The next morning in the corridors beneath Vel Dragan smelled of damp stone and iron, a labyrinth of twisting halls lit only by flickering torches. Every footstep echoed like a drumbeat against the cold walls. Silas walked with measured precision, Yiro flanking him, the air between them tense with quiet authority.
Below, in the deepest wing of the dungeons, Marquis Ramla waited. Shackled to a reinforced iron post, his once-proud posture had begun to crumble under the weight of humiliation. His eyes widened slightly as Silas approached, but he tried to maintain a veneer of arrogance.
"You've been busy, Emperor," Ramla spat, voice trembling slightly. "I hear whispers that my 'betrayal' has been used to entertain the court."
Silas' golden eyes narrowed, unreadable yet deadly. "Your games end here, Ramla. And I intend to understand everything you know."
Yiro stepped forward, hands glowing faintly with mana, the light dancing across his gloves and the iron chains that bound the traitor. "The truth will come, one way or another," Yiro said softly, voice carrying both promise and threat.
At first, Ramla remained defiant, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. "I… I will say nothing. I will not betray Arizon's confidence. I am loyal to my agreements, my… my promises."
Silas' expression did not change, but the air in the cell grew heavier. He let Yiro begin with subtle manipulation focused bursts of pain through the mana coils, calibrated to strike without permanent damage, just enough to make resistance uncomfortable. Ramla's composure began to crack.
Minutes stretched into an hour. The subtle pain intensified, each contraction of his muscles carrying an unbearable weight. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead. His voice, once firm, quivered.
"All… all right!" Ramla finally gasped, gasping for breath. "I… I'll tell you… please… no more!"
Silas leaned closer, voice low and cutting, "Speak quickly and completely, Ramla. Every detail. Do not lie. Every word is weighed against your life."
The traitor whimpered, then spilled the secrets like poisoned wine: the Arizon Dominion's troop movements, their encampment locations in the Southeastern Plains, the estimated number of soldiers, and Kal Vorynn's intent to strike Eldarion while the academy occupies our attention. He named generals, supply lines, and the pretense they used to mask their intentions.
Yiro took careful notes, his mana flaring faintly to sense any lingering deceptions, his eyes sharp, unblinking.
By the time Ramla finished, he slumped against his chains, broken and trembling. Silas stood over him, silent, his mind calculating the implications. Every piece of intelligence now revealed a clear picture: Arizon sought to exploit Eldarion's perceived distraction, and Kal Vorynn's arrogance would be his undoing.
"You've been… useful," Silas said finally, voice smooth yet laced with venom. "But know this, Marquis: your life is no longer your own. Every step you take, every word you speak, is mine to command."
Ramla's lips quivered. He nodded, too afraid to protest further.
Silas turned to Yiro. "Prepare the reports. I want every general briefed immediately. This empire moves as one, and no fool shall dictate our fate."
Yiro inclined his head. "Understood, Your Majesty. The Southeastern Plains will be mapped, troop movements logged, and contingencies prepared."
---
The War Council Summons
The torches in Silas' private office flickered, casting long shadows across the walls as the generals filed in one by one: Ryker Dain, Gregor Blackridge, Alric Vey, and Marvus Eldin. Their faces, usually steady, betrayed subtle signs of tension.
Silas' golden eyes scanned each of them. "Gentlemen," he began, voice calm but carrying the weight of imminent storm, "we have a situation. The traitor within our court, Marquis Ramla, has confessed. He has been supplying intelligence to Arizon. Kal Vorynn's forces are gathering in the Southeastern Plains. Preparations for war are underway."
A murmur ran through the room. General Ryker frowned. "Are we certain of the numbers, my Emperor? The Southeastern Plains are… vast."
"Yes," Silas replied, tapping the map with a gloved finger. "yes i have received report that has verified troop counts, encampments, and supply lines. Every move is being watched. I intend to turn this knowledge into our advantage. Alberto is already deep undercover, gathering further intelligence. He remains in the field."
. Silas' gaze swept to Ryker. "I want contingency plans drafted immediately. Fortifications, reserves, and rapid response units prepared. Every army division must be ready for deployment at a moment's notice."
General Marvus Eldin nodded. "Supplies and logistics will be ready. We can mobilize without alarming Varkan or our own populace unnecessarily."
Silas' expression hardened. "This war may come sooner than we anticipated. Discipline, timing, and coordination are paramount. There is no room for hesitation."
Alric Vey inclined his head, his tone quiet but resolute. "The magical wards along the plains can be reinforced. Any Arizon scouting parties that approach will be neutralized before they can report back."
Silas allowed himself a brief pause, letting the magnitude of the situation sink in for the generals. "Remember this," he said, voice low and deliberate, "our enemies believe us distracted by diplomacy and ceremony. We will prove them wrong. Eldarion will not be taken by surprise. We will strike first if necessary, and we will strike with precision."
Ryker exhaled, tension easing slightly. "Understood, my Emperor. Every unit will be prepared. We will defend the empire."
Silas' golden eyes gleamed. "Good. Alberto will soon report what he finds. Until then, assume the enemy knows nothing of our true strength. Keep your plans tight, your eyes sharp, and your loyalty absolute. This war begins in the shadows, but it will end with Eldarion standing tall."
As the generals filed out, Silas turned back to the map, tracing with his finger the roads, the rivers, the choke points, and the encampments. The palace above Vel Dragan was calm, serene—but beneath the surface, the veins of war were already coursing through the empire.
Night fell, and the city glittered under the stars, but for Silas, there was no rest. Every move, every whisper, every heartbeat mattered. The pieces were in motion, and soon, the empire would test the mettle of every soldier, mage, and mind loyal to its throne.