[Kuzan POV]
Three days had passed since our last discussion, and the weight of it still clung to me like a heavy fog. My newly appointed secretary, Fiana, was tireless, a beacon of efficiency amid the swirling storm of politics and intrigue. Her eyes, usually sharp and focused, now seemed to betray the exhaustion she wouldn't admit. She had managed, without a single complaint, to keep me supplied with every document, note, and report I required to chart my next moves. Yet, despite the unrelenting tide of information at my disposal, an unsettling tension simmered beneath my calm exterior.
I sat in the grand library, its towering shelves laden with the wisdom of ages—ancient tomes, intricate maps, and scrolls that chronicled centuries of history, war, and politics. The room was silent but for the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the cold stone walls. The scent of aged parchment filled the air, mingling with the soft, smoky undertone of burning wood. I let my gaze linger on the dancing flames, their unpredictable movements a stark contrast to the meticulously ordered thoughts in my mind.
'Patience,' I reminded myself. The greatest flaw of any strategist is impatience. Every decision, every move, had to be executed with precision. One wrong step and everything I had built could crumble into dust. But beneath that calculated exterior, a gnawing sense of unease festered, like a phantom I couldn't quite shake. It was a quiet, insistent hum, one that had taken residence in the back of my mind.
I couldn't afford to entertain it. Hesitation would be my downfall.
"How's everything been progressing?" I asked, my voice steady as I glanced at Fiana. She stood nearby, her posture as straight and disciplined as ever, eyes alert, ready to report.
Without missing a beat, she summarized the status of various operations, her words a delicate balance between thoroughness and brevity. Fiana had mastered the art of saying just enough to inform me without drowning me in minutiae. A skill I found invaluable. Yet, as she spoke, I caught something—an almost imperceptible tremor in her voice, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Her gaze flitted between the documents she held and the stone floor as if something weighed heavily on her.
I stopped her mid-sentence. "What is it?"
For a moment, she hesitated, her eyes betraying an internal struggle. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke, her voice low. "The Emperor... He is alive."
The room fell into silence. The air grew heavier, the crackling of the fire seemed distant. But instead of the shock Fiana expected, a smile curled at the edge of my lips. The notion that the Emperor had survived stirred not fear or panic within me, but rather amusement.
"Don't worry," I said, my tone so calm it visibly unnerved her. "I'll deal with him personally."
His survival was unexpected, yes, but not a catastrophe. If anything, it presented a unique opportunity, one that could be turned to my advantage with the right maneuvering. The royal archives had revealed enough for me to understand that his reappearance could be more of a boon than a hindrance, if I played my cards correctly.
Still, I hadn't summoned Fiana to discuss the Emperor's return. That matter could wait. There were far more pressing concerns to address.
"You've done well," I said, my voice softening as I handed her a sealed document. "Now, for why I called you."
The paper bore the weight of carefully calculated demands—requests that, while seemingly simple, were crucial to the next steps in my plans. Access to the Royal Magical Archives was at the top of the list, a demand that would likely be met without much resistance, given Azuleth's current political climate. Especially now that Fiana held the Royal Seal, courtesy of the man himself.
'That girl...' I wanted to roll my eyes. 'She's so moody.'
Fiana had grown accustomed to handling such matters on my behalf, but I wasn't about to let myself grow complacent. The stakes were too high for distractions or mistakes.
"Take a look," I said, sliding another document toward her. She glanced at it with wary eyes, already sensing that this task was different, more dangerous. This wasn't another routine demand.
The request was a simple one, on paper at least—an order to find individuals of a very particular skill set. Alchemists, poisoners, and other shadowy experts whose talents lay far outside the realm of official politics. Their work would need to be conducted in absolute secrecy, away from prying eyes and loose tongues. The instructions were detailed, meticulously written by my own hand to ensure there would be no room for misunderstanding.
"This will require… discretion," I added, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "Do whatever is necessary to secure them. I want the best. No exceptions."
I watched her closely, the subtle shift in her expression confirming my suspicions. Fiana understood the weight of this task, the immense risk it carried. Yet, she did not protest. She had never failed me before, and I had no reason to doubt her now. But I knew, deep down, this request troubled her. It was a dangerous game I was asking her to play, with stakes far higher than she was accustomed to. Still, I had faith she would find a way. She always did.
As she turned to leave, I called after her, my tone casual, as if the next words were an afterthought. "Oh, and one more thing—tell the Emperor to stop being so shy. He should treat this palace like his own and come find me."
For a moment, Fiana froze, then let out a soft, dry laugh. The absurdity of my statement wasn't lost on her, nor was the subtle sarcasm that laced my voice. Telling the Emperor, the man who had once ruled from this very palace, to make himself at home? It was a bold jest, one that cut through Fiana's usual stoicism, though only for a fleeting moment.
I had told her before—she didn't need to pretend in front of me. There was no point. But old habits die hard, and Fiana had grown too accustomed to her masks to abandon them entirely.
After a brief, respectful nod, she left, her footsteps fading into the distance.
I remained in the library, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me once again. I had already drained this place of its knowledge, yet there was always more to uncover, more to refine. My mind drifted back to the Emperor, to the strange sensation of anticipation that had been gnawing at me since his return was announced.
"Maybe it would be prudent to review the Emperor's character file?"
I could almost visualize the file in my mind—the meticulously cataloged details that painted a picture of the man behind the title. His strengths and weaknesses, his ambitions and fears; they were all woven into the fabric of his identity.
The Emperor was a figure of contradictions, a leader revered yet feared, driven by a vision that often danced on the edge of tyranny. I recalled whispers of his strategic genius, tales of how he maneuvered through political landscapes with the grace of a master chess player, always several moves ahead. But there were also the shadows that lurked beneath the surface—the rumors of ruthless decisions made in the name of progress, the calculated betrayals that had secured his position.
'I mean, what do expect from someone who has a daughter like Azuleth?'
As these thoughts coalesced, the pieces began to fall into place. The layers of his character were as intricate as the empire he ruled. However, as I delved deeper into his character and the life he had lived, one decision became increasingly certain.
'I have to meet him...'