The servants moved like ghosts through the great hall, sweeping up the shattered crystal in total silence. The nobles blinked, their vision slowly returning, hands trembling as they pressed fingers to their aching temples. The music was dead. The dancers were frozen.
Then, a single pair of hands began to clap. Then another.
Soon, the hall echoed with thunderous applause. The nobles clapped not because they understood what had just happened, but because they understood power. Soren had blinded them all, held them at his mercy, and then restored their sight as casually as pouring a cup of tea. It wasn't a party trick. It was a warning.
Duke Somer's smile stretched so wide his face looked as though it might tear. His son had just proven, in front of the most dangerous predators in the west, that the blood of the sun still burned white-hot.
Beside Elara, Soren stood perfectly still. His golden eyes were calm, his smile warm and perfectly measured. He looked like a relaxed young lord enjoying the admiration of his peers. But beneath the silk of his coat, his muscles were coiled tight. His jaw ached from holding the smile. His mind was running a thousand calculations a second, praying the fake servant had escaped safely.
Somer raised his heavy hands, demanding silence. "My dear friends! I am overjoyed you are all here to witness this." He gestured lazily at the broken glass on the marble floor. "It seems my son's light has claimed your drinking glasses. So, let us pause the dancing. Let us feast!"
The crowd murmured, still stealing fearful, reverent glances at Soren as servants guided them toward the grand dining hall where long tables groaned beneath mountains of food.
Somer turned to Soren and Elara, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Your Highness. Soren. Please, come with me to the family solar. Those dirt-blooded nobles do not deserve to breathe the same air as you while you eat."
Elara offered a practiced, flawless smile. "You are too generous, Lord Somer."
They followed the Duke down a quiet, velvet-lined corridor and into a private, heavy-oak chamber. The walls were lined with the mounted heads of Somer's hunting trophies—a massive grizzly bear, a snow leopard, a dire wolf with yellow glass eyes that seemed to stare directly at Soren.
In the center of the room sat a circular table made of solid gold. It was overflowing. Steam rose from silver platters of saffron rice, roasted root vegetables, and whole birds glazed in dark honey. Crystal decanters sweated with chilled, ruby-red wine.
The three of them sat. Servants silently poured the wine and melted back into the shadows.
Somer grabbed a heavy silver knife and gestured toward a massive platter of meat in the center.
"Your Highness, you must try the kebab," Somer insisted, already carving a huge portion for himself. "It is a specialty of our lands. The meat of spring lambs, marinated for two days in rich oils, garlic, and mountain spices, then slow-roasted over smokeless coal. It is not like that watery, flavorless rice they serve in the capital. This is heavy. It coats the stomach. Taste it."
Elara delicately lifted a small, spiced piece to her lips. She chewed slowly, her dark eyes widening just a fraction. "Lord Somer, this is exquisite. The spices are incredibly rich."
Somer let out a booming laugh, tearing into his own meat with greasy fingers. "And this!" He pointed the knife at a plate of dark, cured strips. "The finest oryx jerky, imported straight from the Red Tiger Emperor's personal hunting grounds. I always say—eat more than your stomach can hold! Drink until the cup breaks! Life is too short for small portions."
Elara laughed, a light, musical sound that hid the venom in her throat. "My lord, you spoil me. It is truly a feast." She tilted her head, a playful, mocking glint in her sharp eyes. "No wonder you look so... well-fed."
Somer's ego was too large to catch the insult. He simply puffed out his chest. "I take that as the highest compliment, Your Highness."
They ate. Somer devoured his food like a starving bear. Elara picked at hers with aristocratic grace, her eyes constantly analyzing the Duke.
Soren sat silently. He pushed the saffron rice around his gold plate, his stomach tied in agonizing knots. The smell of the rich meat and heavy spices made him want to be sick. He was running on pure, exhausted adrenaline. Every breath he took felt calculated. Every blink was a performance. To sit here and watch his father gorge himself while acting like the perfect, obedient son felt like slowly drowning.
After what felt like an eternity, Somer pushed his ruined plate away, wiping grease from his beard with a silk cloth. Soren and Elara had stopped eating long ago.
Elara reached into the folds of her black cloak. She pulled out a thick parchment folded and sealed with the black wax stamp of the Dragon.
Without a word, she slid it across the gold table to Soren.
"Read it," she commanded quietly.
Soren picked it up. He broke the wax seal, his golden eyes scanning the harsh, sharp handwriting.
Duke Somer dropped his napkin, his eyes darting between them. "What is that? A royal decree?"
Soren kept his face perfectly blank. He read aloud, his voice steady and cold:
"To the Emperor of Emperors, Punishment of the Gods, Emperor Temojer. My son, Tarek Ashen, Mind of the Dragon, is dead. The Snow Emperor's involvement in the wild lands is not yet confirmed. For now, the Empire operates without a Mind. Therefore, I command you, Duke Somer of the Sun Family, to send your son to the capital immediately. I will see if he possesses the teeth to become the new Mind of the Dragon."
The room fell dead silent.
Somer's face froze. For a second, Soren thought his father might actually realize it was a death sentence. But then, Somer pushed his heavy chair back and stood up. He walked to the heavy oak doors, threw them open, and snapped at the servants waiting outside.
"Clear the table! We are finished here!"
He turned back to Elara. His face was no longer that of a gluttonous host; it was the face of a man blinded by absolute ambition.
"Your Highness," Somer breathed, his voice trembling with greed. "This is the greatest honor my family has ever received. To serve as the Mind of the Dragon... I will have Soren packed and on a carriage to the capital before dawn."
He snatched the letter from Soren's fingers, treating the paper like a holy relic, and tucked it into his purple robes.
"I am going to read this to every lord in that hall," Somer laughed, a manic, hungry sound. "Let them see how high the Sun Family rises tonight!"
He strode out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
Elara turned slowly to Soren. The playful mask was gone.
"Well," she said softly. "I am sure you have just bought yourself a world of bloody problems."
Soren leaned back in his chair, closing his burning golden eyes. "I am always living in a problem, Princess. What is one more?"
Elara stood up, brushing a stray crumb from her immaculate black dress. "Your father is more of a snake than mine. He didn't even hesitate to feed you to the Emperor." She walked to the door, pausing at the threshold. "Be careful, Soren. The capital eats brilliant boys like you for breakfast."
She disappeared down the hall.
Soren sat entirely alone in the silent room, surrounded by the glass eyes of dead animals.
Slowly, heavily, he forced himself to stand. He walked out of the room and into the corridor. A servant bowed low as he passed; Soren gave him a warm, kind smile. A group of young noblemen raised their wine glasses from a balcony; Soren flashed them a brilliant, confident grin.
He smiled at the guards. He smiled at the maids. He smiled until his facial muscles screamed, until his skin felt like it didn't belong to him.
Finally, he slipped down a dark, narrow servant's corridor, found a heavy wooden door at the very end, stepped inside, and threw the iron lock.
The room was tiny, cold, and bare. There was only a single, dusty mirror on the wall, a wooden chair, and an empty stone hearth. No windows. No one watching.
Soren walked to the mirror and stared at his reflection.
The Golden Boy looked back at him. The perfect spun-gold hair. The striking eyes. The flawless face.
But as he stared, the smile finally cracked. It didn't just fade; it shattered. His shoulders slumped, the arrogant posture evaporating. His eyes went dull, hollow, and impossibly tired. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against the cold glass of the mirror, closing his eyes.
He couldn't breathe. The weight of the lies, the constant acting, the fact that his own father had just happily sold him to the deadliest man in the world—it all crushed down on his chest.
He slid down the wall until he hit the cold stone floor, pulling his knees up, his head bowed in the absolute dark.
The shadows in the corner of the room shifted.
Nora stepped silently from the blackness, her sharp eyes taking in the broken posture of her master. She didn't speak immediately. She just stood there, a quiet, solid anchor in his spinning world.
"My lord," she murmured, her voice barely louder than the draft under the door. "I am here to report."
Soren didn't lift his head. "Tell me."
"The slaver, Khmer, is dead. The city watch believes it was a sudden heart failure from overeating. There is no suspicion."
Soren nodded once, a tiny movement.
"The boy you pulled from the cage is safe. He is resting in the safehouse. He will begin his training soon."
Another slight nod.
"The noble you manipulated in the market—his body was just found in the woods. He and his two guards were slaughtered by the pit-fighter. The fighter bled out from his own wounds shortly after. There is no one left alive to tell the story."
Soren finally raised his head. He looked at Nora. The mask was completely gone now. There was no Golden Boy, no master strategist. Just a deeply exhausted young man who found no joy in his own dark brilliance.
"Everything went perfectly, my lord," Nora finished quietly.
Soren stared at her, his voice flat and scraped hollow.
"Thank you, Nora," he whispered. "If you were not here to see me like this... I do not know what kind of monster I would become."
Nora offered a smile—a tiny, rare, almost invisible thing. She said nothing. She didn't need to.
She took a step backward, melting seamlessly back into the shadows, leaving him alone in the dark to rest before he had to put the golden mask back on.