The sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon, and a heavy silence settled over the palace of Aropia.
Inside the grand, stately office, Ren Canahy sat at his desk, the soft glow of oil lamps casting shadows against the intricately carved wood paneling. The dark marble floors reflected the golden light from the ornate chandeliers overhead, their crystal facets sparkling faintly like distant stars.
The tall windows, framed with rich velvet drapes, looked out over the sprawling city of Aropia, where the evening lights flickered like fireflies in the distance, a city both ancient and newly born under Ren’s reign.
Ren’s fingers drummed absently on the polished surface of his desk as he surveyed the papers spread before him.
His mind, usually sharp and calculating, was momentarily adrift—distracted by the weight of his thoughts. His eyes moved to the letter in his hand, still sealed, and his face remained unreadable.
The door to his office creaked open, and one of his aides stepped in, bowing low before approaching. “Your Majesty,” the man said, his voice urgent yet respectful. “News has arrived from the front.”
Ren’s gaze flickered up, his interest piqued. “Speak,” he ordered.
The aide handed him a neatly folded scroll, sealed with the royal insignia.
Ren broke the seal with a quick flick of his wrist, unfurling the parchment. He scanned the contents quickly, his expression shifting to one of grim satisfaction. His eyes narrowed as he read the final line aloud.
“Prince Crimson fled to the Grand Alliance after the defeat.” Ren’s voice was steady, but there was a quiet satisfaction in it, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
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The news was a victory—one that resonated deep in Ren’s bones.
But there was more.
Another aide entered, this time with two additional letters. She presented them to Ren with both hands, bowing as she did so. The letters were simple, formal, but Ren could already sense the significance of their contents. He opened the first one, his sharp eyes scanning the lines of carefully written text.
“Magron…” Ren muttered under his breath as he read. His lips curled into a wry smile. “Intercepted Lucius Antony’s vessel. Sunk it.”
He leaned back in his chair, the faintest of chuckles escaping him.
The thought of Antony’s demise was almost poetic—especially when Ren had never given the direct order. It was Magron’s brand of loyalty, unflinching and direct, cutting through red tape to deliver results.
Though Ren hadn’t wanted Antony dead yet, the timing worked out. He couldn’t complain about the outcome.
As his thoughts lingered on that, the second letter caught his eye. He opened it, scanning the words written in elegant, flowing script.
His eyes darkened slightly as he read the Grand Alliance’s message: ‘Seeking peace talks.’
Ren’s fingers tightened around the letter, the smooth paper crinkling in his grip. His eyes flickered towards the large map of Pangea on the wall opposite him—its colors vivid, the borders sharp and defined.
The Grand Alliance wanted peace, peace between Aropia and Drakonia? Ren had played the long game, and now they sought to extend an olive branch, knowing full well the balance of power had shifted. They knew Aropia was no longer weak.
The air in the room seemed to thicken, the weight of this new development pressing down on him. He rose from his desk and walked to the windows, looking out over the city below, the shimmering lights reflecting in his eyes.
The palace, for all its grandeur, felt too small for him tonight.
The Grand Alliance’s offer, Lucius Antony’s death, Magron’s ruthless efficiency—it wasn’t all part of the web he had woven, some of it was just luck.
With slow deliberation, Ren moved back to his desk, setting the letters in a neat pile. He picked up his pen, his hand steady as he scrawled a response to the Grand Alliance’s peace offer. He sealed it with the royal emblem and sent it off.