Kalreet perched on a crumbled tower, its claws scraping against the crumbling stone. Its golden eyes flicking between the battlefield and the palace. Below, Tannin’s forces had tightened their grip, systematically dismantling the last remnants of resistance. The gryphon’s gaze lingered on the captured soldiers, its thoughts a storm of conflict—freedom, in some sense at least was close, but the cost weighed heavily.
The battle’s tide had decisively turned. Tannin’s forces, bolstered by their overwhelming strength and the Gryphon Kalreet’s oppressive aura, systematically surrounded the remaining royal loyalists. The neutral Soulweavers—those unaffiliated with either the royal family or the opposing faction—had wisely chosen to surrender, lowering their weapons with trembling hands.
Among the royal forces, desperation turned to despair. Their strongest fighters—a handful of Tier 3 Soulweavers—had fought valiantly, but they were simply outclassed against three Tier 5 Soulweavers and five Tier 4 Soulweavers. Their defiant cries dissolved into silence, leaving no trace of honour or pride. Once traitors to their King and his descendants, they found no forgiveness, only the brutal reckoning they had earned.
Soon, the battlefield fell into an uneasy calm that followed a storm. The disciplined ranks of the soldiers and Soulweavers moved with precision, surrounding the last of the royalists.
All eyes, weary but unyielding, stayed fixed on the palace entrance. The King’s death seemed inevitable, yet none could look away—they needed to witness the end for themselves.
The eerie silence hung heavy, broken only by the sporadic crackling of flames and the groans of the wounded. And then…
Sullivan, wearing the wooden mask, emerged first from the palace’s shadowy interior, his boots crunching against the blood-soaked stone. Dragging the unconscious and bloodied Edward like a rag doll, his presence alone seemed to sap the courage of the already subdued nobles and soldiers.
Behind him strode the masked Tannin, his imposing figure silhouetted by the flickering torchlight. In his right hand, he carried King Leifstein’s severed head, the once-proud ruler’s crown tarnished and askew. With deliberate nonchalance, Tannin flung the head forward, letting it roll and come to rest near the feet of the captured nobles.
Gasps and muffled cries erupted from the prisoners, their faces pale as they stared at the grim visage. Leifstein’s lifeless eyes once filled with fiery ambition, now gazed blankly at the void. His features were pale and drawn, drained of the vitality they had once known.
Tannin’s voice cut through the heavy air, smooth yet laced with menace. “The tides of Amberfell have changed. I suggest you all make the correct decisions in the days to come.”
The nobles’ reactions varied—some crumbled to their knees, openly weeping for their fallen monarch, while others stared defiantly, though their trembling betrayed them. A few exchanged calculating glances, already weighing the cost of resistance against submission.
Tannin’s lips curled into a cold smile as he turned to his subordinates. “Imprison the soldiers. Let them reflect on their loyalty while they rebuild the Royal Palace and the Noble District. Labor will serve them better than pride.”
The soldiers, stripped of their weapons and armour, were herded away. Meanwhile, the nobles and the captured Soulweavers were escorted to a relatively intact castle near the Royal Palace. Tannin walked beside them, accompanied by the High Elders, his aura an oppressive weight that silenced any thought of rebellion.
Amid the tense atmosphere, Kie and Bai Lanhua emerged, dragging a bewildered Kael and a sighing Kaede behind them. “We’re heading to the treasury,” Kie said, her grin sharp. “Someone needs to check the palace’s coffers, and it might as well be us.”
Beside her, Bai Lanhua shrugged. “Better us than someone else.”
Kael sputtered in disbelief, “Wait, what? Why am I involved in this?”
“Because you’re here,” Bai Lanhua said with a shrug, her tone annoyingly calm.
Kaede sighed, resigned. “We may as well go. They’ll complain if we don’t.”
Their carefree behaviour clashed starkly with the sombre scene, drawing surprised glances from nobles, soldiers, and even Tannin’s forces. A faint murmur rippled through the crowd as the trio marched off, leaving tension in their wake.
Tannin and Sullivan had had a wry smile on their faces behind their masks upon hearing their declarations.
Once inside the castle’s great hall, Tannin addressed the captives again. “You have two choices. Work with us and save your families, or pay a ransom so steep it’ll cripple your houses for years. Either way, you’ll pay.” His tone turned razor-sharp as he added, “News travels swiftly. Solara’s forces may soon come knocking and you know they won’t listen to whatever you tell them. All they want is a valid justification for conflict.”
He swept a glance at the nobles present and said slowly. “My priority will be the safety of my people. Consider this carefully before you make your choice.”
The weight of his words hung like a guillotine. Cooperation meant survival; defiance meant destruction.
Then Tannin’s voice dropped into something darker, colder—a serpentine undertone that made even the bravest shiver. “And as for those allied factions who dared to orchestrate such an audacious attack on Amberheart,” he mused, his words deliberately drawn out, “we will reward their betrayal appropriately... with reminders of the cost of underestimating us.”
A cold smile spread behind his mask as his gaze lingered on the nobles. “I trust you understand how grave a mistake they’ve made.”
The room fell into suffocating silence. The nobles stiffened, their faces pale but carefully neutral, each afraid to betray their thoughts. They all knew Tannin’s people were behind the attack he condemned, but none dared to challenge him openly. Whispers of fear and grudging admiration rippled through the captives, some already calculating how to feign loyalty while others sank into quiet resignation.
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Tannin’s gaze pierced through the tension, his eyes gleaming with cunning as he turned away, leaving the nobles to stew in their dread and schemes.
As the High Elders began to organize the captives, Sullivan scanned the courtyard, his gaze sharp. Victory felt hollow amidst the stench of blood and smoke, but it was necessary. Always necessary.
Next, his sharp voice rang out in the courtyard. "Inka, Indral, Nashia!"
The three figures appeared, their postures rigid under Sullivan’s stern gaze. “Take your directions. Sweep the Noble District. Ensure no rats slip through our perimeter. Any remnant royal forces near the gates must surrender—or be eliminated.” He paused, his piercing eyes narrowing and staring at Nashia and Inka. “And I mean surrender. No unnecessary slaughter. Do your jobs properly.”
Indral formally saluted him while Nashia and Inka nodded, visibly uneasy under Sullivan’s intense scrutiny. They dispersed swiftly, vanishing into the shadows, though Sullivan’s warning lingered in the air like a brand.
Satisfied, Sullivan turned on his heel, heading in a separate direction to personally oversee the operation.
☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂
The Lonestar Manor loomed in the distance, its stately facade illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had engulfed Amberfell, and the group was grateful for the reprieve, even if some concealed their relief better than others.
Kie and Bai Lanhua were the first to express their approval. The Royal Palace, though grand, was now a smouldering ruin reeking of blood and ash—a miserable place to rest. By comparison, the quiet and pristine Lonestar Manor seemed almost luxurious.
Kaede and Kael, who were used to the manor’s comforts, barely reacted, while Indral grinned as if anticipating some adventure. Inka and Nashia, on the other hand, remained indifferent. Their Tier 5 Soulweaver physiques made them resilient to discomfort; beds or roads made little difference.
Tannin, however, seemed hesitant. He paused in thought before giving a curt nod, agreeing to join the group.
When they reached the manor, the flickering lanterns on the verandas welcomed them, but the atmosphere shifted as two figures hurriedly stepped out to greet them. Aisha and Minerva, the Lonestar Manor’s maids, looked pale and flustered, their usually composed demeanour replaced with visible anxiety.
“Lord Sullivan!” Aisha blurted, her voice trembling. “Master Silas—he left the manor some time ago. He ran toward the fires, and he hasn’t returned yet.”
The air seemed to grow heavier as the words sank in.
Sullivan’s jaw tightened as he processed Aisha’s words. The faint hum of crickets outside contrasted sharply with the dread now creeping into the room.
A tense silence followed before Kaede’s fiery gaze snapped to Sullivan.
“Sullivan, what did you do this time?” Kaede’s voice trembled, her anger barely masking her worry.
“No, Kaede. For once, I didn’t,” Sullivan snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin.
Kaede didn’t back down, her voice rising. “Then where is he? You’ve always had your own plans for him.You swore to me, Sullivan! After everything that’s happened to him—everything you’ve put him through—you swore he’d be safe.”
Before Sullivan could retort, Kie stepped forward, raising a hand in a calming gesture. “Kaede, enough,” he said softly but firmly. His eyes, however, held a pointed question as they flicked to Sullivan.
“I left Lian Chen to look after Silas and his friends,” Sullivan said, his voice steady but edged with frustration. “He should’ve been with them.”
At the mention of Lian Chen, the group’s attention shifted. All eyes fell on Tannin, the man Lian Chen owed unwavering loyalty to.
Tannin exhaled slowly, his golden eyes narrowing as he met their stares. “I’ve sent Silas somewhere else,” he said evenly, though his tone carried a weight of finality. “It should help with his growth.”
Kaede’s eyes widened in shock. “Lord Tannin, why—” she began, but her words were drowned out by Sullivan’s sudden outburst.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Sullivan snapped, stepping closer to Tannin, his voice echoing through the entryway. “Where the hell did you send him?”
Tannin didn’t flinch under Sullivan’s glare, though a flicker of irritation crossed his face. “...To Kazehara. He can become stronger there, away from the chaos here,” he replied, his voice calm but firm.
Sullivan’s hand flexed at his side, as if resisting the urge to grab Tannin by the collar. “Stronger?” He growled. “You don’t get to decide that for him! He’s not some pawn you can just move around—”
“A pawn? Is that what you think I see him as?” The voice was sharp, laced with frustration.
“What Silas needs is desperation—the kind that fuels growth—and the means to rise above it. I’ve given him the first, and Kazehara will provide the second. All that with a modicum of safety. So tell me, what exactly is wrong with that?”
“He’s marked, damn it!” came the retort, heated and urgent. “That crest on his forehead might as well be a beacon! What happens when someone recognizes it? When word reaches the Raet? Have you thought that far ahead?”
A heavy pause filled the air before the reply came, quieter but no less intense. “All I know is that Silas deserves a chance to break free of his fate. Salvia couldn’t. Look what that cursed bloodline did to her! And now you’re telling me to do nothing? To leave him shackled to a destiny he didn’t choose?”
The voice grew fiercer, every word laced with challenge. “Can you, of all people, stand there and say he doesn’t deserve the chance to shape his own life? Or would you rather send him to Norrgard, straight to your so-called allies, to fulfil their precious prophecy? Is that what you want for him, Sullivan? To trade one chain for another?”
The tension between the two was palpable, and for a moment, it seemed like the conflict would escalate further. Still wide-eyed, Kaede took a step forward, her voice trembling with resentment and concern. “Lord Tannin, whatever your reasons, you should’ve told us! This isn’t something you can just decide alone!”
Tannin’s expression softened slightly, but he did not waver. “He’ll be safe,” he said, his tone resolute. “And when he returns, he’ll be stronger than before.”
The cryptic response only deepened the group’s unease, but Tannin offered no further explanation. Sullivan’s fists clenched, his frustration simmering beneath the surface, while Kaede glared at Tannin with a mix of resentment and disbelief.
The tension lingered as the group reluctantly moved inside the manor. The warmth and grandeur of the Lonestar Manor did little to ease their unease as questions about Silas’s whereabouts hung unanswered in the air.
As the group stepped into the warm glow of the manor, the questions left behind felt like shadows clinging to their heels. Sullivan paused at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the moonlit horizon. 'Where are you, Silas?' he thought, his fists tightening.