"Look at them," Henry Eden thought, his eyes narrowing as he observed the gathering from across the room. The aristocrats, draped in their finery, moved gracefully across the polished floors, their laughter and smiles as empty as the promises they so easily dispensed. "Dancing away blissfully as if the recent failure was nothing to them. They ignore my pleas to preserve the tradition of our nation, turning away from the very roots that made us strong, denied their nation a revival. This society is built on fake words, lies, and meaningless moral charades."
His gaze sharpened as he watched a nobleman approach another with a wide, toothy grin—an expression Eden knew all too well was nothing more than a mask. "Just by looking at them, you recognize the lies they are about to tell you, the nice compliments they are about to throw at you like arrows. And when you move away from their presence, turning your back, their faces morph into disgust. Their tongues, venomous as they are, will vomit out their true thoughts to others."
Eden's fingers tightened around the glass he held, a subtle tremor betraying the force of his grip. "Sickness. A remarkable society of sickness," he mused, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Oh, how I wish I could carve a big smile on the faces of the ones who fake it," he imagined, the thought of bringing these pretenders to their knees igniting a fire within him. "Transform all their calculated thoughts into madness, make them spill tears of regret, anger, and forgiveness. Make them beg for all the evil they've done, all the ignorance, all the mistakes, every little wrong move they made. But I am one of them. I know my place."
His eyes flickered toward a group of nobles who quickly averted their gaze, pretending not to notice him. He could see the fear in their eyes, the unease that his presence brought. "They fear me, you see? They keep their distance, you see? They recognize the greater monster in the room, you see? A wolf in a flock of sheep kept inside the pen known as this empire."
A thin smile played on Henry Eden's lips, hidden as he took another sip of his drink. But as his gaze wandered through the opulent hall, it settled on a figure that commanded his attention—a man he knew all too well. The Minister of Justice, Viscount Ryman, was dressed in a gray long coat that gave him an air of stern authority. Ryman stood amidst a group of nobles, speaking with enthusiasm, his voice carrying just enough for Eden to catch snippets of his words.
Ryman was a man who understood power, Eden thought. Perhaps better than anyone else in the room—other than him, but his methods were as cold and unforgiving as the law he wielded like a weapon.
"But the law isn’t going to help you," Eden spoke silently with a quiet satisfaction. "Not when I have you on a leash by virtue of your past... indiscretions." Ryman's tendencies as a womanizer and hedonist were well-known to those who paid attention. The man had fathered more than twenty illegitimate children, scattered across the empire, none of whom he cared for or acknowledged. "Isn’t that fascinating?" Eden mused.
Eden swept his gaze towards the magnificent pile of food on the center table. Cakes, desserts, fruits, meat, and drinks of all types.
“Did you know that you could trigger a heart attack just by inserting a few drops of digitalis extract into one’s drink?” Eden pondered as he took another sip of his own. The thought was not new to him. Digitalis, a potent and deadly poison, derived from the foxglove plant, was notorious for its ability to induce fatal cardiac arrhythmias with just a tiny dose.
He swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the ripples with an almost hypnotic focus, when a sudden commotion drew his attention back to the room. His eyes flicked toward Viscount Ryman, who had gone deathly pale, his hand clutching at his chest.
Ryman staggered, his breath coming in desperate, ragged gasps. The group of nobles around him recoiled in horror, their laughter turning to gasps of alarm as Ryman’s body convulsed. He spasmed violently, dropping to his knees before collapsing onto the marble floor, his body writhing uncontrollably.
“Now you know.”
Eden watched for a moment as Ryman's once powerful form contorted on the ground, Eden set his glass on a nearby table, the sound of the glass touching the surface lost in the chaos.
Without a word, he turned and exited the ballroom, leaving the panicked shouts and desperate cries behind him.
----------------------------------------
The monotony and the distinct smell of the hospital never ceased to amaze Ries. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavily in the air, mingling with the faint odors of medicinal herbs and the metallic tang of blood. Despite the sheer number of workers bustling about and the endless stream of patients filling the corridors, the place maintained an almost eerie quiet. The silence was such that Ries could hear the rhythmic beating of her own heart.
Her feline ears twitching at the faintest sound—a hushed conversation between nurses, the rustle of paper as a doctor flipped through a chart, the distant hum of machinery.
Ries had never grown accustomed to it. The quiet, the smell, the cold, impersonal efficiency of the place, it all grated against her instincts, sharpening her awareness, keeping her on edge. Hospitals were places of healing, of recovery, but they were also places of death, where the weak succumbed to the inevitable, and the strong clung to whatever hope they could muster.
Her steps slowed as she approached a familiar door. With a deep breath she knocks. “Minister Ryman, it’s me.”
For a moment, there was no response, just the muffled beeping of machines from within the room. Finally, a faint, raspy voice answered.
“Enter,” came the reply.
Ries pushed the door open and stepped inside, her eyes immediately falling on the figure in the bed. Minister Ryman lay propped up against a stack of pillows, yet he kept his stern gaze. An ashtray sat beside him, a half-smoked cigarette smoldering within it, the acrid scent of tobacco mixing with the sterile smell of the hospital.
She closed the door gently behind her, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. “Minister,” she greeted, nodding lightly as she approached the bed.
Ryman’s eyes tracked her movements, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze. “Ries,” he rasped, his voice rough but laced with the same authority he’d always carried. “You’ve come to see the old wolf in his den?”
Ries offered a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” she replied, her tone careful. “And… we have some matters to discuss.”
Ryman’s lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile. “Matters, yes,” he murmured, his gaze drifting to the cigarette. “There’s always something to discuss, isn’t there? Even when you’re on death’s doorstep.” He let out a weak, bitter chuckle before taking a shaky drag from the cigarette, his hand trembling slightly as he brought it to his lips.
“What happened? I heard you got a heart attack during a ball.”
Ryman’s eyes narrowed slightly at her question, the cigarette pausing midway to his lips. He studied her for a moment, before he exhaled a plume of smoke, letting it dissipate into the air before he spoke.
“What happened?” he echoed. “A damned ball full of preening vultures, that’s what happened. The kind of event where everyone’s dressed in their finest, but underneath, they’re all waiting for the slightest sign of weakness to pounce on.”
Ries nodded, immediately grasping the implications. “You were poisoned, then?” Her finger moved thoughtfully to her chin.
“Yes, poisoned. Subtle, effective—just enough to make it look like an unfortunate event, a mere heart attack brought on by stress or age.” He took another drag of his cigarette.
Ries hesitated for a moment before voicing the question that had been lingering in her mind. “Was it Eden?”
Ryman’s expression darkened if slightly amused in his eyes as he shook his head. “No. Eden wouldn’t dare to do something so… extravagant. He’s many things, but he’s not a fool. If he wanted me dead, he’d do it in a way that left no trace, no suspicion. This was someone else’s handiwork—someone who wanted to send a message, someone who enjoys the theatrics.”
Ries frowned, her mind churning with the possibilities. “But who would have the nerve to do something like this, and at a ball of all places?” The list of people capable of such a bold move was short, and Eden seemed the most obvious culprit. Yet Ryman was convinced otherwise, and that puzzled her.
She studied him closely, searching for any sign that he might be hiding something. “Why do you think Eden wouldn’t be the one behind this?”
Ryman took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, his gaze distant as he exhaled. “Because… because I still have my uses for him. I occupy the position of Minister of Justice. I have the power to strike down laws in the name of Her Majesty, and for him.” He paused and puts off his cigarette on the ashtray.
“Eden knows that as long as I’m in this position, I’m a valuable tool. He’s too strategic to waste me in such a reckless manner. Besides, if he wanted me gone, it would be clean, efficient, and above all, quiet. This—” he gestured vaguely, indicating his current condition, “—this is not his style. Someone else wanted to make a statement, to show their hand.”
“Is that so…” Ries mulled over his words. “Do you have any idea who it was, then?”
“The Minister of Public Works, Viviana Livingstone,” he grumbled, her name spoken with disdain. “She’s been seething ever since I struck down her absurd proposal.”
“Which was?”
“Something about a ‘minimum wage’ and ‘welfare’…” Ryman’s voice dripped with disdain as he trailed off, the contempt clear in his tone. “It was a ridiculous proposal, one that would have drained the treasury for the sake of pandering to the masses. Livingstone’s been bitter ever since I struck it down.”
Ries arched an eyebrow. “So, you think she’s capable of something like this? Poisoning you at a public event?”
“She has the audacity, that’s for certain. That woman is far too prideful, too arrogant, too convinced of her own righteousness. She couldn’t stand the thought of someone like me standing in her way, thwarting her grand visions of a ‘better society.’”
Ries crossed her arms, skepticism etched on her face. “But to poison you in such a public setting? It’s a dangerous move, even for someone desperate. She’d be risking everything if she got caught.” She met Ryman’s gaze, her eyes narrowing. “Are you absolutely sure it’s not Eden?”
“I am one hundred percent sure, Deputy Minister,” Ryman firmly replied. “Eden still finds me useful. Viviana doesn’t.”
“Really? Are you really—”
“Again, if he wanted me gone, it would be done in a way that left no trace. Viviana, on the other hand… she’s too proud to be subtle. She wanted to make a statement, to show that she still has teeth.”
Ries nodded slowly, absorbing his words before glancing at the pocket watch she had purchased earlier. “I have to go. I still have work.”
“Duty calls,” Ryman murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I suppose you have more pressing matters than dealing with an old man’s troubles.”
Ries looked up from her watch, meeting his gaze. “This is important, but so is my other work. I’ll keep an eye on Viviana.”
Ryman gave a curt nod. “Good. Be careful.”
Ries returned the nod, slipping the watch back into her pocket. “I will.”
As she turned to leave, Ryman watched her go, the door clicking shut softly behind her. He exhaled another cloud of smoke, his gaze lingering on the dull, white wall. Maybe his time is coming to an end after all?
He turned to flick his cigarette into the ashtray on the desk beside him. As he did, his eyes caught the stone carving of Reyvrys, the Chaos Dragon, the King of Dragons. For the first time in his life, he stared at it, really stared at it, as if seeing it for the first time.
Ryman had never been a religious man. The rituals, the prayers, the incense—all of it had always seemed like a waste of time. The only time he ever set foot in a temple was because his parents insisted, dragging him along to gatherings where they sought blessings and guidance, and above all, to make connections. He had stood there, stiff and indifferent, his mind always elsewhere.
As a child, he believed that the immaterial world was unimportant, a conviction that drove him to pursue his ambitions relentlessly. It was this belief that had led him to where he was now, in a position of power, wielding the law like a sword. But now, as he lay weakened, staring at the carving of the Chaos Dragon, he felt something unfamiliar—a twinge of doubt.
Reyvrys, with its fierce, inscrutable gaze, seemed to mock him, a reminder of forces beyond his control. For the first time, the idea that there might be something more, something beyond the tangible world he had always valued, crossed his mind. The notion unsettled him, but he quickly pushed it aside.
‘There was no afterlife.’
The thought rang out in his mind, as clear and definitive as any ruling he had ever given. The idea of an existence beyond this one was something he had long dismissed as a fantasy, a comforting lie for those who feared the finality of death.
Why am I thinking of this? Am I about to die?
He had heard somewhere that people often saw their lives flash before their eyes in their final moments. Was this one of those signs?
He scoffed, pulling his hand back and crushing the cigarette into the ashtray with more force than necessary. “Nonsense,” he muttered to himself. “I’m not done yet.” The thought of surrendering to such irrational fears was beneath him. He was a man of the here and now, of the real world, where power was measured in influence and control, not in prayers or statues.
Reyvrys was dead, after all—defeated and kill, buried for nearly a millennium. Why should he worship a dead god? What happens to a dead god, anyway? The question was rhetorical, almost mocking. The deity’s stone-carved eyes seemed to bore into him, challenging his scorn.
Just as he laid down on the pillows, the door to his room opened. Ryman turned to look and saw the person he most expected to come.
“Eden,” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of irritation and resignation.
Eden entered the room with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other, his usual jolly smile firmly in place. There was an air of amusement about him, as if he found the whole situation darkly humorous.
“Ryman.” Eden gave a curt nod, setting the bouquet and bottle on the bedside table before dragging a chair over from the desk and positioning it at the foot of the bed. “Got a date with death, have you?”
Ryman couldn’t help but smirk, though it was more of a grimace. “Not yet. Seems death is running late, like everyone else these days.”
“I saw Anise going out of the room. Did you tell her anything?” Eden asked carefully, though his tone seemed mocking more than anything.
Ryman’s smirk faded as he narrowed his eyes at the devil sitting across from him. Eden might have appeared relaxed, but Ryman knew better than to let his guard down. “No. Why are you here, Eden?”
“Nothing, really,” Eden replied with a nonchalant shrug. “Just thought I’d check up on you.”
“Check up on me?” Ryman echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Since when do you care about anyone but yourself?”
Eden chuckled lightly, a sound that sent a chill down Ryman’s spine. “Let’s not pretend, Ryman. You know as well as I do that we’re in the business of mutual interests. It wouldn’t serve me well if you went on blabbering about this relationship,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t serve well when one of your illegitimate children suddenly speak up, no?”
Ryman’s breath caught for a moment, but he quickly masked his reaction, though his heart pounded in his chest. Eden knew too much, and that knowledge was a weapon, one he clearly had no qualms about using. “Are you trying to blackmail me, Eden?”
“Well, I certainly like to blackmail people,” Eden smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as... a friendly reminder.”
Ryman’s eyes burned with anger, but he forced himself to remain calm. Eden had the upper hand, and they both knew it. “What do you want?”
Without a word, Eden reached into his inner pocket and produced a razor and a small pill. He placed them flatly on the table next to Ryman.
“Kill yourself.”
Ryman stared at the objects, his mind reeling. The air seemed to thicken, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He looked back up at Eden, who was watching him with a cold and calculated gaze, the smile was gone from his face.
Ryman wanted to shout his rage, but in the end, he could only muster a whisper. “Why?”
“Because it’s time,” Eden replied calmly, as if discussing the weather. “You’ve served your purpose, Ryman. But now, you’re a liability. Loose ends need to be tied up, and I’m giving you the chance to do it on your own terms.”
Ryman’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious,” Eden said, his tone almost gentle, but with a deadly edge. “You can choose the razor, or the pill. Quick or slow, it’s up to you.”
The room seemed to close in around Ryman as he processed the magnitude of what Eden was asking—no, demanding. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, the realization that his life, everything he had built, was crumbling away in the hands of the man who now stood before him.
For perhaps the final time, Ryman felt truly helpless, cornered like a rat with nowhere to run. He looked at the razor and the pill again, both offering escape but in vastly different ways.
Eden stood up, he walked towards the window and gazed outside. “It’s your choice, Ryman. But don’t take too long. I’m not a patient man.”
Ryman’s mind raced, weighing his options, searching for some way out. Maybe Anise would come back? Perhaps he shouldn’t have pushed her away from the true darkness. No, he wouldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he placed an innocent person into Eden’s spotlight.
Deep down, he knew Eden had left him no way out. The devil had come to collect, and there was no bargaining this time.
With a trembling hand, Ryman reached out, the razor cold against his fingers. His heart pounded in his chest, fear and anger battling within him. As he picked it up, he met Eden’s eyes one last time, hoping to find some hint of remorse or hesitation.
There was none.
Eden looked at him with his hands clasped behind his back. His look was piercing, as if daring him to do it. Now.
Ryman knew he was beaten. The game was over, and he had lost.
Slowly, he brought the razor closer, feeling the sharp edge against his skin. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath.
Eden’s voice was the last thing he heard.
“End it.”
And in that moment, Ryman made his choice.
----------------------------------------
Information is power. That much Ries knew, thanks to Governor Unteryl. But the full scope of imperial politics remained shrouded in shadow, with only slivers of truth reaching her. So far, she had barely scratched the surface, kept deliberately in the dark. Ryman thought she would just accept his explanation about the Minister of Public Works trying to assassinate him with poison? There had to be something bigger at play.
Her time being an adventurer sharpened her instincts and intuition, she learned how to spot dishonest people and had become adept at avoiding them, lest she becomes one of those victims where a group of adventurers intentionally leave another for dead deep inside a dungeon after robbing them for all their belongings.
Ries knew better than to trust Ryman or Eden at face value. They were both hiding something from her, and whatever it was, it had to be significant. There was no way a man in his mid-sixties, deeply entrenched in the upper echelons of government, was without flaws. Not a single one? She found that impossible to believe. Men like Eden were bound to have secrets, probably a mountain of them.
Which is why she was currently rummaging through Eden’s office, searching for any leads. Being the Deputy Minister had its perks. It wouldn’t be odd for someone in her position to come across a document or two for administrative purposes. She could always claim she was organizing files or reviewing paperwork if anyone walked in on her.
However, that also meant she had to read through every document she came across, and that was proving to be more challenging than she anticipated. The files weren’t just filled with the usual bureaucratic jargon—these were dense, technical documents, packed with complicated words and phrases that made her head spin. It was a wall of text, and she found herself having to reread paragraphs just to grasp the basic meaning.
The documents were far from light-hearted reading. They detailed obscure legal procedures, intricate financial dealings, and the labyrinthine workings of the empire's bureaucracy. It was as if every sentence was designed to obfuscate rather than inform. The language was deliberately convoluted, the kind that only seasoned bureaucrats or legal experts could easily navigate.
But Ries persisted. She wasn’t going to let a few pages of dense text stand in her way. If Eden had hidden something within these documents, she would find it. Her eyes scanned the lines, searching for anything that seemed out of place or overly guarded. She took mental notes of any peculiar phrases or names that appeared repeatedly, hoping they might serve as clues later.
As she sifted through the paperwork, her frustration grew. How could anyone operate within such a system? It was a miracle anyone got anything done at all. But she knew this was by design. This was the empire’s way of keeping people like her—those without a formal education—out of the loop, ensuring that only a select few truly understood the inner workings of the government.
The empire prided itself on being a meritocratic society, where mobility for the lower classes was more attainable than in the west. But that meritocracy came with a price. The system was rigid, its demands are incredibly steep. The barriers to entry were high, not just in terms of skill, but in navigating the intricate, often cryptic processes that governed the empire. Perhaps this was the way to ensure that only the best rose to the top, or maybe it was to maintain control for the aristocracy.
Minutes turned to hours, for the first time, she was completely engrossed in reading the documents. By the time she realized, she had completely lost track of time, her focus narrowing to the lines of text before her. But with each page she turned, her frustration grew. Everything she had read so far was disappointingly ordinary. Mundane administrative issues ranging from petty land disputes to a proposal about fishing licenses.
She let out a low growl, both her tail and ears twitching with irritation. Was this all there was? She had expected to uncover something significant, something that would give her insight into Eden’s true intentions. Instead, she was drowning in a sea of routine paperwork that seemed to lead nowhere. It was as if she were sifting through a mountain of sand, searching for a single grain of gold.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to start searching in a government office, where someone like Eden would be less likely to hide documents about his misdeeds—if he had even left such evidence behind at all. It dawned on Ries that someone as shrewd as Eden would probably keep anything truly incriminating far away from prying eyes. This office, filled with routine paperwork and administrative minutiae, was unlikely to hold the secrets she was looking for.
Just as she was about to call it quits and consider searching elsewhere, the phone on the desk rang, its sudden jarring sound cutting through the silence. For a moment, she froze, her heart skipping a beat. The phone was for the Minister of Home Affairs, right?
Should she answer? It could be someone important, someone expecting to speak with Eden. But what if it was an opportunity?
Information could come in many forms, and this call might provide a clue, even if indirectly. Besides, she is the Deputy. So her answering it is nothing out of the ordinary, right?
She reached for the receiver, hesitating for just a second before picking it up.
“Good evening,” she said, trying to sound as authoritative and composed as possible, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect on the other end. “This is the Office of the Ministry of Home Affairs. To who am I talking to?”
There was a brief pause before a voice responded, cutting through the line with an edge of suspicion. “You’re not Eden.” The voice was sharp, with a tone that suggested it belonged to a woman.
Ries felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t expected to be called out so quickly. Whoever this was, they knew Eden well enough to recognize when something was off.
“That’s correct,” Ries replied smoothly, trying to maintain her composure. “I’m Deputy Minister Anise, handling matters in his stead for the evening. How can I assist you?”
There was another pause, longer this time, as if the person on the other end was weighing whether or not to trust her. Finally, the line spoke. “Deputy Minister, huh? I heard Eden got himself a new Deputy who’s a Beastmen. Has he treated you well?”
Ries felt a flicker of confusion at the question. The tone suggested familiarity, but it was also tinged with something else—concern, perhaps, or suspicion. Regardless, she decided to play along. “Yes, he has. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”
There was a slight chuckle on the other end, as if the woman was amused by something. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. I am the Minister of Public Works, Viviana Livingstone.”
Ries’s heart skipped a beat. The very woman Ryman had accused of trying to assassinate him with poison was on the other end of the line. She hadn’t expected to encounter her so directly, and certainly not like this. But she knew she had to stay calm and use this unexpected connection to her advantage.
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“Minister Livingstone,” Ries said, her voice steady. “It’s an honor to speak with you. How can I assist you this evening?”
“Hmm… How should I put this?” The woman seemed to ponder something, loudly even. “How about we discuss this in my office? The Public Works building is near the east gate of the complex.”
Ries considered it for a moment. The woman Ryman was accusing of poisoning him was inviting her for a private meeting. What was her goal? Yes, it did give her an opportunity, a dangerous opportunity but an opportunity nonetheless.
She couldn’t possibly try to kill her once she stepped inside her office, right?
There would be a large power difference, Ries herself was a C-rank adventurer, which was by no means an easy feat to achieve. She doubted if these aristocrats can even fight an orc.
“Minister Livingstone,” Ries said, keeping her voice steady, “it would be my pleasure to meet with you. I can head to your office right away.”
There was a brief pause, and then Viviana replied, her tone almost playful. “Wonderful. I’ll be expecting you. But I recommend you coming in after sunset.”
As the line went dead, Ries set the receiver down and took a moment to collect her thoughts. The request to meet after sunset added an extra layer of tension to the situation. Why after dark? Was it to avoid prying eyes, or could it be something more sinister—a way to dispose of her without anyone noticing?
She couldn’t shake the unease that crept into her mind. She knew little about Viviana Livingstone, other than the accusations Ryman had thrown her way. Even her knowledge of Eden and Ryman was limited. Both men were enigmatic, cloaked in layers of secrecy. She couldn’t help but wonder if Livingstone was the same, a dangerous figure with hidden motives.
As these thoughts swirled in her mind, her stomach interrupted with a loud growl, demanding attention. All the reading, scheming, and worrying had drained her energy. She realized she hadn’t eaten in hours, and now hunger was making itself impossible to ignore.
She sighed, deciding that she needed a break before the evening’s potentially perilous encounter. If she was going to face whatever awaited her, she’d need to be at her best—both mentally and physically. And that meant getting a good meal in her.
Ries allowed herself a small smile. She had some extra money laying around, enough to fund someone’s tuition fee upfront in the Imperial Valyrys University, she would treat herself to something extravagant. After all, she deserved it, didn’t she? This could be her last chance to enjoy a good meal before the storm that was brewing in her life truly hit.
----------------------------------------
Eden walked alone in the cold, wet, and silent streets of Valyra. The city, usually bustling with life, had succumbed to the storm’s unexpected fury. The rain poured down in relentless sheets, turning the streets into rivers and forcing almost all traffic to a standstill. Only the restaurants and entertainment venues remained open, their lights flickering dimly through the downpour, beacons in an otherwise desolate night.
The rain didn’t bother him. He was dressed for the occasion, wearing a military raincoat that reached down to his legs, its heavy fabric shielding him from the worst of the weather. A wide-brimmed fedora sat atop his head, its brim keeping most of the rain from his face. Despite his precautions, a few stray droplets managed to find their way under his coat, cold and unwelcome against his skin. But he barely noticed. He’d been through worse.
Eden’s thoughts were elsewhere, far from the rain-soaked streets of Valyra.
Everything was in place. Every piece on the board, every player, meticulously arranged according to his design. This failure would not repeat itself. The sting of that unexpected defeat during the vote still lingered, but Eden was not one to dwell on setbacks. He had immediately set to work, formulating a new plan—a plan that was now ready to be executed.
The game of power was one he had played for years, maneuvering through the treacherous waters of politics with the precision of a master strategist. But this time, the stakes were higher than ever. He couldn’t afford another misstep, the entire empire’s future—and more importantly, his own—hung in the balance.
Truth be told, it wasn’t like Eden to construct an entirely new plot from scratch in a single day. He was a man who thrived on careful planning, on schemes that took months, even years, to come to fruition. But the situation demanded swift action. The blow dealt to him by that vote had been unexpected, a crack in his otherwise impenetrable armor. He knew he couldn’t wait. His time is nearing and soon enough, the grim reaper would come to collect his soul.
His hand unconsciously gripped his chest, he could feel his heart beating slower than usual. Slower than yesterday, and even slower than yesteryear.
He had spent the past twenty-four hours working relentlessly, drawing on every resource, every connection, to put this new plan into motion. It wasn’t perfect—no plan ever was—but it was effective. And most importantly, it was ruthless. There would be no more chances for his opponents to defy him. This time, he would ensure they were silenced permanently.
If this plan succeeded, it would solidify his position beyond challenge. He would become untouchable, the true power behind the empire’s throne. Even the Empress would become his puppet with little to no decision-making power.
If it failed? Well, failure was not an option he allowed himself to consider. Not now. Not ever. Not when he was so close to achieving everything he had worked for. The pieces were in place, and the game was about to enter its final, decisive phase. Eden would make sure that this time, the outcome would be different.
He reached an establishment bathed in bright, colorful lights—a place known as ‘The Faeries.’ Its colorful lights cast a welcoming glow to patrons. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a muffled thud.
The thick scent of perfume and other chemicals hit his nose immediately, a potent mixture that clung to the air like a fog. Inside, the establishment was a world unto itself—a dimly lit sanctuary where men and women engaged in economic activity by way of selling their bodies. A strip club, in less polite terms, but for Eden, it was something more, a sanctuary for secrecy.
He had been here countless times before, and every visit had been for the same purpose. High-profile meetings, the kind that couldn’t take place within the walls of government buildings or even the privacy of a mansion, were conducted here, in the shadows of this clandestine environment. The allure of the place wasn’t in its offerings but in its discretion. No one would expect a meeting of significance to occur in such a setting. It was perfect for his needs.
His thoughts were interrupted by an approaching waitress, who held a tray of drinks on one hand, and wore a thin piece of clothing, revealing too much of her top. “Hey honey, looks like you need some fun. I can help you with that.”
He put on his signature jolly, happy face, the one that had disarmed countless adversaries and charmed many a reluctant ally. “Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine on a rainy night?” he replied with a playful tone, his eyes crinkling as if he were genuinely amused.
She was flirting, the young woman was just doing her job, trying to make a living in a world that wasn’t kind to those without power. Eden could sympathize, to a point, but his sympathy had its limits. He knew better than to cause a scene.
“Thank you, darling,” he continued, his voice smooth and warm, “but I’m just here for a quiet drink tonight. Got some business to take care of, you know how it is.”
The waitress smiled, though her eyes hinted at disappointment. She was likely used to more direct advances, but Eden’s charm had a way of softening the blow of rejection. “Of course, honey,” she purred, giving him a glass of alcohol. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
With that, she turned and sauntered away, her presence leaving a faint trace of perfume in the air. Eden watched her go, his smile fading the moment she was out of sight.
He took a sip of the drink, the alcohol burning slightly as it went down, but he barely noticed. The person he was about to meet isn’t someone he’s fond of, despise even. Yet, he’d made countless deals with the devil, this one is no less different.
Eden navigated through the dimly lit room, the scent of alcohol and sweat thick in the air. The flashing lights and blaring music created an atmosphere of debauchery, but he paid no mind to it. The men around him, tossing their money carelessly at the dancers, were lost in their own world, a world of debauchery, of hedonism unrestrained.
His eyes scanned the room, searching for a particular figure amid the sea of vice. Eventually, he spotted her behind the bar counter. A siren with wide, feathered cyan wings, her movements fluid and graceful as she mixed a drink for a leering patron. The collar around her neck made it clear her status as a slave. One that Eden owns, and as a means to keep tabs on this place.
Upon reaching the bar, he tapped the counter twice to announce his arrival.
The siren’s movements paused for a brief moment, her sharp senses immediately recognizing the subtle gesture. She finished preparing the drink with practiced ease, handing it off to the patron with a forced smile before turning her attention to Eden. Her eyes, a striking shade of azure, met his, and she gave the smallest of nods, acknowledging him without drawing attention to their interaction.
“Evening, sir,” she said, her voice smooth and melodic, but with a shaky undertone that felt obvious. “The… guest is in the back.” She choked out.
He offered her a reassuring smile. "Good," he replied. "Keep an eye on things for me."
The siren nodded, her wings rustling slightly as she did. "Of course, sir," she murmured, her voice low, barely audible over the din of the club. "I'll be watching."
With that, Eden turned and moved away from the bar, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who had navigated such spaces countless times. He reached the back of the club, where the noise and chaos of the main floor faded into a muted hum. The door before him was heavy, its frame reinforced—a subtle but clear indication that what lay beyond was meant to be private, secure.
He pushed the door open and stepped into a room that, at first glance, seemed to mirror the club outside. The lighting was dim and tinged with seductive hues, designed to awaken the basest instincts of its occupants. However, there was an air of exclusivity here, a sense that this was a place where only those with power or influence were permitted.
Seated at the center of the room was the man Eden had come to meet. He was a grotesque figure, his body a mass of excess, round and oily, with folds of flesh that seemed to glisten under the colored lights.
Morbidly obese, in less polite tone.
The man was surrounded by young women, each one attending to him with a mixture of feigned interest and forced enthusiasm. They were mere accessories, part of the scenery that catered to his every whim.
Eden took in the scene with a practiced indifference, his expression unreadable. The man was repugnant, not just in appearance but in the way he reveled in his own indulgence, surrounded by the trappings of his wealth and power.
The man looked up as Eden entered, a grin spreading across his greasy face. "Eden," he wheezed, his voice thick and labored, yet filled with a twisted kind of delight. "You’ve finally arrived. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about our little meeting."
Eden moved closer, his steps measured and controlled. "I never forget," he replied, his tone flat, devoid of the charm he had shown to the waitress earlier. “Enjoying yourself, Director Veron?”
The man in front of Eden was none other than the Director of the ISD, Elias Veron. A man who, in multiple people’s account, is so fat that he could probably devastate a small kingdom’s food supply in under a day. Even then, the man had expensive taste and was pretty much a hedonist to the core.
“Yes, yes, yes… you’re really something else, are you, Eden?” He muttered. Veron waved his pudgy hand dismissively, sending one of the girls away as he shifted his bulk to a more upright position. "But first, why don’t you join me for a drink? It’s not every day we get to indulge in such... luxuries."
Eden glanced at the glass offered to him, the liquid inside shimmering under the colored lights. He could smell the sharp tang of alcohol mixed with something sweeter, something more dangerous. He knew better than to trust a drink offered in such a setting, especially from a man like this.
"I’ll pass," Eden said curtly, ignoring the glass and focusing instead on the man’s face. "Let’s get to the point. Time is something I don’t have in excess."
Veron’s grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, his laughter rumbling out like a guttural growl. "Straight to business, then," he said, his tone shifting to one of mock seriousness. "I can respect that. You’re not unlike the other nobles, what do you need from me this time?"
“I need the ISD to look the other way for tonight,” Eden crossed his arms. “I need you to block information from leaving the city, and ensure that certain obstacles are removed.”
Veron’s eyes glinted with a mix of greed. "And what do I get in return?" he asked, licking his lips as if savoring the potential rewards.
Eden glanced at the young girls beside the man, their faces a mix of vacant compliance and forced allure. His expression didn’t change. “I can get you girls even younger than them.”
Veron’s grin widened, his eyes narrowing with dark satisfaction. "You always know how to sweeten the deal, Eden," he muttered, his tone a sickening mix of appreciation and avarice. He leaned back, the leather of the chair creaking under his weight as he weighed the offer, though Eden knew the outcome was already decided.
“Done,” he said after a moment, his voice taking on a more businesslike tone. “The ISD will be occupied elsewhere, and any messages trying to leave the city will be... delayed.”
Eden nodded, his face betraying no trace of the revulsion he felt. "Good," he replied. "Is the Empress in her palace today?”
Veron’s eyes flickered with amusement, a sly grin curling his lips. “The Empress? Always so curious, Eden. But yes, she’s in her palace, safe and sound—or as safe as one can be in her position.”
“That’s all I needed to know,” Eden replied. “Make sure you don’t deliberately botch anything. I’ll send the girls to you within the hour.”
Veron waved a dismissive hand, his grin never faltering. “Consider it done. You know where to find me if you need anything else. But do try to stay for a drink next time, Eden. Life’s too short to always be so... serious.”
Eden didn’t bother with a response. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Veron to his indulgences. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, sealing the room and its secrets away from the outside world.
Eden’s expression remained stoic as he navigated the narrow hallway leading to the bathroom, but a flicker of disgust crossed his face as he entered the dimly lit space. The stench of cheap perfume and sweat clung to the air, mingling with the faint sound of moans emanating from behind the closed stalls. The club’s decadence was a suffocating weight on his senses.
He approached the sink, turning the faucet with deliberate force. The water, cold and clear, splashed over his hands, washing away the invisible filth he felt clinging to his skin after his interaction with Veron. Even if he hadn’t touched him directly, he already felt assaulted.
Eden scrubbed his hands with a clinical precision, as if scrubbing away the corruption that had tainted his very soul. He focused on the task, ignoring the lewd sounds around him.
With his hands clean, Eden turned off the faucet and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The face that looked back at him was calm, composed, and utterly devoid of emotion. He was a man of purpose, a man who would do whatever it took to achieve his goals. The cost was irrelevant. The ends always justified the means.
After a moment, he dried his hands on a threadbare towel and straightened his coat. There was no time to linger.
He glanced at his pocket watch.
Spring is coming.
----------------------------------------
Ries felt her stomach drop, a wave of discomfort rolling through her as she tried to push past the sudden heaviness in her limbs, the stomachache didn’t help the fact that she’d probably overindulged, letting herself get carried away by the lavish feast that had been laid out before her.
But who could resist? For someone like her, who had spent so many years scraping by, eating whatever she could afford after completing grueling quests, the sheer abundance of luxurious food was an impossible temptation. She hadn’t been able to help herself, piling her plate high with delicacies she’d only ever dreamed of tasting.
Now, though, the indulgence felt like a mistake. The richness of the meal sat heavy in her stomach, mixing poorly with the plethora of expensive alcohol she had drunk. She swallowed hard, as she approached the large door leading to the Minister of Public Works’ office.
Even the storm that almost made her wet didn’t make that much discomfort.
Ries paused for a moment, clutching her stomach as another wave of nausea rolled through her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. With a final breath, she raised her hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the hallway.
“Come in,” came a feminine voice of presumably Viviana Livingstone.
Ries pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was ornate, as always, but today it felt even more suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the weight of opulence, and the space seemed cramped, overstuffed with luxurious furniture that only added to her discomfort.
Viviana Livingstone sat on a plush couch, her posture was relaxed but her eyes were sharp as they met Ries’. The Minister of Public Works was every bit as imposing as her surroundings, a woman of refined taste. Opposite her sat a man Ries didn’t recognize, though she swears she’d seen him before, but where?
Viviana’s gaze shifted to the man beside her, a small smile playing on her lips as she noticed Ries’ hesitation. "Ah, Deputy Minister," she said smoothly, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I see you’ve met our guest."
Ries nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to remember where she had seen this man before. There was something about him… and that armband he wore around him…
“You’re with the ISD,” Ries finished, her voice dropping as recognition finally dawned on her. The man’s nondescript appearance suddenly made sense—the kind of face that was easy to forget, designed to blend into any crowd. But the armband, emblazoned with the emblem of the Imperial Security Directorate, was unmistakable.
The man offered a thin smile, his eyes devoid of warmth. "Very observant, Deputy Minister," he said, his voice as unremarkable as his appearance. "Director Veron sends his regards."
Ries felt a knot tighten in her stomach. The ISD rarely involved themselves in anything pleasant, their presence a harbinger of hidden agendas and unspoken threats. What could they possibly want with Viviana? More importantly, what does she has to do with any of this?
Viviana cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to her. Her expression was cool, almost detached, as she crossed one leg over the other and turned to the agent. "Now that introductions are out of the way," she said with a firm voice. "let's dispense with the pleasantries. What business does the ISD have here?"
Without waiting for an answer, she shifted her gaze to Ries, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You, sit here," she ordered, tapping the couch cushion next to her.
Ries' gaze darted between the ISD agent and Viviana. Viviana's commanding tone left no room for argument. Ries hesitated for a fraction of a second before moving toward the couch and sat down, her body stiff and alert.
Viviana watched her with an appraising eye before turning her attention back to the agent. "I asked you a question," she said with a firm tone. "What business does the ISD have with me?”
The agent’s thin smile remained fixed, but his gaze shifted to Viviana, assessing her with the same clinical detachment. "Director Veron believes it’s in everyone's best interest to ensure tonight’s... events proceed smoothly," he began, his tone carefully measured. "Given recent developments, he thought it prudent to send me as a liaison. A precaution, if you will."
Viviana raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched in her features. "You keep mentioning this ‘event’ and that I need to steer clear. What exactly is going on?"
The agent’s expression didn’t falter, but there was a slight pause before he answered, as if weighing how much to reveal. "A matter of security," he replied smoothly. "Let’s just say that certain individuals have become... problematic, and it’s in everyone’s best interest to avoid unnecessary complications. The Directorate has a vested interest in maintaining order, after all."
Viviana's expression hardened, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Order," she repeated, her voice tinged with disdain. "And what exactly is this 'order' you're so keen to maintain? What could these individuals possibly do that warrants the ISD's direct involvement?"
"We’re merely ensuring that all parties involved remain... cooperative," he replied, choosing his words with care. "The Directorate has a vested interest in maintaining order and stability, and sometimes, that requires a more... hands-on approach."
Ries felt a prickle of unease at the agent's words, the cold detachment in his tone sending a chill through her. She had no love for the ISD, though her interactions with the ISD were minimal, she knew enough about their ruthless methods to understand that their version of ‘order’ often meant suppression. Whatever this "event" was, it clearly involved more than just the usual political maneuvering.
Viviana, however, wasn’t so easily intimidated. She leaned back on the couch, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving the agent's. "If you think you can strong-arm me into compliance, you're sorely mistaken," she said coolly. "I'm not some pawn you can push around. So, unless you have something more concrete to say, I suggest you reconsider your approach."
The agent’s smile remained intact, but a flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. "Very well, Minister Livingstone. If we can’t count on your cooperation, then we’ll conclude our discussion here."
He stood up smoothly, his demeanor unchanged, and turned to leave. Ries exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The man's presence had put her on edge in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. Viviana, however, kept her sharp gaze locked on him, her instincts clearly screaming that something was amiss. You don’t simply let your guard down in front of an ISD agent.
In a split second, before Ries could fully register what was happening, Viviana lunged forward, shoving Ries aside with surprising strength. A blinding flash filled the room, followed by the deafening crack of lightning. The plush sofa where Ries had been sitting a moment ago exploded into smoldering fragments, the air thick with the acrid scent of ozone.
The source of the attack was unmistakable—the agent, his calm facade shattered, stood with his hand outstretched, the remnants of a lethal spell crackling around his fingers. He had intended to kill them both.
Ries’ survival instincts kicked in, her heart pounding in her chest as she fumbled for her handgun. Her hands trembled, the shock of the sudden violence making it difficult to steady herself. Meanwhile, Viviana was already in motion, her eyes narrowed with deadly focus.
With a fluid gesture, Viviana conjured a spell of her own. An enormous orb of water, dense and heavy, materialized in her outstretched hand. The weight of hundreds of kilograms of water compressed into a tight sphere, pulsing with raw energy. Without hesitation, she hurled the orb at the agent.
The agent barely had time to react. He raised his hand, attempting to cast a counterspell, but the water orb slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave. The impact sent him crashing into the wall, the spell’s energy detonating on contact. Water splashed across the room, drenching the walls and extinguishing the smoldering remains of the sofa.
The agent, staggered but not defeated, quickly regained his footing, his eyes now burning with cold fury. He began to weave another spell, his hands moving with practiced precision as arcane energy crackled around him.
Ries, still on the floor, finally steadied herself and gripped her handgun with both hands. The weight of the weapon was familiar, but her hands trembled as she took aim at the agent. Just as he was about to complete his spell, Viviana’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Shoot him!” she commanded.
Ries didn’t hesitate. She squeezed the trigger, the gun roaring as she emptied the entire magazine into the man. Simultaneously, Viviana conjured several small fireballs, each one glowing with intense heat as they shot toward the agent, homing in on their target.
The agent reacted with lightning speed. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a shield around himself—a shimmering barrier of arcane energy that absorbed the incoming fireballs and bullets. The projectiles disintegrated on contact, the force of the shield dispersing them harmlessly into the air.
Ries' heart sank as she watched her bullets disappear against the barrier. This man was no ordinary operative, his skill in magic was clearly formidable. But she suppose that’s just the standard ISD recruiting requirement.
The shield shimmered for a moment longer before dissipating, leaving the agent unharmed and now visibly angered.
Viviana's eyes narrowed. "He’s stronger than I anticipated," she muttered. "But no one’s invincible."
The agent prepared to cast another spell. But before he could complete the spell, Viviana lunged forward, her hand glowing with a brilliant blue light. She slammed her palm against the ground, and the entire room trembled as a shockwave of energy erupted from her, sending a powerful ripple through the floor.
The ripple destabilized the agent’s stance, causing him to stagger backward, his spell faltering. Viviana seized the opportunity, her eyes flashing with determination. "Now!" she shouted.
In that critical moment, Ries’ instincts took over, honed from her years as an assassin. The agent's barrier shimmered around him, a protective bubble of magic, but she knew its weakness. With a sharp exhale, her form dissolved into a black mist, a technique from her past that allowed her to bypass defenses and strike from unexpected angles.
The mist swirled around the room, reforming behind the agent in a heartbeat. He barely had time to register her movement before he felt the cold, hard barrel of her handgun pressed against the side of his face.
The agent froze, his spell dissipating as he realized the precariousness of his situation.
"End of the line," Viviana said coldly. "You’ve got one chance to talk. Make it count."
The agent's lips curled into a twisted smile. "I am loyal to the—"
Before he could finish, a deafening crack echoed through the room. Viviana, without hesitation, unleashed a spell that caused the agent's head to explode in a gruesome burst of blood and brain matter, splattering across the already ravaged room. The sight was horrifying, but Ries remained unfazed, her expression steely as she lowered her gun.
Viviana, with her eyes cold and unrepentant, turned to Ries. "He had no intention of telling us anything, just so you know."
Ries nodded, wiping the splatter off her cheek with the back of her hand. "I figured as much," she replied, her tone was a mix of unease and expectant. She had seen her share of brutality in her past life as an adventurer, and then war.
Viviana's frown deepened as she glanced around the blood-splattered room. "Sorry for dragging you into this. I expected Eden to pick up the phone—guess he’s unavailable too, huh?" She dusted off a blood from her coat. “What’s your name?”
“Uh, Anise, Deputy Minister of Home Affairs,” Ries replied, still processing the whirlwind of events.
Viviana gave a slight nod, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Ah, Anise. Well, if tonight is any indication of what’s to come, I advise you to prepare yourself for more. Don’t be surprised if you end up as an interim minister.”
Ries didn’t like the sound of that, at all. “What does that mean?”
Based on the Minister’s wording, things might not be going exactly splendid by the looks of things. Those in power are either falling, or fleeing due to some odd circumstance. And by the looks of things, tonight is just the beginning.
Viviana's expression remained unreadable as she glanced at Ries. "It means, Deputy Minister, that things are about to get a lot more chaotic. Those in power might not stay there much longer—some are falling, others are fleeing, and you might just find yourself filling a vacuum that no one expected."
Ries REALLY didn’t like the sound of that AT ALL. The idea of stepping into a larger role, especially under these circumstances, was terrifying. But there was no denying the reality that Viviana hinted at, something big was unfolding, and it was only just beginning.
Viviana began to walk outside the office and down the corridor, with Ries keeping pace beside her. "You’re saying people are being removed?"
Viviana nodded, her gaze drifting toward the large window arches that lined the corridor. The city outside was cloaked in the night’s stillness, but an undercurrent of unease seemed to permeate everything. “It might be just a guess,” she replied, her tone somber, “but… removed, replaced, or simply... disappearing.”
Ries felt a shiver run down her spine. She learned early on that in a world where power was everything, those who lost it didn’t just step down, they were often erased. And if this was happening at the highest levels, then the situation was far more dire than she had imagined.
"How far does this go?" Ries asked, glancing at Viviana.
The Minister only shook her head, a deep frown creasing her brow. “I don’t know. I only noticed something was amiss when none of the Ministers I called responded, or came to our usual tea time.”
"You think they're all...?" Ries hesitated, the implication hanging heavy in the air.
"Removed? Perhaps," Viviana sighs. "Or maybe they've gone into hiding, trying to survive whatever is coming.”
“So what do we do?”
Viviana stopped walking and turned to face Ries. “I just so happen to know a passage that will lead us safely outside.”
Without another word, Viviana turned her attention to a nearby painting hung on the wall. It was a magnificent portrait of a legendary statesman, adorned in his uniform and regalia, exuding authority and wisdom.
Ries watched as Viviana approached the painting. With a subtle press on the frame, the painting shifted, revealing a hidden mechanism. The wall beside it slid open with a soft rumble, revealing a narrow, dimly lit passageway that seemed to descend into the bowels of the building.
"Come on," Viviana urged, stepping into the passage. "We don’t have much time."
----------------------------------------
It was a cold night, the remnants of a recent storm leaving puddles scattered across the cobblestone streets. The air was heavy with the scent of rain and a tense, uneasy calm.
Yet, the tranquility was shattered by the rumble of engines as a convoy of trucks barreled down the slick streets, their wheels smoldering the puddles beneath them. These were no ordinary vehicles, they belonged to the Imperial Gendarmerie, each truck packed with 24 stern-faced soldiers. Who, probably didn’t know why they were deployed into the palace except for an apparent threat to the Empress.
As the convoy approached the gates of the imperial palace, the usual protocol seemed to evaporate. The palace guards, trained to recognize friend from foe, hesitated as their superiors—men they trusted—ordered them to stand down. Like the good soldiers they are, they opened the gates without resistance, allowing the trucks to roar through unhindered.
But the moment the trucks halted at the front of the palace, any pretense of cooperation evaporated. The palace guards, their nerves frayed by the sudden intrusion, swiftly readied their rifles, training them on the soldiers now spilling out of the vehicles.
The guards, though outnumbered, stood their ground, their eyes locked on the intruders, fingers hovering near triggers. The Gendarmerie soldiers, clad in their marine uniforms moved with urgency as they form a perimeter around the trucks, their own weapons at the ready.
“What is the meaning of this?” From behind the palace guards, a man wearing the signature palace guard tricorne, yelled. Flanked with two other palace guards.
The captain's sharp eyes scanned the scene, noting the disciplined formation of Gendarmerie soldiers training their weapons at him. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as he tried to make sense of the situation. Just as confusion began to give way to anger, a voice called out from within the ranks of the intruders.
“Captain Zuiver!”
The captain's gaze snapped to the source, narrowing as he recognized the figure stepping forward. “Minister Eden... what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his tone laced with disbelief and a growing sense of betrayal.
Eden stepped into the dim light of the courtyard, a smile playing on his lips. His presence was exuding an unsettling calm. Gone was his usual dignified coat, instead, he was clad in his old military uniform, adorned with medals and awards from campaigns long past. The uniform, along with the tricorne perched atop his head, seemed almost like a relic of another era—an era where Eden was not just a Minister, but a soldier.
"Captain Zuiver," Eden greeted with a smooth, almost affable, voice, as if they were discussing matters of little consequence rather than a potential coup. "I see you're as vigilant as ever. But I'm afraid you're out of the loop on this one."
Zuiver’s eyes narrowed further. "Explain yourself, Minister. Why are Gendarmerie soldiers storming the palace? Under whose authority?"
“Under my authority, Captain. Now move aside. I don’t plan on getting anybody hurt.”
"Under your authority?" Zuiver echoed, his voice laced with incredulity. "You may be a Minister, but here, within these walls, the authority is mine. And I’ll not relinquish it on your say-so."
Eden’s smile thinned, his patience clearly wearing. “Captain, I have no desire to harm anyone tonight. Your cooperation is expected, and if you comply, I can assure you, no harm will come to your men."
“My loyalty is to the Empress, not to a Minister with ambitions above his station,” Zuiver replied with a firm voice. “If you want this palace, you’ll have to go through me!”
Zuiver turned to the palace guards. “Men! At arms! The Empire is under siege by traitors!” The declaration echoed through the courtyard like a battle cry, his voice carrying the weight of unwavering loyalty. The palace guards responded immediately, their rifles snapping to attention as they formed a defensive line around their captain.
Eden’s expression darkened, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He had hoped for a swift, bloodless transition. The ringing of the palace bells only heightened the urgency, signaling that the entire palace was now aware of the imminent danger.
“Captain, you’re making a grave mistake,” Eden warned, his voice cold and clipped. “The Empress is powerless to stop what’s coming. I suggest you stand down before you force my hand.”
But Zuiver was unmoved, his resolve as solid as the stone walls of the palace. “I’ll die before I let traitors take this palace. Men, prepare to defend the Empire!”
The palace guards braced themselves, eyes locked on the advancing Gendarmerie soldiers. The courtyard, once a place of order and grandeur, was now on the brink of chaos. The ringing bells reverberated through the night, a clarion call to arms that would soon be answered by the entire palace garrison.
Eden, sensing the situation spiraling out of control, gave a sharp nod to his soldiers. The Gendarmerie, disciplined and efficient, moved with precision, encircling the palace guards, their weapons trained on their targets. The clash was inevitable.
The tension in the courtyard was palpable, the kind that tightened every muscle and made the air hard to breathe. Both sides, palace guards and Gendarmerie soldiers, stood in a deadly standoff, their weapons ready, their eyes locked in a silent battle of will. The ringing bells had alerted the palace garrison, but it was too late for any reinforcements to defuse the situation.
The Gendarmerie soldiers, trained and methodical, moved into position, a machine gun brought up from one of the trucks and set up on its tripod, its barrel aimed squarely at the palace guards. They waited for Eden’s command, their fingers hovering over triggers, the tension winding tighter with every passing second.
Zuiver’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Gendarmerie’s preparations. He could see the fear in his men’s eyes, but also the determination. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and standing against impossible odds—but they would not back down. They were the palace guards, the second line of defense of the Empress! She was behind them, and he’ll be damned if they don’t go down without making them bleed!
It was impossible to say who fired first, but as the crack of a gunshot split the air, so too does the shot reverberated throughout the Empire.