The sun dipped slow and red behind the western hills.
Inside the ruined watchtower, tension coiled tighter with every inch of fading light.
Thorne stood at the broken window, watching the road below. Garrick sat near the stairwell, silent as carved stone. Mirael moved from one to the other with restless energy, as if checking wounds no one admitted to having.
Adrian remained where Cassian had left him.
Seraphine approached quietly.
"You already chose," she said.
"Yes."
"Then why does it still hurt?"
He gave a faint, humorless smile. "Because I hoped he would choose differently."
Seraphine studied him for a long moment.
"Hope is not weakness," she said. "But it can be used against you."
He looked at her.
"That sounded practiced."
"It is."
Outside, a distant horn sounded.
Not from the village.
From the road.
Thorne stiffened. "Riders."
Garrick rose at once.
Adrian stepped to the window.
A line of mounted soldiers crested the hill—crimson cloaks catching the last light. More than before. Organized. Prepared.
At their head rode Cassian.
He did not wear armor.
He did not need to.
Adrian felt the final thread snap.
"He gave you until sundown," Mirael whispered.
"And here we are," Thorne muttered.
The riders spread, surrounding the tower at a distance—out of arrow range. Methodical. No rush. No panic.
A single rider advanced halfway and raised a torch.
Cassian's voice carried clearly.
"Adrian Voss! By decree of His Majesty, surrender and you will be granted audience. Resist, and you will be purged."
Purged.
Not arrested.
Not judged.
Purged.
Adrian descended the stairs slowly and stepped outside the tower doors before Garrick could stop him.
"Adrian—" Garrick warned.
"I need to see him."
Thorne followed anyway.
Cassian watched his brother approach, face unreadable in the dying light.
"You chose," Cassian said.
"So did you."
Cassian inclined his head slightly. "I serve the realm."
"You serve something," Adrian replied.
A flicker again—quick, contained.
"Do not force this," Cassian said quietly. "You cannot win."
"Is that what he told you?"
Cassian's jaw tightened. "His Majesty understands the cost of disorder."
"And you believe he is… what? Divinely guided?"
Cassian's gaze sharpened.
"I believe he sees further than we do."
Yes.
He does.
Adrian stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You've seen his eyes."
Cassian did not answer.
"You've heard his voice change."
Silence.
"You advise him," Adrian pressed. "You stand beside him in private counsel. Tell me you've never felt it."
For a moment—just a moment—uncertainty crossed Cassian's face.
Then it was gone.
"Power feels different," Cassian said evenly. "That does not make it evil."
Behind him, soldiers shifted, uneasy.
Adrian exhaled slowly.
"He's building something," Adrian said. "Not just crushing dissent. Building."
Cassian's eyes flickered—not confusion, but calculation.
"Good," he said.
The word struck like a blade.
"You don't even question it," Adrian said.
Cassian leaned closer.
"You always thought too small, Adrian. You saw injustice and wanted reform. He sees instability and creates structure. You want a better king."
A faint smile touched Cassian's lips.
"He wants a better world."
The sun slipped below the horizon.
Torches flared to life around the hill.
And somewhere deep in the palace, golden eyes brightened.
Lucifer did not watch with fury.
He watched with interest.
Convince him, he thought mildly. Or break him. Either serves.
Back on the hill, Adrian stepped back.
"You're wrong," he said quietly.
Cassian's patience thinned.
"I am offering you survival."
"You're offering me surrender."
"Call it what you like."
Behind Adrian, Seraphine emerged from the tower doorway. Her presence shifted the air subtly, shadows stretching a fraction too long.
Cassian's gaze landed on her.
Recognition.
"So," he said softly. "This is the witch."
Seraphine met his stare evenly.
"And you are the ambitious brother."
A faint ripple of tension passed through the soldiers.
Cassian's expression cooled.
"Seize them."
The command rang sharp.
The soldiers advanced.
Thorne moved instantly—Ignis flaring beneath his skin in controlled lines of red light. The first two soldiers who rushed forward were thrown back by a burst of concussive heat that cracked the earth at their feet.
Archers raised bows.
"Down!" Garrick shouted.
Arrows flew.
Stone erupted upward as Garrick drove his spear into the ground. A ridge of earth rose like a shield, splintering shafts mid-flight.
Mirael's hands lifted instinctively, and wind whipped sideways in a sudden, violent gust—just enough to throw the next volley wide.
Chaos—but contained.
Disciplined.
The soldiers did not break ranks.
They pressed.
Adrian parried a strike from a captain and felt the difference immediately. These were not frightened village guards.
They were chosen.
Prepared.
Cassian remained mounted, watching.
Not participating.
Measuring.
Seraphine stepped forward.
"Adrian," she said quietly.
He felt it before he saw it.
The shadows lengthened unnaturally across the hillside, swallowing torchlight at the edges. Not illusions this time—no towering specters.
Just absence.
Darkness thick enough to disorient.
The soldiers faltered, formation fraying.
Cassian's horse reared slightly but did not bolt.
Cassian did not look afraid.
He looked… intrigued.
"Interesting," he murmured.
In the palace tower, Lucifer smiled faintly.
Yes, he thought. Show him.
On the hill, Thorne drove forward, carving space with disciplined bursts of heat—never wild flame, never uncontrolled blaze.
Garrick advanced step by steady step, earth answering him like an old friend.
They were not rabid cultists.
They were coordinated.
Purposeful.
Adrian saw it clearly now—this was not rebellion born of chaos.
It was resistance born of survival.
"Fall back!" Garrick called. "Toward the ridge!"
They moved as one, breaking through the weakest point in the encirclement. Not slaughtering—disabling, scattering, retreating with intention.
Cassian did not order pursuit immediately.
He watched as Adrian reached the crest of the ridge and turned back one last time.
Their eyes met across the dark.
"You're making a mistake," Cassian called.
"No," Adrian answered.
"You are."
Then he vanished over the ridge into gathering night.
Cassian sat in silence for several long breaths.
A captain approached cautiously. "My lord, shall we pursue?"
Cassian's gaze remained fixed on the dark horizon.
"Yes," he said at last.
"But not to catch him."
The captain hesitated. "Then to—?"
Cassian's expression hardened.
"To drive him."
Behind his calm exterior, doubt coiled faintly—but ambition pressed heavier.
And in the palace, golden eyes gleamed with approval.
The game was widening.
Exactly as intended.