worry.
Corvin Voss stood near the front.
Human.
Well dressed.
Sharp jaw.
Eyes that measured profit before morality.
Beside him stood Maelis Thornreach — the half-elf merchant financier whose contracts had once quietly fed the Slave Guild's logistics network.
Her voice cut like silk.
"The flower that blooms brightest," she said calmly, "is the first one clipped."
Several nodded.
"He's brought the Empire's eyes down upon us," one shop owner muttered.
"He's turned Solmere into a target."
Another merchant spoke up, older, rough hands from years in trade.
"This town has never been more profitable."
Murmurs of agreement.
"We're thriving."
"We don't scrape by for tax season anymore."
Corvin's expression hardened.
"And how much do you expect to sell," he asked evenly, "when the Empire returns with three thousand soldiers instead of one hundred?"
Silence.
He stepped forward.
"How will your wives and children fare when they're branded as sympathizers?"
Maelis continued smoothly.
"And how long before his voluntary 'Restoration Fund' becomes mandatory?"
Her voice rose slightly.
"How long before twenty percent becomes fifty?"
"Seventy?"
"Ninety?"
"How long before he decides partnership isn't enough?"
She turned slowly to face them.
"If you possessed that kind of power… would you remain a businessman?"
Or would you crown yourself?"
The words settled heavily.
Because in their hearts—
Some of them knew.
If they had Jax's power…
They might.
Fear is most effective when it sounds reasonable.
And that was what Maelis specialized in.
Not lies.
Possibilities.
Corvin folded his arms.
"Powerful men demand powerful tribute."
"He may call it unity today."
"Tomorrow it may be obedience."
Several merchants began nodding.
The idea was spreading.
The fear was working.
Not fear of the Empire.
Fear of Jax.
Fear of what he might become.
III — Seeds of Doubt
The meeting dissolved slowly.
Voices low.
Uneasy.
Some left convinced.
Others left uncertain.
A few left angry.
But two men lingered.
They exchanged a glance.
Not fear.
Not agreement.
Understanding.
They left together, quietly.
Walked past the market.
Past the training yard.
Past the new paved road.
And stopped at the Aurabelle School for Gifted Students.
They entered through a side door.
Up a short stairwell.
Into a modest office filled with stacked parchment and ink trays.
Behind the desk sat Katherine Virellyn.
Kat.
Orange fur.
Glasses perched low.
Pen already in hand.
She didn't look surprised to see them.
She looked… prepared.
"Well," she said lightly, tail flicking once behind her chair.
"Tell me your version of the meeting."
One of the men closed the door behind him.
She dipped her pen into ink.
"Now tell me exactly what Corvin and Maelis said."
Outside the window, Solmere continued buzzing with trade.
With life.
With growth.
Inside—
The Chronicle was already taking shape.
Not just as a newspaper.
But as a counterweight.
The battle had moved from steel…
To narrative.
And Jax wasn't even in the room.