The atrocity was framed as logistics.
That was Varros' genius.
No screaming mobs. No burning districts. Just a "temporary consolidation" of displaced citizens into an unused warehouse complex on the eastern edge of the city. The writs cited public safety, resource strain, preventative containment.
Clean words.
Dangerous ones.
By the time Aureline learned what had happened, the gates were already locked.
---
The warehouse district smelled of oil and damp stone.
Families packed together in spaces never meant for living. Children cried from hunger and fear. The Watch presence was heavy—but deliberately distant. Guards were instructed not to engage unless necessary.
"Necessary," in this case, meant unrest.
Varros stood at the perimeter, watching with clinical interest as reports filtered in.
"No fatalities," a subordinate said carefully. "A few injuries. Mostly panic."
"Acceptable," Varros replied.
The man hesitated. "My lord… this will be seen as cruel."
Varros smiled faintly. "Only by people who mistake discomfort for injustice."
He turned away. "Ensure supplies arrive late, not absent. Hope must exist, or they'll riot too quickly."
The subordinate swallowed. "Yes, my lord."
Varros folded his hands behind his back.
"Pain teaches patience," he said idly. "And patience makes people grateful for any relief."
---
Aureline arrived an hour later.
She did not bring an entourage.
She walked into the warehouse alone.
The sight struck her like a physical blow.
"Who authorized this?" she demanded, voice echoing off stone.
Varros emerged from the shadows, unbothered. "I did."
"You displaced hundreds without oversight," Aureline snapped. "This is collective punishment."
"No," Varros corrected gently. "It's risk management."
She stared at him. "You're using civilians as leverage."
Varros inclined his head. "I prefer the term buffer."
Aureline's hands shook. "Release them. Now."
Varros' smile widened just a fraction. "And allow unrest to spread again?"
"This is unrest!"
"And yet," Varros said calmly, "it is contained."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You chose legitimacy. I chose effectiveness."
Aureline met his gaze, fury barely restrained. "This will destroy what faith remains in the city."
Varros shrugged. "Faith is overrated."
He leaned in. "Order is not."
---
That night, rumors spread faster than food.
Aiden heard them whispered in alleyways, shouted from balconies, argued in taverns.
"They're caging people."
"The Duchess allowed it."
"No—she tried to stop it."
"Then why are they still there?"
Aiden felt sick.
"This is because of me," he said quietly.
Seris shook her head. "This is because Varros wants to force a response."
Liora's voice was tight. "People are suffering now."
Inkaris stood apart, silent, gaze distant—not on the city, but on the pattern forming beneath it.
---
Across the city, in a candlelit parlor thick with incense and ambition, Lord Halvren II paced.
He was Varros' rival in name only—less feared, less respected, but infinitely more hungry. He wanted power not to rule, but to be seen ruling. To stand beside Aureline. To be chosen.
"I should be there," Halvren muttered. "Speaking. Acting."
He stopped abruptly.
Someone else was in the room.
The man sat comfortably in a chair Halvren did not remember owning, posture relaxed, eyes bright with amusement.
"Oh, you absolutely should," the stranger said.
Halvren spun. "Who are you?"
"A facilitator," the man replied. "Of opportunity."
Halvren's breath came fast. "I want power."
The man smiled.
"Of course you do."
"I want to rival Varros," Halvren continued. "To match him. To show the city I matter."
"And Aureline?" the man prompted.
Halvren flushed. "She'd see me."
The man laughed softly.
"Oh, this is going to be delightful."
"Can you do it?" Halvren asked desperately.
"I can grant political weight," the man said. "Authority sufficient to place you beside them both."
Halvren hesitated. "What's the cost?"
The man's smile remained unchanged.
"Understanding," he said. "Specifically, the lack of it."
Halvren didn't catch the warning.
"I accept."
The wish took hold quietly.
---
By morning, Halvren's name was everywhere.
Emergency coalitions. Sudden endorsements. Guild backing that had not existed the day before. He spoke at forums he had never been invited to.
He spoke badly.
He interrupted. Overreached. Promised too much.
Aureline stared at him in disbelief. "How did he gain this much influence overnight?"
Her aide shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."
Across the chamber, Varros watched Halvren with open fascination.
"Oh," he murmured. "Someone has added a wild card."
He smiled.
"I do enjoy uncertainty."
---
The warehouse situation deteriorated.
Halvren demanded immediate action—public relief, speeches, gestures without coordination. Supplies were rushed improperly. Guards repositioned without clear command.
A fight broke out.
Two people were injured.
Halvren blamed Varros. Varros blamed Aureline. Aureline blamed the council.
The city watched all three fracture.
---
Aiden stood on a rooftop that night, listening to the distant noise.
"This is spiraling," he whispered.
"Yes," Inkaris replied.
Aiden turned to him. "Someone did this. On purpose."
Inkaris did not deny it.
"Someone with the means," he said carefully, "and the temperament to enjoy it."
Aiden's voice shook. "Is it… one of us?"
Inkaris met his gaze. "No."
That answer did not comfort him.
"Then who?"
Inkaris looked back toward the city.
"A reminder," he said quietly, "that wishes do not require benevolence to function."
Aiden clenched his fists. "People are suffering because someone wanted to feel important."
"Yes," Inkaris said softly. "And now you understand why granting power without wisdom is cruelty disguised as generosity."
---
Varros stood alone later that night, wine untouched.
"A rival with borrowed strength," he mused. "A Duchess bleeding legitimacy. A boy breaking under responsibility."
He smiled.
"This city is becoming interesting."
Far above, unseen by any of them, the stranger from the parlor watched with glee.
"Oh, Varros," he murmured. "You wanted escalation."
His gaze flicked to Halvren, already drowning.
"And you," he added fondly, "wanted to matter."
The city trembled—not from magic, but from desire fulfilled without foresight.
And the joke had only just begun.
---