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Chapter 11
The weeks that followed were like a silent game of chess.
Kael moved his pieces without ever revealing his hand. The guilds, the Merchant Council, and the City Guard had now sunk into such deep distrust that alliances formed and shattered in the span of a single day.
At night, in the back room of his small shop, Kael received his most trusted contacts. Candles cast trembling shadows on the walls, making the room seem alive, breathing in sync with the hushed conversations.
That evening, Sélène was there.
She had tossed her rain-soaked cloak onto a chair, her hair still damp, her eyes glittering with amusement.
> "Have you heard?" she asked, settling into her seat. "A captain of the guard has gone missing. They say he ran off with the patrol's gold."
Kael, busy preparing tea, allowed himself a faint smile.
> "Rumors are often more dangerous than actions. Whether he left willingly or not… doesn't matter. What matters is what people believe."
Sélène raised an eyebrow.
> "And what do you want them to believe?"
> "That this city can no longer be trusted. That no one is worthy of loyalty… except a few select people."
He locked his gaze on hers, letting the silence complete the thought.
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Poisoned Alliances
Over the past months, Kael and Sélène had become a formidable pair. She knew the city's hidden paths, the routes that slipped past the Guard's eyes. She knew where the compromising documents were kept, which doors to knock on for information money alone couldn't buy.
In return, Kael gave her the protection of his network, access to rare resources, and—perhaps most intoxicating of all—the feeling of playing a role in a game far greater than herself.
But behind that partnership, Kael never let his guard down.
Every move she made, every word she spoke, he dissected. He didn't believe in absolute loyalty—not in a world where everything had a price.
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The Poison in the Foundations
One afternoon, he met in private with the leader of a small dockworkers' guild.
In an empty warehouse, Kael slid a pouch of coins across the table.
> "The rival guild's cargo shipments… need to be delayed. And if, by some misfortune, they were to vanish entirely, I would make sure those responsible were handsomely rewarded."
The docker hesitated, but Kael leaned forward, lowering his voice to a soft, deliberate tone.
> "They've already started talking about replacing you. Think of your family."
The man nodded. The deal was sealed.
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The First Visible Cracks
The results came quickly. Warehouses burned to the ground. Forged ledgers mysteriously appeared on merchants' desks, accusing certain captains of smuggling. The Guard, unable to find a single culprit, tightened their controls—slowing trade even further.
Kael watched it all with a cold calm. He didn't gloat. He measured. Every incident brought the city one step closer to breaking.
One night, as they crossed a bridge overlooking the canals, Sélène asked him:
> "Why go after them like this? You could just take power."
Kael stopped, letting the damp night breeze lift the hem of his coat.
> "Taking power draws attention. And attention… is the first step toward a fall. I'd rather the throne remain empty, until everyone calls for me to sit on it."
Sélène stared at him for a moment, as if trying to pierce the veil of his thoughts.
Then she smiled.
> "You're more patient than I am."
> "Patience is a weapon, Sélène. The one that strikes when everyone has lowered their guard."
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The city continued to sink deeper into suspicion.
And Kael, hidden behind his illusioned face, remained the unseen architect of its decay.
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