The capital woke to miracles.
By decree of the Regent, new Healing Houses rose across the city like pale blossoms — marble courtyards filled with polished brass instruments, sterile light, and banners that read "Mercy Through Science." The people whispered Ace's name as if it were a prayer.
He moved through the first of these clinics surrounded by patients and praise. Mothers knelt; soldiers saluted; priests bowed with uneasy gratitude.
"Lord Ace," said a noblewoman, clutching her child, "the fever vanished overnight. How did you—"
"Observation, refinement, faith in the measurable," he replied. His tone was mild, his smile perfect. He didn't mention the reagents that cost a life for every cure.
He spoke to the crowd like a prophet of order. Each phrase was measured, each gesture designed. The clinics would not merely heal — they would bind loyalty. Every citizen who owed him their health would become another vein feeding his power.
That night he wrote in his ledger:
Compassion functions best when rationed.
Faith, when sterilized, spreads faster than plague.
II – Lyra
From the palace balconies, the city glittered — lamps, glass roofs, processions of grateful patients. But to Lyra it looked like infection under moonlight.
She had seen the supply ledgers. The ingredients didn't match the cures. And too many of the "volunteers" for Ace's experiments were never seen again.
She needed proof.
Her circle began with three people:
Captain Mirel, her old bodyguard, dismissed for questioning Ace's methods.
Archivist Rhea, who copied every medical decree before it reached the public.
Brother Tal, a priest stripped of rank for calling the new miracles "soulless sorcery."
They met in the abandoned chapel beneath the royal gardens. The air smelled of dust and wax.
"You're certain he can't hear us?" Rhea whispered.
"Ace listens to facts, not faith," Lyra said. "That's our shield."
Tal placed a bundle on the table: a vial of pale blue serum. "Taken from one of his wards. The same one that healed the merchant's son. It contains blood that's… wrong. As if altered."
Lyra stared at the liquid, feeling a chill crawl up her spine. "Then the miracle is theft," she said. "He steals life to sell salvation."
The others waited for her order.
"We gather evidence," she said. "And when the truth is ready, we cut deeper than he ever dared."
III – Ace
He already knew.
Every whisper that reached the chapel was carried by one of his agents. Yet he didn't stop them. He wanted to see how far the infection of rebellion would spread.
"The Princess believes herself the cure," he mused to Sylene. "Let her test the patient. We'll learn how much hope a kingdom can endure before it ruptures."
Sylene hesitated. "And if she succeeds?"
Ace smiled, faint and cold. "Then the experiment will finally be complete."
He stepped to the balcony. The city gleamed below — a mosaic of glass and faith, so fragile he could almost hear it crack.
IV – Lyra
At dawn, Lyra returned to her chambers. The sky was pale, the first light touching the towers.
On her desk lay a sealed envelope. No seal, no signature. Only one line inside:
Glass shatters from within.
She didn't know if it was warning or challenge.
Either way, she felt ready to answer it.