Beneath the empire of Drayton, in a chamber buried deep underground, the air was thick with wax and damp stone. Shadows flickered across the walls, cast by a circle of men—some masked, others bare-faced. All silent. All waiting.
At the center, their leader sat, fingers tapping idly on his chair's armrest, his smirk sharp as a blade.
"The ambush failed," he said, his voice smooth. "The princess still breathes."
A hush fell over the room. Some men lowered their heads. Others stiffened. The flickering candlelight reflected off their masks, hiding any signs of unease. But the leader only chuckled.
"No matter," he mused. "The goal was never her death. Now, suspicion will fester. Soon, war will be the only path left."
A masked man with an air of authority spoke. "What about the king?"
The leader's smirk widened. "Enraged. My men have done their work well, whispering doubt into his ears, stoking his fury. Even now, one of them moves through the castle, pushing him further into the fire."
A hooded figure shifted at the edge of the room. "Then why attempt to kill the princess at all? If she's meant to unite Drayton and Ingocia, her death could ruin that."
The leader let the question hang, his smirk never faltering. He enjoyed their half-understanding.
Then he laughed. "She is a symbol. A tool. If she lives, she plays her part. If she dies, her father will turn to Ingocia for war. Either way, we win."
Another voice, quieter but firm. "Keven is trying to hold his father back."
The leader's smirk faded slightly. His fingers stopped drumming. "Watch him closely. I don't trust him."
A figure near the leader's right spoke up. "Keven is loyal, but he hesitates. He's not like his father. He thinks too much. And... he's kind."
The leader exhaled. "If he becomes a problem…" His voice dropped lower. "Kill him."
A ripple passed through the room. Some masked figures stiffened. One man near the wall spoke, his voice deep and steady. "Keven is strong. Killing him won't be easy."
The leader leaned back, his smirk returning. "I never said it would be easy. But I don't tolerate loose ends."
A taller masked figure spoke carefully. "And what of Devotion? They suspect a third party. And they have… the Phantom Hand."
Silence. Then, a name spoken like a curse.
"Yuri."
The room tensed. No one wanted to admit it, but they all knew—Yuri was not a man to be ignored.
"He was there," the hooded figure said. "He caught the arrow with his bare hand. I saw it myself."
For a moment, the chamber was deathly silent.
Then, the leader chuckled. "You're all thinking too much." His voice was light, dismissive. "Yuri is just one man. Strength alone does not change the tides of war."
The hooded figure clenched his fists. "Even so, he—"
The leader cut him off with a raised hand. "We move forward. War is coming. When battle rages, even the sharpest minds won't have time to think. Let him waste his efforts trying to stop the inevitable."
He stood, his smirk turning razor-sharp. "It's time for the final spark. Devotion will burn. We have to start with our last plan."
The figures around him straightened. The decision had been made. The pieces were set.
The leader clasped his hands together. "This game is already won."
The candle flames flickered. Shadows stretched across the stone walls. And in the darkness, the unseen hands of war continued to move.