The Citadel of Glass rose above Seravelle like a blade made of light, each tower sharp enough to wound the clouds. Captain Seren Dahl stood at the base of its stairway, armor dulled by mud and travel dust. The silver-blue banners of the Matron Orders hung limp in the humid dawn. She felt the weight of every gaze that followed her up those steps, officers, priestesses, and attendants all whispering the same thing: the huntress failed.
Inside, the air smelled of lavender oil and ozone. Mana crystals pulsed softly along the corridor walls, their glow flickering whenever she passed, as if the stones themselves knew guilt when they sensed it. A herald bowed her into the throne chamber.
Queen Maelis waited beside the grand window, the morning sun painting her in molten gold. She was younger than most monarchs Seren had served, barely past thirty but her composure could freeze a council hall. Behind her throne hung the shattered fragments of a ceremonial orb, preserved in glass like a relic. Seren's stomach tightened at the sight.
"You've returned empty-handed," the queen said, not turning from the window.
Seren dropped to one knee, helm pressed to her chest. "The male escaped into the eastern marshes. We're tracing his trail..."
"Are you?" Maelis finally faced her. "My reports say your entire squad retreated after losing contact for two nights. Marshland wolves feasted well that week."
Seren kept her eyes low. "The terrain was unstable, Your Majesty. My priority was to preserve the unit."
"Preserve what cannot be replaced," Maelis murmured, pacing closer. "We have hundreds of soldiers. But one Progenitor. Do you understand?"
The word landed like a hammer. Every syllable dripped with the political meaning everyone pretended was divine. The queen stopped beside her and lowered her voice. "Do you know what happens when faith wavers, Captain?"
Seren hesitated. "Civil unrest, Your Majesty."
"Worse than that." Maelis gestured to the balcony overlooking the capital. Far below, crowds gathered in the temple square, waving banners of different Orders. "Division. The Sisters of Renewal already accuse the Crown of losing the chosen one. The Academy blames the Ritual Guild. And the Guild...well, they are saying that I misread the prophecy."
Seren risked a glance up. "Then the male's capture must be priority one."
"It was," Maelis said softly. "Now it is something else. You must bring him back alive."
Seren's head lifted. "Alive?"
"Dead, he becomes a martyr for every faction that claims him. Alive, he remains mine to present before the council. The Orb is gone, the ritual unrepeated. Control of the living symbol is all that remains."
Seren rose slowly. "Understood. But Your Majesty, the male may resist, he fears us."
A faint smile curved the queen's lips. "Fear can be shaped. You, of all my captains, know how to turn fear into loyalty."
The words carried an edge Seren couldn't meet. She focused instead on the floor's mirrored tiles where her reflection trembled under Maelis's shadow. "What of the mage Lyra Vael? She aided his escape."
Maelis's eyes narrowed, assessing. "Lyra Vael… yes. The youngest High Ritualist in two centuries. She defied the Matron Order and still breathes. Capture her as well but unharmed. I want to know what secrets she kept from the Circle."
"As you command."
Maelis turned back toward the window. "You'll have a new detachment. Fewer mouths to spread rumors. I'm assigning the Silent Blades."
Seren stiffened. The Blades were an intelligence corps, assassins in formal armor. "They obey no chain of command but yours, Majesty."
"That is precisely why." The queen's voice softened. "Bring him to me, Captain. Not to the Orders, not to the Guilds. To me. The realm must see the Crown restore balance."
Seren bowed. "I will not fail again."
When she straightened, Maelis studied her for a long moment. "Tell me, Seren. Do you believe he is a man of prophecy or merely a man?"
"I haven't spoken to him," Seren said carefully. "But the world believes. That belief itself has power."
Maelis nodded, pleased. "Then wield that belief as your weapon."
The audience was over. But as Seren turned to leave, the queen added quietly, "If the Orders reach him first, they will use him until he breaks. If the people reach him, they will tear him apart out of desperation. Remember that, Captain, when you find him."
Seren paused at the threshold. "And if you reach him first, Your Majesty?"
Maelis's gaze softened, unreadable. "Then perhaps the world can start again."
Outside the chamber, the corridor seemed narrower than before. Whispering courtiers scattered as Seren passed, skirts brushing marble. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled for the noon council session, summoning the Matrons and Archmages to argue over decrees that meant nothing without the queen's sanction.
Seren's boots echoed through the Citadel's east wing, down into the military quarters. The Silent Blades awaited her, five figures in black armor traced with violet runes, faces hidden behind mirrored visors. They didn't salute. They simply fell into formation as she approached.
"Orders from the throne," Seren said, voice steady again. "We ride for the marshlands at dusk. Our target is alive, uninjured, and unspoiled. The queen herself claims him."
One of the Blades tilted her head. "And if the Orders interfere?"
"Then we remind them who commands the realm," Seren answered.
As the team dispersed to prepare, she stood alone in the torchlight. The queen's words lingered like smoke. Alive. Unspoiled. Mine. They were the kind of commands that reshaped nations and ended them.
Seren tightened the straps on her armor, eyes fixed on the distant marshlands beyond the Citadel's windows. Somewhere out there, one terrified man carried the fate of an entire world.
And she would find him, whatever that fate demanded.