Calevor was a city where survival meant knowing who to bow to and who to betray. Lysian Valthor had no intention of bowing to anyone, but betrayal? That was an art he had mastered long ago.
He sat in the abandoned shop with Ren, the boy still watching him warily. Lysian didn't blame him—he was, after all, a child speaking like a ruler, with eyes that held knowledge no child should possess.
But fear made people predictable.
And predictable people could be controlled.
"You want to survive?" Lysian asked, his voice calm. "Then listen carefully."
Ren hesitated before nodding.
"Good," Lysian continued. "We need to start small. The Red Vultures, the Black Hounds, the Ashen Blades—those are all too big for us right now. But there's always someone beneath them. Someone desperate, someone stupid."
Ren frowned. "You want to mess with the gangs?"
"No," Lysian corrected. "I want to use them."
Ren sighed. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
Lysian leaned forward, his red eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Tell me—who is the most hated man in the slums?"
---
The Marked Man
The answer came faster than Lysian expected.
"Darlan the Rat."
Ren's voice was filled with disgust. "He's a broker. A filthy bastard who sells information, debts, and people. If you owe him money, you're screwed. If you cross him, you disappear."
Lysian smirked. Perfect.
"Where does he operate?"
"Near the old docks," Ren muttered. "Why? What do you want with him?"
Lysian stood, brushing dust off his cloak. "We need leverage. And nothing makes men easier to manipulate than a common enemy."
---
The Docks of Calevor
The old docks were rotting, half-sunken into the murky waters. The air reeked of fish, filth, and blood.
Darlan the Rat sat at a table outside a rundown shack, surrounded by hired thugs. He was short, balding, with pockmarked skin and a grin that reminded Lysian of a sewer rat picking at a corpse.
Lysian and Ren watched from the shadows.
"There he is," Ren muttered. "But I don't see how we get close without getting stabbed."
Lysian smirked. "We don't. We make them come to us."
---
The First Deception
Lysian didn't need strength to control people. He just needed the right words.
With careful steps, he approached a group of beggars loitering by the water. Dirty, desperate, hungry. Useful.
"You want to earn some coin?" Lysian asked, his voice soft but firm.
The beggars turned, surprised that a child spoke with such confidence. "What do you have, boy?" one asked.
Lysian smiled. "A secret. And I'm willing to share it… for a price."
They listened carefully. And when he was done speaking, they scattered.
---
The Chaos Begins
An hour later, Darlan the Rat's men were surrounded—by whispers.
"Did you hear?" a merchant muttered.
"They say Darlan's been stealing from Karn the Crimson."
"A dead man walking," another whispered.
By nightfall, the rumor had spread like wildfire.
Darlan himself stormed into the streets, furious. "Who's been spreading lies?!" he bellowed. "I have no debt with Karn!"
But fear was a powerful thing.
And men who lived in the underworld knew that once a rumor took hold, truth no longer mattered.
---
The Puppeteer in the Shadows
Lysian watched from a rooftop, a satisfied smile on his lips.
Darlan's men were nervous. Distracted. Weakened.
And in the days to come, they would either turn on him or flee.
Lysian didn't care which.
Because the first move had been made.
And Calevor had just taken its first step toward belonging to him.
---
The Academy's Invitation
But Lysian's rise would not remain unnoticed.
A week later, as he walked through the lower district with Ren, a carriage adorned with the royal crest stopped before him.
A man in golden robes stepped out, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"Lysian Valthor," the man said, holding out a sealed letter.
Lysian took it, breaking the wax seal. His eyes scanned the elegant script inside.
---
"By order of Queen Sylaara Dawncrest, you are hereby invited to enroll in the Grand Academy of Calevor. The Queen has taken interest in your talents. Attendance is not optional."
---
Lysian smirked. So, the game had truly begun.