The palace gates slammed shut.
The sound wasn't just iron hitting stone; it was the heavy thud of a coffin lid sealing them all inside a grave. Even with the doors closed, the air was thick, oily, and suffocating saturated with Castel's lingering telekinesis. It felt like the King's hand was still wrapped around their throats, a phantom pressure that refused to let go.
For a long minute, no one moved. Then, the dam broke.
"This is your doing," Rell spat, his voice a jagged edge in the silence. He leveled a finger at Cion, then at his own wife, the Seer. "Both of you. You led us into this."
The Seer didn't answer. She only dug her fingernails into her silk sleeves until they drew blood.
Cion, however, merely tilted his head. "No one is doomed, Rell. Don't be so dramatic."
The wind screamed across the bridge, answering his arrogance. Aideon didn't bother with a verbal retort. He didn't even look at Cion before his hand snapped upward.
The air obeyed with a violent roar. Stone and sand tore from the mountain path, spiraling into a localized vortex that swallowed Cion whole. It lifted the man clean off his feet and hurled him across the entrance like a bag of wet laundry.
CRACK.
Cion's body hit the palace wall with a sickening resonance. Stone fractured. Dust rained down. He slid to the ground face first, a heap of gold and black silk in the dirt.
Silence returned, heavier than the storm. Krince approached slowly, his heavy boots grinding over broken rock. He looked down at Cion with nothing but cold, open disgust.
"Now," Krince whispered, "we'll see if the shadow-weaver knows how to beg like a dog."
He turned to walk away, but a sound stopped him.
Laughter.
It started low a wet, bubbling sound before climbing into something louder. Broken. Unhinged. Cion pushed himself upright, his coat draped in shadows that crawled across the fabric like living insects. He brushed rubble from his sleeve with the casual grace of a man who hadn't just had his ribs turned to splinters.
"You planned this," the Seer whispered, her voice trembling.
The council shifted. Cion shrugged, his grin widening to show blood-stained teeth. "What if I did?"
The Seer's magic flickered involuntarily. Visions jagged and violent flashed behind her eyes: Bodies piled like cordwood at the gates. Fire coiling around a crowned silhouette. Her own mouth open in a scream that made no sound.
"This affects all of us," she said, her voice finally breaking. "I saw us dead. All of us. And her the girl standing at the center of the ash."
At the mention of Arastella, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't just magic; it was attention. Something deep inside the palace seemed to stir in response to her name.
Cion's eyes darkened until the pupils vanished into the void. "That's what you see now. What I see... is the King's weakness."
Silence dropped like a blade.
"She has him," Cion continued, stepping into their space. "Castel would burn the world to the ground just to keep her. He's distracted. He's vulnerable."
Krince spun on him, his hand hovering over his blade. "You did all of this just to test that? You risked the seal for a theory?"
"The white dragons were here long before us," Cion said, ignoring the threat. "We stole their land. They let us. But peace... peace is a slow rot. It bored me."
Rell's breath hitched. "You started the war. The border raids, the slaughtered villages... that was you."
"Yes." No shame. No hesitation.
"Thousands died because you were bored?" The Seer recoiled as if he were the monster from her visions.
"Evolution requires sacrifice," Cion replied. He looked at Krince with a chilling lack of empathy. "You used shadows. I used my wife. I used my child. We all play our parts."
"Bingo."
The word echoed off the mountain. Cion looked toward the palace, where the stone seemed to pulse once a rhythmic, heavy heartbeat.
"The white dragons kept trying to fix the past," Cion murmured. "Exhausting work, trying to stitch together a shroud that's already torn. I'm done with the past."
"What is your goal, Cion?" Aideon asked, his voice dead.
"I don't have one."
That answer was worse than a confession. It meant there was no logic to appeal to.
"Then why tell us?"
Cion's gaze drifted back to the gates. "Because a new era is beginning. A bridge is being built out of the King's ribs, and Castel hasn't even noticed the saw."
Rell wiped a hand across his face, his eyes hardening. "We have a wedding to plan. If the King wants his Queen, we give him the ceremony. It's the only way to get close enough."
"No the fuck you don't," Krince snapped. "We aren't handing her over."
Aideon laughed, a bitter, jagged sound. "Are we ignoring the fact that Cion is planning to pit the King against his own bride? He's playing both sides of the board."
Rell's eyes went cold. "We're not ignoring it. We're using it."
The Seer's voice dropped, quiet and final. "The King must fall. If the girl is the weapon, then we sharpen her."
Aideon gestured toward Cion. "Look who raised him. You think he'll stop at Castel?"
Cion sighed theatrically. "I'm standing right here, you know. My feelings are practically bruised."
"You were a terrible father," Aideon said coldly.
Krince stepped up to Cion, his face inches from the other man's. "Join us in the shadows. Or die in the light. Choose."
Aideon shook his head. "And when he gets bored of us?"
Rell met his eyes. "Ask yourself this, Aideon: Who would you rather have kill you? Castel... or him?"
Cion gave a small, mocking bow. "Flattered. Truly."
One by one, the council turned away. Krince disappeared into the treeline first, followed by the Seer and Rell. Aideon was the last to leave, his gaze lingering on the palace with a mixture of dread and hunger.
Cion remained alone on the bridge.
The shadows at his feet began to dance, stretching toward the palace walls like reaching fingers.
"My daughter and I," he murmured to the empty air, "will be so very helpful to the future Queen."
He turned his back on the valley, his eyes fixed on the window where he knew a girl was currently wearing a golden weight on her wrist.
"And when the King falls..." His smile deepened, sharp enough to draw blood. "...he will never know which one of us pushed him."
Inside the palace, the first stone of the old world crumbled.
The game had already begun.