I slowly buttoned my shirt, my eyes fixed on Mirabel as she stood across from me.
"You should not put faith in the Church."
Her brows lifted slightly, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "Is there a reason you are saying that?"
I let out a long breath and sank into the chair behind my desk. The weight of the morning already pressed down on my shoulders.
The documents were scattered across the table, half-read proposals, military decrees, and royal missives all blurring together into a dull haze of obligation.
This office was my prison. Elegant, sunlit, and suffocating. It was a throne disguised as duty, crafted to bind me to the illusion of control.
I had hoped that with Nicole's return, she might relieve some of this burden. Yet as always, the crown demanded its own devotion.
Light poured through the tall windows, warming the surface of the desk. I almost wished it would burn straight through the paperwork.
But Mirabel's presence across from me was grounding, calm, cold, and observant. She was reading me more than she was listening.
"I do not think we should ever rely on a single organization," I said, lifting a quill between my fingers. "Not even the Church. We must stay watchful, balanced, and stoic."
She tilted her head slightly. "That is a dangerous statement, especially in public."
"Then I will only say it here," I replied softly.
She waited for me to continue, but I turned my attention back to the documents.
Most of them were mundane matters, border disputes, noble feuds, and merchant taxes. Yet a few caught my attention.
The army had requested increased recruitment and expanded training programs. Necessary, perhaps, but not immediately urgent.
If Fertical dared to challenge us, they would fall within a week. Our forces outmatched them in strength, morale, and leadership.
Still, I could not ignore the possibility of future conflicts. Bamdia would back Fertical; they always did. Their kind thrived on opportunism, waiting for another's glory to bleed so they could steal what remained.
"I want a map," I said without looking up. "We will start marking potential war zones."
Mirabel nodded and crossed the marble floor, her footsteps quiet yet deliberate.
"World map or just the kingdom?" she asked.
"World map."
She crouched low and pulled a golden-threaded scroll from the shelf.
As she unfurled it across the desk, the parchment spread like the surface of the world itself, fragile and vast, waiting to be rewritten.
I began to trace new borders with the tip of my quill.
"Fertical will march first," I murmured, drawing a black line from their southern border. "They will come through the thinning forest edge, a direct but predictable route."
"Are you accounting for Bamdia?" she asked.
I smiled faintly. "Of course. They will strike from the east, through the sea routes. It is in their nature to avoid open confrontation."
Mirabel's frown deepened. "You rely heavily on intuition."
"If only you knew," I said under my breath. "Bamdia is ruled by greed and envy. Their actions are inevitable."
She traced the coastline with her finger. "Then we should send Malachi to Fort Havel. He will stop any landing force before they anchor."
"Exactly. Let them try their luck."
We continued marking territories in silence for a time.
"Uthopia," I said finally, tapping the southernmost kingdom. "We should begin trade negotiations with them."
Mirabel looked skeptical. "Trade? Now?"
"Yes. Our hunting and fishing barely sustain the population. We rely too much on luck and magic. Uthopia's infrastructure could stabilize our economy."
She crossed her arms. "You are thinking long-term."
"Always." I smiled faintly. "They use mana-powered transport and floating markets. Partnering with them could modernize our ports. It would make us untouchable economically."
Her eyes flicked toward the western continent. "And Camelot? I heard their knights are binding dragons again."
"They are. But I do not need their beasts. What I need are their forges, their ability to craft living steel. If we gain that, our weapons will surpass even angelic armaments."
She smirked. "You have thought this through."
"I have had a long time to think," I replied quietly.
Her tone softened. "And Giah? They will intervene if they sense aggression."
"Then we draw the war out. Let them believe we are defending our land. Appear noble and patient. It is a role the world loves to see."
She chuckled lightly. "You sly little snake."
I gave her a mock bow. "I prefer the term strategist."
Her attention turned to the southwest. "And Veritas?"
The name lingered like a curse.
Veritas, the Holy Kingdom. The face of virtue. The golden jewel of the world.
In truth, it was the Church's kingdom, or as they call themselves in sacred text, The Golden Authority.
They claimed to guide the faithful, to maintain order, and to preserve divine harmony between Heaven and Earth. And they succeeded, at least publicly.
The world adored them. Their priests healed the sick, fed the hungry, and built cities from nothing. Their saints walked among mortals, radiant and pure.
But beneath that gold lay rot.
The Golden Authority's reach extended far beyond sermons and scripture.
They whispered into kings' ears and guided wars under the guise of divine judgment. They sanctioned massacres as holy purification and convinced the faithful that suffering was sanctity.
Entire villages vanished in the night, their names erased from every record, their souls declared heretical or unworthy. I have seen it.
They do not simply worship the divine; they manipulate it. And the worst part is, most of their clergy are innocent, unaware that the sermons they preach are the words of men, not gods.
The higher clergy know more. They act as if Heaven itself speaks through them, but I have felt the taint of their rituals.
What they serve is not God. It is something older, silent, and unseen.
Some believe they preserve the true scripture of Creation, while others say they worship the reflection of God's shadow, the part of divinity even angels cannot face.
Mirabel's eyes narrowed. "You think the Church is plotting something?"
I leaned back in my chair. "They already are. They always have been."
"What is their goal?"
"I do not know yet," I admitted.
"But they move like the Silent Court, hidden behind ceremony and veiled by holiness. They convince others to commit atrocities so their hands remain clean."
Mirabel frowned. "You are saying they cause wars intentionally?"
"I am saying they allow them. They shape the course of civilization, pruning what they see as overgrowth. To them, war is a kind of harvest. They let the world bleed so that faith may flourish anew."
I met her gaze, my voice lowering. "They believe this is their sacred duty, the divine order of all things. And the world believes it too, because the light they show is blinding enough to conceal the shadow beneath it."
Mirabel's hand lingered on the map, her expression unreadable. "And yet, everyone reveres them."
"That is the genius of it. They have made themselves indispensable. They are healers, builders, and judges. If anyone defies them, it is seen as blasphemy."
She sighed, a faint tremor in her breath. "So what do we do?"
"We wait," I said softly. "And we watch. The truth always reveals itself in time."
Mirabel smiled faintly. "You always say that."
I remember saying it when she asked why my parents picked her, a funny little thing.
"Because it is always true."
She leaned closer, resting her hands on my shoulders. "Then until that time comes, let us focus on surviving this war."
I smiled, though my thoughts were already elsewhere, upon the unseen wars that moved behind the veil of light.
[Nicholas almost pitied those who still prayed to the Golden Authority, unaware that their salvation was written in another's blood. He could not yet see the hand that moved them, but he felt its pull in every shadow of faith.]