The Iron Dominion's capital, Blackspire, loomed like a jagged crown against the twilight sky. Its obsidian towers clawed at the clouds, their surfaces etched with runes that glowed faintly, casting a mysterious glow over the city. Prince Edric of the Freeholds gazed at the city from his carriage, his silver-fur cloak pulled tight against the evening chill. Beside him, Torin sat silently, his daggers hidden beneath his tunic, his eyes scanning the horizon with a mix of vigilance and wariness.
The journey through the Frostspine Peaks had been harrowing, but Kael Voss's timely intervention had ensured their safe passage. Edric couldn't shake the Warmaster's words: *"Peace is rare. War is easy."*
As the caravan approached the city gates, a detachment of Dominion soldiers emerged, their black armor gleaming under torchlight. At their head stood a woman—tall, her hair braided with iron rings, her eyes sharp as a hawk's gaze.
"Prince Edric," she called, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "I am Captain Selene, tasked with your escort. Welcome to Blackspire."
Edric stepped from the carriage, his boots crunching on the gravel path. "Thank you, Captain. I trust the arrangements are in order?"
Selene nodded. "Emperor Drakan and Empress Seraphine await you in the Hall of Embers. But first…" Her gaze shifted to Torin, who stood silently behind Edric. "Your guard will need to surrender his weapons."
Torin's hand twitched toward his daggers, but Edric raised a hand. "He stays armed. My father's orders."
Selene's lips tightened, but she inclined her head. "As you wish, Prince. Follow me."
The Hall of Embers was a cavernous space, its walls lined with braziers that cast flickering shadows across the marble floor. At the far end, atop a dais of black stone, sat Emperor Drakan and Empress Seraphine. Drakan's presence was imposing—broad-shouldered, his beard streaked with silver, his eyes like smoldering coals. Beside him, Seraphine radiated a quieter, sharper authority, her silver hair coiled in intricate braids, her gaze dissecting the room.
To their left stood Princess Lyra, her beauty as striking as the dagger sheathed at her hip, and to their right, the Dominion's council: Lord Varys, the spymaster, gaunt and watchful; General Malric, his armor scarred from countless battles; and Lady Isolde, ambassador of the Southern Marches, her face unreadable behind a veil of gold chainmail.
Edric approached, bowing deeply. "Emperor Drakan, Empress Seraphine, Princess Lyra. I bring greetings from the Freeholds and my father, King Alaric."
Drakan's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Rise, Prince Edric. Your journey was eventful, I hear."
Edric straightened. "Barbarians ambushed us in the Frostspine Peaks. Were it not for Warmaster Kael's intervention, the outcome might have been grim."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Barbarians? In our territory?"
"They carried alchemical weapons," Edric said, pulling a blue-stained arrow from his cloak. "Someone wanted to frame the Dominion."
Empress Seraphine leaned forward, her voice cool and precise. "A clumsy ploy. The Dominion does not skulk in shadows to provoke war."
Lord Varys stepped forward, his voice a rasp. "The arrow's poison is alchemical, yes—but the fletching is Freehold craftsmanship. A deliberate contradiction."
General Malric grunted. "Or a distraction. The real threat lies elsewhere."
Edric met Seraphine's gaze. "My father seeks peace, not subterfuge. The Freeholds would gain nothing from this."
Seraphine's eyes flicked to Torin. "And your guard? He bears the scars of a soldier, not a servant."
Torin bowed, his cough rattling. "I serve the crown, Your Grace. Nothing more."
Lyra cut in, her tone diplomatic. "Enough. Let us adjourn to the banquet. Our guest deserves respite before council talks."
---
The banquet was a spectacle of light and sound. Long tables groaned under roasted boar, spiced wines, and honeyed figs. Musicians played haunting melodies on instruments of bone and iron, while fire dancers spun between braziers. Edric sat at the high table between Lyra and Empress Seraphine. Torin lingered behind him, eyes scanning the room.
"Your mother is formidable," Edric murmured to Lyra, his voice barely audible over the music.
Lyra smirked, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "She's the reason the Dominion's trade routes thrive. She wins minds."
Across the table, Seraphine raised a goblet. "To alliances forged in daylight, not shadows."
The council echoed her toast, though Lord Varys's smile didn't reach his eyes.
As the feast progressed, Lyra leaned closer to Edric. "Tell me of the Freeholds. Your people are said to carve cities from glaciers."
Edric smiled, his voice filled with pride. "And yours carve empires from sand. Perhaps we're not so different."
General Malric snorted, his expression gruff. "Glaciers melt. Sand endures."
Seraphine chided him softly. "Enough, Malric. Let the prince speak."
Edric's reply was cut short as Captain Selene entered, her armor bloodied. "My lieges—raiders struck the eastern caravan. Survivors speak of warriors clad in black steel… and *this*." She tossed a raven pendant onto the table—identical to the one Kael had found.
The room fell silent, the music and laughter dying away.
Raven's pendant.
---
In the abandoned ruins, Raven stood in the shadow of crumbling walls, the remnants of a forgotten military base. Moonlight filtered through the cracks, illuminating rusted weapons and shattered armor.
"You're trespassing," a voice said, cold and sharp.
Raven turned. A man stepped from the shadows, his sword gleaming in the moonlight. Tall, fluid, eyes like shards of ice.
"This place is abandoned," Raven said, his voice cautious.
"Not to me," the swordsman replied. "Leave. Now."
Raven didn't move. "I'm not here for trouble."
The swordsman's blade flicked up, tip inches from Raven's throat. "You're here for answers. But you won't find them."
Before Raven could react, a group of warriors emerged from the ruins—Freehold soldiers, their snowflake insignias gleaming.
"Stand down," their leader barked. "This man is under our protection."
The swordsman hesitated, then lowered his blade. "This isn't over."
As he vanished, the Freehold leader turned to Raven. "We've tracked the Outsiders here. They're mobilizing. And they have… *allies* in high places."
Raven's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
The soldier's gaze darkened. "Someone who wants empires to burn."
Raven followed the soldiers deeper into the ruins, his instincts screaming. They reached a crumbling hall, its ceiling open to the stars, and in the center lay a chest, its surface etched with the same runes as the Outsider armor.
Orin knelt, prying it open. Inside were vials of glowing liquid and scrolls written in a language Raven didn't recognize.
"This is it," Orin said. "Proof of their plans."
Raven's eyes narrowed. "And you just… left it here?"
Before Orin could respond, the air shifted. The Freehold soldiers drew their weapons, their movements too precise, too synchronized.
Raven's dagger was in his hand before the first blade struck. The fight was brutal, the soldiers moving like puppets. Raven's daggers flashed, cutting through them with lethal precision, but as each soldier fell, their bodies dissolved into black smoke, leaving behind only the faint scent of rot.
Doppelgangers.
Raven spun, his breath coming hard. "Outsiders."
A voice chuckled from the shadows. "Clever, Shadow. But not clever enough."
The swordsman reappeared, his blade gleaming. "You should've left when you had the chance."
Raven's daggers clashed against the swordsman's blade, sparks flying. The fight was a blur of steel and shadow, each strike met with equal force.
Then, an arrow struck Raven's shoulder, the force driving him to his knees.
He looked up, blood dripping from the wound. A figure stood atop a crumbling wall, a bow in hand.
"Marcus," Raven growled.
His teammate lowered the bow, his expression grim. "You walked into a trap, Raven. Again."
Raven's vision blurred as the swordsman stepped closer. "Sleep, Shadow. The Barons have plans for you."
The last thing Raven saw was Marcus's arrow, aimed at his chest.
---
As night fell, Edric and his hosts retired to private chambers, the intrigue of the pendant lingering in their minds. Little did they know, across the ruins, Raven faced his own battle, one that would entangle him in a web of deceit stretching across empires. The Outsiders were merely the vanguard of a greater conspiracy, one that sought to exploit the fragile balance of power in the land.
And Raven, with his shadows and scars, was about to find himself at the very center of it all.