corlis
The hall door creaked open with a long, faint groan, as if even the air itself hesitated before letting him in.
Gareth entered with slow, steady steps, not hesitant, but measured with deliberate firmness, as though each step had been weighed beforehand.
He wore his dark gray armor, light around the chest, carefully polished, yet devoid of ornamentation.
A practical armor, for a man who didn't believe in display. He carried no sword.
And that alone was enough for everyone in the hall to realize he hadn't come as a warrior, but rather as a liaison between the Council and the Investigation Department.
He paused for a moment at the threshold; he didn't step in immediately. His eyes, seemingly calm, began scanning the faces of those seated, as though combing the hall for the unspoken, a sudden twitch, a diverted glance, an uncontrolled expression.
The gaze of someone used to reading intentions beneath layers of silence.
He moved forward, and the sound of his steps was sharp enough to pierce the tense silence that had preceded his arrival.
Each tap of his heel on the marble floor
felt like the prelude to an announcement. He reached the center of the hall, bowed his head slightly in a gesture of formality, nothing more, then spoke in a tone flat and unembellished: "I regret to inform you there is nothing new to report."
Some members of the council raised their eyes to him, others kept staring at their fingertips as if they already knew the answer.
Gareth continued, his voice neither loud nor soft, precise as a calculated shot: "The garow family remains steadfast... I see no sign of intent to confess or assist in the investigation."
He paused for a moment, then added: "As for Nile, there is still no trace of him.
But we know one thing... the city gates are under heavy guard.
Escaping the city is impossible. Which means… he is still here, hiding somewhere."
Minister Oceane addressed Fortax, his voice low but cutting through the silence like a blade, laden with the weight of many years in power and a deep understanding of political deceit.
He sat leaning slightly forward, as if age had not dulled his pursuit of truth even when it hid behind the faces of the gathered.
"Four days…" he said with a sigh,
his words crumbling over his dry lips.
"Four days of interrogation, pressure, torture— all to no avail."
He paused for a moment, gave vortex a long look full of unspoken meaning, then continued, with a slow cadence that echoed like a heartbeat in the chest of a man who knew patience wasn't foolishness: "Is this unbreakable will?
Or are they truly uninvolved in the queen's murder, and this is nothing but a trap that was set for them?"
vortex slowly closed his eyes, as if his sigh was an attempt to bury the anger bubbling within.
Oceane's repeated insinuations and his constant defense of the garow family
had begun to stir something deeper than annoyance.
He whispered so softly only he could hear: "I should have gotten rid of this senile old man too."
He opened his eyes at last, and with a tone sharp, tinged with subtle mockery, he said: "It seems your relationship with the garow family is excellent, Minister… Not a single session passes without you slipping in your veiled defenses disguised as wisdom and doubt."
Then he slowly spread his hand across the table, his voice now more serious, colder,
carrying a clear tone of warning: "You know that admitting their hands are stained with the queen's blood, directly or indirectly, means execution. and that is precisely why… they stall.
This isn't about honor or innocence,
it's about time. They are buying time, or giving it to Nile … so he can act."
He lifted his gaze and looked directly at Oceane, then at the rest of those present: "We don't know how long they've been planning. and maybe we're now sitting atop the ashes of a conspiracy that hasn't yet exploded.
In this silence you speak of, oceane … there are betrayals hiding, and corpses waiting for the light to rise from under the ground.
And I won't be the one waiting for the blow."
Oceane didn't move from his place, but tilted his head slightly to the side, his gray eyes observing vortex steadily.
He didn't answer immediately, letting a moment of silence pass, as if it were a slow slap.
Then he said in a low, calm voice, with the weight of years layered in its tone: "I'm not defending anyone. I'm defending the truth…
I fear we might break the necks of the innocent just because we lack the courage to doubt ourselves."
vortex smiled a tilted smile that never reached his eyes, but clearly drew a shadow of mockery on the corners of his mouth.
It was as if Oceane's words had pleased him in his own way.
He hadn't expected the old man to respond with such boldness— especially after the veiled threat , he had just slipped into his earlier remarks.
But it seemed Oceane now past eighty, no longer cared about warnings.
Vortex tapped his fingers on the table, a steady tapping that resembled a rhythm or mysterious tune only he and Oceane knew.
Then, his tone suddenly shifted to something resembling jest,but his voice remained cold as a blade: "I didn't know you were this gentle, Minister… Your words drip with mercy and tenderness I've never seen in men of politics.
You know what?
Ever since I opened my eyes to this world, you've been this nation's minister… I've always wondered how you've kept that seat
for forty years, when the constitution allows no more than ten."
It was clear to vortex that his words had landed their mark. The old minister's face turned red, and beads of sweat raced down his forehead in crooked paths.
His white beard—once a symbol of dignity, now looked like a soaked piece of cotton.
"You really are lucky, Oceane …"
vortex said, leaning forward slightly, his voice calm, as if telling a story: "You've lived through three kings… watched them come and go, die… while you remain seated here in good health."
Oceane couldn't respond. This time, he chose silence, but his thin hands began to tremble under the table, barely noticeably, yet vortex saw it all.
He quietly picked up a glass of water, took a small sip, then set it beside him. His tone softened slightly, as if to calm the atmosphere: "Let's set this conversation aside."
He paused a moment, then looked at the faces around the room: "I've had an idea… a plan that might allow us to lure Nile out of his hole."
Vortex stood up from his seat, and all eyes turned toward him at once, while a silence thick with anticipation filled the room.
It was as if the entire council had become a theater stage, with every gaze fixed on the lone actor in the spotlight.
"Nile's loyalty to his family has always outweighed his loyalty to the crown. and despite his desperate attempts to appear the noble knight, his behavior never strayed from that of a reckless young man."
Some members exchanged glances, not all in agreement, but none interrupted.
Then came the voice of Kaid, the director of financial affairs. He spoke in a heavy tone laced with weariness: "Could you get to the point already, Prince?
We're tired of circling the same issue. every meeting, we repeat the same words. Since the queen's assassination, we've been stuck in a spiral of administrative paralysis."
Then he turned his gaze toward the rest of the council, raised his voice slightly, and struck the table with his finger: "And more important than all this… the throne remains empty. For how long?!
Isn't it our duty, and common sense to declare vortex interim ruler?
We can't run the kingdom headless. Time is not on our side."
The members exchanged quick glances, debating silently whether they should show support or remain neutral.
As for Oceane, the eighty-year-old elder, he stayed silent… his eyes closed, as if what had just been said came as no surprise at all.
vortex smiled, and a clear look of satisfaction lit up his eyes, undeniable. Kaid's flattering words touched something deep inside him, something he knew well... that intoxicating sense of dominance, when power comes willingly, not forced.
He raised his hand and gently placed it over his chest, then bowed with a disciplined grace, not without a hint of theatrical flair— like a man performing a royal rite in an empty court: "Thank you for your trust, Mr. Kaid. Believe me, the last thing I want is to take a step without the full support of the council… We are partners here, are we not?"
His words came out smooth and serious, but inside, they amused him. he left his place and walked alongside the long table, behind the seated members.
His steps weren't loud, but just enough to make everyone feel that his presence was now behind them, as if he were an unseen inspector, always present.
He approached Kaid, his eyes scanning the backs of those seated.he was watching, as if hunting for something in their body language— a twitching hand, a flickering eye, a tense glance.
He said, in a tone tinged with contemplation: "Last night, I thought to myself... and came to a conclusion: it's time we announce the queen's death to the people."
A light murmur passed through the room, but Kaid was the first to respond, without lifting his eyes from the table.
He was chewing the nail of his thumb unconsciously, an old habit that appeared when he was anxious or uneasy.
"Do you think that's safe? The people loved the queen. If they find out she was murdered, and not that her death was natural... that might ignite chaos among the more unruly."
Vortex stopped directly behind him. He extended his hand and placed it on Kaid's shoulder, pressing slightly. The touch was direct— an act of control, not familiarity.
He said in a cold but confident tone: "We won't just give them the news. We'll give them the criminals too. We'll present the garow family to the public. Let them see them... hear their denials and their silence.
Then we let the people decide.
Let them choose the fate."
Vortex stepped back, then calmly walked toward the front of the table, while a heavy silence settled. Then he continued, his voice louder this time, addressing everyone: "The public trial will be moved to the Grand Square. and we'll broadcast the interrogation sessions on the city screens.
Let those who still love the queen pass judgment themselves."
Some eyebrows rose, while other heads lowered. It was now clear that vortex wasn't after justice… but a spectacle.
A bloody performance meant to sweep up the crowd's sympathy, strengthen his grip on power, and silence every opposing voice.
Oceane spoke in his hushed voice, one that seemed to emerge through the rust of years, not objecting, merely reminding, as if casting the shadow of truth upon the wall of deceit: "We do not hold the upper hand. If we go through with this, Nile may kill Prince Corlis as well… assuming he's still alive."
Vortex replied calmly, but his voice carried that steely edge that does not allow retreat: "Do not worry, Minister. This is all part of the plan to draw Nile out.
There is one thing I'm certain of: Nile won't sit idle when he sees his family's life hanging by a thread of fire. We'll craft a grand spectacle, a majestic show, and everyone will be a part of it."
He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice, as if saying the most important part: "My only hope… is that we don't have a traitor among us feeding him our every move."
A heavy silence followed vortex's words, but one of suspicion.
The members' gazes shifted between one another, quickly, yet cautiously as if each were measuring the others with a thread of doubt.
Doubt in intentions, in loyalties, in the silence itself. eyes that dodged, others that watched.
faces stoic on the surface but burning beneath. For a brief moment, each person felt the noose of accusation tightening around their neck.
Oceane was the first to turn his gaze toward the window, as though seeking a breath of air different from the tension-thickened air inside the chamber.
Kaid, on the other hand, began flipping through his papers nervously, pointlessly, none of what was written mattered anymore.
Vortex rose to announce the meeting's end.
He moved quietly, as if he'd placed a bomb in the middle of the hall and left before it could detonate.
He opened the chamber door slowly, and stepped out with calm, deliberate strides— solid, assured.
Gareth followed him without being told, like a shadow that needs no permission to move. The two of them exited, leaving behind more than disorder.
They left behind a growing fear, one that began to creep silently into the souls of the council, like hidden roots sinking deep into the soil. Preparing for the storm.