From the high tower above the gate, a guard's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. "Someone is approaching! State your name and purpose for coming to the citadel. What business do you have here?"
"I am Silas Ardentis, Son of Erik Ardentis," came the reply, shouted back from the figure below. An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment before it was shattered by the thunderous roar of the gates being hauled open.
"The prince is approaching!" the sentry at the top of the tower shouted.
Without delay, the Imperial Guards marched forward, their presence enveloping Silas, separating him from the world. The air thickened with a tangible sense of authority, the gleam of their polished armor reflecting the sunlight. Each step they took echoed with a precision that suggested they were more machine than men, their synchronized movements a testament to unwavering discipline. The formation marched toward the castle, its purpose singular and focused.
"My prince, I couldn't help but notice you've lost your sword," the commander observed as he walked alongside Silas, whose place at the center of the formation felt like both protection and confinement. "I presume you had trouble on the road?"
Silas nodded slowly, offering no further explanation. The march continued until they reached the palace staircase. Once inside the safety of the palace walls, the guards dispersed, leaving Silas alone as servants hurried forward, eager to escort him to his chambers. They assumed he needed rest. But rest was the last thing on Silas's mind. He would rest when he was dead. What he needed was vengeance—vengeance that would only be satisfied when his blade took the head of his bastard brother.
Lost in his thoughts, conjuring countless ways to tear his brother apart, Silas was startled by the sudden presence of his father, Erik Ardentis. The very air in the room seemed to constrict as the older man entered, his eyes dark with a mixture of anger and disdain. Silas sighed, a bitter acknowledgment of his father's arrival.
"I thought I told you not to return here," Erik said, his voice laced with bitterness. He wiped his hand on the black sleeve of his tunic as if ridding himself of some unpleasant filth.
Silas met his father's icy gaze. "I considered it," he replied softly, "but unfortunately for both of us, I care about our House, even though you don't care for me."
He paused, his voice steady despite the tension. "If I stayed away and kept this discovery to myself, House Ardentis would have been wiped from existence. The ruins of this citadel and slanderous songs would be all that remained."
Erik's expression remained unchanged, his stoic demeanor barely concealing the deep hatred that had taken root within him since the death of Silas's mother.
"You claim to love this house," Erik spat, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "But from the moment you came into this world, you've done nothing but betray us. Your mother—my beloved wife—died because of you. You tore her apart the moment you drew your first breath, and with her, you took our sight into the future."
Silas's breath caught in his throat. He had heard the accusation countless times, and though he knew in his heart he wasn't to blame, the weight of guilt always lingered. But he had become an expert at masking his emotions. He held his father's gaze without flinching, even as that familiar ache gnawed at him.
"Get some rest, Silas," Erik said, turning to leave. "We'll speak in the morning."
After a time, there came a gentle knock at the door. Silas sighed in frustration. "Come in," he called, his voice weary.
A figure in a hooded black robe entered quietly, closing the door behind her with care. She pulled back her hood to reveal her face. The dim light from the window illuminated her blonde hair and smooth skin. Silas sat up, his gaze locking onto hers.
"Silas," the woman whispered, her voice soft and angelic. Her lips curled into a small smile as she approached the bed. She reached out, resting a hand on his cheek.
"Talia," he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. His hand moved to brush a strand of her hair. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," she replied, her voice trembling. "But I saw you today. After the attack. I saw you walk through the city, scarred but alive. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
Tears welled up in her green eyes, the light catching the moisture and causing them to glisten. Silas pulled away, his voice a quiet plea.
"You should go, Talia."
She hesitated, her brows knitting together in confusion. After a long moment, she nodded, her expression one of acceptance, though pain lingered in her gaze.
"That's fine," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. "If that's what you need, I'll love myself. I'll love me enough for both of us."
Talia pulled her hood back up and turned to leave, the soft click of the door closing behind her echoed through the room. A single tear slid down Silas's cheek, but it wasn't born of love or regret. He had never truly loved her. A part of him wanted to, but all he had ever seen in her was fleeting pleasure, and that was all he had ever used her for. Now, as he stood alone, trapped in the conflicted labyrinth his mind had created, thoughts of Valen's betrayal tormented him.
The images of his brother's treachery played over and over in his mind like a curse. This was the first true strike against House Ardentis in half a century, and it wasn't made by some foreign enemy or external power. No, the threat came from within.
"The only force strong enough to take down the Ardentis was the Ardentis themselves."
These words sang like a dark chorus in Silas's mind. Valen wasn't just any threat—he was more dangerous than anything their family had ever faced before. He wasn't just some outsider or rebellious noble. He was Silas's brother. He was the very flesh of Erik Ardentis. And that made him the greatest danger of all.