Quinn's crimson eyes traced the glowing arcs of data projected before him. His jaw tightened, the tension in his grip evident as his fingers curled around the armrests of his chair. The holographic reports were unyielding in their message: Noctalis now sat upon the throne of all guilds.
"Unbelievable," Quinn muttered, his voice a low growl that filled the quiet chamber. His words hung in the air, as though daring reality to refute the absurd claim.
But reality, cruel as it often was, remained unflinching. Noctalis wasn't just the thirteenth guild. It wasn't an addition to the Twelve Great Guilds—it stood above them all. The Empty Throne, once a symbol of balance and equality among the most powerful guilds, had been claimed.
The audacity.
Quinn leaned back, exhaling slowly as his mind churned. 'Should I crush it?' The thought surfaced instinctively, a reflex honed from years of dealing with rivals and threats. But even as the idea flickered, he dismissed it with a bitter smile. Crushing Noctalis wasn't an option anymore.
Arthur Nightingale wasn't just a guildmaster. Not anymore.
In a matter of months, he had positioned himself as a force of nature, a towering presence that rivaled even the Emperor in influence. Arthur's mastery over the guild system—a web of economic and military might that could rival entire nations—was undeniable. And with the submission of the Twelve Great Guilds, he hadn't merely changed the game; he'd flipped the board.
Quinn's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. 'If Arthur reaches Radiant-rank…' The thought sent a ripple of unease through him. At that level, Arthur wouldn't just rival him; he'd stand as his equal. A Radiant-ranker wielding the combined power of the guild system was a prospect too terrifying to ignore.
"Damn it," Quinn muttered under his breath, his hand tightening into a fist. He could feel the edges of history shifting, bending under the weight of Arthur's rise. It was as though a new axis of power had been forged, one that threatened to overshadow even the imperial court.
'Aetherite.'
The word echoed in his mind, a reminder of the substance that had started it all. Even now, its extraordinary potential was fresh in his memory. Arthur hadn't just seen that potential—he had seized it, weaponized it, and used it to break the Twelve Great Guilds.
'He made them bow,' Quinn thought grimly. 'He made them kneel before him.'
The thought burned like a brand against his pride. As a Radiant-ranker, Quinn was accustomed to being untouchable, a force that could not be ignored. But Arthur? He hadn't used brute strength. He'd used his mind, his vision, and a cunning that outmaneuvered even the most entrenched powers of the Central Continent.
And yet, a spark of admiration flickered beneath the anger and unease. Was it admiration? Or was it fear?
Even now, with all his strength and influence, Quinn knew he couldn't remove Arthur so easily. The young guildmaster had built a fortress of alliances, a foundation of resources, and a network of support that even the Emperor would hesitate to challenge.
Quinn exhaled, letting his crimson gaze drift from the shimmering holographic reports to the sprawling vista beyond his chamber's window. The city lights of Avalon twinkled like stars caught in the web of civilization, a mirror to the intricate and fragile balance of power he now found himself questioning.
He clasped his hands behind his back, his mind churning with thoughts of Arthur Nightingale. The young guildmaster's rise to power was unprecedented, his influence now extending into the very foundations of the Slatemark Empire. Yet, amidst the chaos Arthur wrought, there was an anchor—a connection Quinn could not ignore.
Cecilia.
Quinn's daughter, his pride and joy, was in love with Arthur. And not just in the fleeting, shallow way young nobles often entertained romance. This was deeper, more profound. A bond that could not be severed by mere politics or ambition.
Arthur loved her too. That much was clear. His devotion was evident in the small things: the way his eyes softened when Cecilia entered the room, the unspoken care in his words when he spoke of her. It wasn't just a relationship born of convenience or strategy. It was real. And that, Quinn thought, might be his greatest leverage.
Marriage. The word settled in his mind like a stone dropping into a still pond, sending ripples of certainty through his thoughts. Marriage had always been the ultimate tool in the arsenal of diplomacy. And in this case, it could be the perfect solution to a precarious problem.
Arthur's union with Cecilia would cement a bond that even ambition could not sever. The love they shared would ensure loyalty. Arthur would never move against his family, not with Cecilia standing by his side.
Quinn turned from the window, his sharp features softened by the faintest flicker of a smile. Yes, this was the way forward.
But it wasn't just about Cecilia. Quinn's mind, always calculating, shifted to another pivotal piece on the board: Elara Astoria. If Elara married Valerian Slatemark, it would neutralize Leopold Astoria's influence. A union between the two families would anchor Leopold's ambitions firmly to the imperial structure, removing him as a wildcard in the ever-shifting dance of power.
Two marriages. Two alliances. Two geniuses bound by love and duty.
"Geniuses are like this," Quinn murmured to himself, the words a quiet reassurance. "They understand the bigger picture. Arthur will see this as I do."
And yet, as the thought settled, a shadow of unease crept into his mind. Arthur wasn't just a genius. He was a Nightingale.
The Nightingales were a family steeped in mystery and legend, their name a whisper of awe and dread in the halls of power. Arthur's meteoric rise wasn't just the work of a prodigious mind or cunning strategy—it was something more. Something destined.
Quinn's jaw tightened as the weight of realization pressed against him. Arthur wasn't merely a player in the game. He was the game changer.
The one whose voice will pierce the heavens themselves.
The true Nightingale.
The thought sent a chill down Quinn's spine. For all his careful planning, his meticulous manipulation of alliances and power structures, he was dealing with a force that defied conventional wisdom.
He pursed his lips, his mind racing. Was marriage truly enough? Would it be enough to bind a storm, to tether a force like Arthur Nightingale? Or was he simply building bridges that would eventually crumble beneath the weight of Arthur's inevitable rise?
Quinn turned back to the holographic reports, his crimson eyes narrowing as the numbers blurred into insignificance. His thoughts were no longer on the guilds, the empire, or even his carefully laid plans.
They were on Arthur.
And on the question that now loomed larger than ever:
'What happens when a Nightingale decides to sing?'