Crin's airship soared above the rolling pine forests of Northern Ophan, twin thrusters burning trails across the cloudless sky. The pyramidal vessel, armor a stark white, shone brightly in the evening light of the Twins. The cybermind piloted him home. It had a backup cockpit with manual controls if the automation failed or he ever had the urge to do a little flying himself.

He admired the beauty of his province, out the viewport, in the cabin's comfort. Once he was Sovereign, he would move the seat of power to the Titan Hills, away from the bustle of Whitestone. House Drakk had founded the city, and he had no love for it.

He sipped a seltzer with lemon in it, enjoying the tickling of the bubbles in his mouth. The Shades had not located either Kormel or the Inheritor. It itched at his patience. His throat tightened, and his hands shook.

Kormel knows where the Inheritor is and is playing games with me. I can't wait to get my hands on him.

A sinister grin spread across Crin's lips, thinking about all the ways to torture him.

The Knight Commander didn't suffer betrayal well. Admittedly hypocritical coming from a betrayer himself. This was the ash and the blood-stained path he decided to walk for the fate of Ophan, the moon, and all humankind. He would honor God. The meek would not inherit the earth, not while true warriors lived.

He checked his comm. The wait for Vivana's latest update added to his general sour disposition. He couldn't complain too much, though. She confirmed the information and exhausted all her resources before seeking help.

He was on his way to visit his wife. Yes, he had better things to do than eat dinner and talk about provincial politics. It was a waste of his time and utterly pointless. She was the Ruler of Titan Hills, not he. He doubted she would relinquish the seat when he ascended, making her Consort. It wouldn't bother him. He liked her staying out of his way.

Romance didn't appeal to Crin anyway. It seemed a frivolous waste of time. Having children could be useful for the line of succession but wasn't necessary. It was a faulty belief. Blood meant nothing.

Crin had been an ordinary citizen, houseless until he was married. A House could adopt any capable person and have them carry the name. Only the name mattered in the end. Once he was Sovereign, all future Sovereigns would be appointed based on a warrior's merit and adopted into House Haloran. He would make it a house of prestige.

The airship slowed as it air-braked, thrusters shutting off and rotary engines kicking on. It brought the vessel to a hover, and Crin could see his home. A sprawling villa, walls and ceiling constructed of pure titanium stood atop a large plateau. It had once been a mountain. House Haloran's engineers had sculpted it into a towering fortress impregnable from the ground. High reinforced concrete walls surrounded it, and a vast network of trenches and tunnels lurked beneath it. Anti-aircraft missile launchers stood sentinel on the corner turrets. The ramparts were lined with automated anti-aircraft guns. Within seconds the sky could be filled with lead and destruction, making attacking from the sky a hellish endeavor.

The airship's claw-like legs rested on the platform, supporting the vessel's weight. Stairs automatically unraveled and clicked in place.

Crin gulped his seltzer and unbuckled his seat belt. Wind and the refreshing scent of pines buffeted him as he descended the ramp. The door sealed shut, and the stairs retracted as he stepped into the roof elevator. Borealis trailed behind him, corkscrewing through the air.

The elevator dinged, and Crin stepped out into the vestibule. Haloran Mansion was a lean minimalistic home with soaring ceilings and glossy black tiled floors. Everything was alternating between black and white. Gorgeous paintings hung on the walls. Pedestals stood in careful rows, each displaying sculptures cast from titanium: fantastic beasts, mythological creatures, and celestial objects.

Borealis, chirping, and squawking, zipped off, eager to examine the statues, as it always did when he arrived home.

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A steward trotted over and took Crin's black leather trench coat from him. He marched down a long hallway lined with arched windows, providing a view of the gardens and inner courtyard. The double doors into the dining hall were open, and music played softly inside.

His wife Naira was a silken creature of dangerous beauty. She sat at the end of the expansive black titanium table, lounging in her plush seat like a cat. Her shiny black hair was straightened to perfection. She wore a tight burgandy dress with a high collar, showing off her lean figure. Her nails were sharp red points, and they tapped the table impatiently. Borealis bounded the corner, flying over to Naira and orbiting her slowly.

"You're late. I told the cook to keep our dinners warm," Naira said as Crin sat beside her. She sipped wine from a crystal glass, sliding the bottle towards Crin.

"Have a drink with me," she said.

Crin waved the bottle off as he settled. "You know I don't drink. Also, was it necessary for you to throw a fit to have me come home right now? Of all times, with what is going on in our country. We may be at war soon."

"You can't start a fight to escape my presence. A wife deserves to see her husband look him in the eye occasionally. Don't you get lonely sleeping all alone in that stinking barracks?"

"I will stay here tonight but must return in the morning. I have an entire nation depending on me."

"I should come back with you. I haven't stayed at the apartment in Whitestone for a while." Naira studied him with alluring jade green eyes. "I've been meaning to do some shopping. My fashions are going to fall behind."

"Do as you wish." Nothing Crin could do to stop her anyway, even if her presence in Whitestone would be an inconvenience. Naira did what she wanted when she wanted to.

The stewards brought their food. The chef had prepared Crin's favorite meal. The woman did an outstanding job with a cut of faux pork, topping it with a savory umami-filled herb gravy. The side of fresh green beans coated in a lemony sauce complimented the dish.

They ate in silence. Naira was usually chatty. She would rave about House gossip or give an exorbitant amount of detail about her business projects. Naira was Worker Sect, after all, obsessed with fashion and frivolity.

Crin shifted uncomfortably as he ate beneath the weight of her scrutiny. She measured him with her eyes, uncertain.

"What of your art gallery?" Crin finally asked. "Have any of the new paintings you acquired sold?"

"Yes," she said and wiped her mouth with an embroidered napkin. Poking at her green beans for a moment, she finally spoke. "Crin…What are you hiding from me?"

"I have nothing to hide. You know my opinions on romance and sex. I would never pursue a different partner."

"Oh, I'm not worried you will cheat me, Crin. No, I'm worried you're up to something worse."

"What is this about? I demand to know Naira."

"I know you well," Naira said, lowering her fork. "We've been married for twenty-two years. Most of which, mind you, you lived here with me. We ruled the Titan Hills together and worked in unison. I can tell when you're in the middle of hatching a misguided scheme of yours. Just like I knew, you only married me to acquire my father's Caster and become an Argent Knight. I've never stopped you from reaching your goals, not once. Because, despite your coldness and distance, I love you. "

"I watched my best friend, Elohon, die in front of me," Crin lost his appetite, lowering his fork. "I'm in charge of a nation without a ruler. I'm doing everything I can to protect, uplift, and honor the family name."

"Do you remember what my father told you when he passed his Caster to you?"

"No. It was ages ago."

"He said, 'Mind your ambition, son. It is a blade with no handle. And can cut you deeper than the person you stab with it.'"

Crin's pocket vibrated, and he pulled out his comm. It was a call from Vivana. He was glad for it, as it would end this annoying conversation. Naira could never learn of his plans, as she would quickly turn him in. She didn't have the stomach to do what it took to save an entire world.

"Excuse me." He stood. "I must take this."

Inside the hallway with the arched windows, Crin answered the call, greeting Vivana.

"Status?"

"We tracked the crew transporting Kormel to Ordon," Vivana said on the other end, "they said he took a midnight rail back to Zele. We were able to extract footage from local authorities of him boarding at the station. We're going via airship to Zele now, but it's a big city, and finding him won't be easy."

Crin smirked at the good news. Zele would be a hard place to retrieve him, but at least it narrowed the scope considerably.

"You have my permission to sequester as many Shade agents and special ops teams as you need to canvas the city. Get aggressive with the Syndicate. Bleed them until they beg us to take Kormel off their hands."

"Yes, sir." He felt the hesitation behind her voice.

"What's the matter, Knight?"

"I fear if we take more direct action against the Syndicate, we will trigger a war."

Crin stifled a sight. They didn't have time for doubts and worries about peace.

"Leave the diplomatic consequences to me. You need not worry. Remain a shadow. Do you understand?"

"Understood, sir. I will keep you updated if anything develops."

"Good." Crin disconnected the call.