The drive back was quiet.
Until—
Father broke the silence.
His gaze stayed fixed on the window, his voice even.
"What did you see?"
I leaned back, hands folded across my chest, watching his face.
"Grand Duke Silverquill commands the room. He makes the decisions. He is the spine of the Empire. A good ally…but dangerous if he stands against us."
He gave a faint nod.
"Go on."
I went on.
"Ironbright and Cornvale are simple men. They care more for their lands and families than the Empire."
His head turned toward me, red eyes locking on mine.
"And Warpole?"
I drew a breath before I answered, meeting his gaze without flinching.
"Hotheaded. Shortsighted. He sees only war and weapons. But useful. If he is directed."
A small nod.
Approval.
"Magleos?"
"He has wisdom. As a mage, he sees what we don't. His focus is knowledge, not power. The war or the Empire matters less to him than his magic. But his advice is worth hearing."
Father spoke the last name.
"Valmontis."
I thought for a moment before replying.
"Wealth, and with it influence. Yet he doesn't use it to gain power. He acts only when profit or principle demands it. Predictable. That can be used."
The corner of Father's mouth curved.
Not a smile, but approval.
"Good. Names are important. But habits decide the outcome. You read the room. Now, we draw our path."
The wheels slowed.
Through the window, the Ashspire gates came into view.
We had arrived.
***
The study smelled of paper and oil.
A map of the western borders lay spread across the desk, pins marking roads and cities.
Father sat back in his chair and poured wine into his cup.
He didn't offer any.
I didn't mind.
I wouldn't drink yet.
He set the cup down.
"Tell me what you think."
I stood, leaning over the map, tracing lines with my fingertip.
"Aviel to the south. Elos to the north. Nerivane between them. Tension will rise between Elos and Aviel. Nerivane will be forced to participate."
I moved my finger along routes and junctions until I reached it.
"Here."
Tap.
I tapped my finger on the map.
"The Dragonfall Plains. Where Aviel and Elos meet, and Nerivane has the least control. Rivers and mountains surround it. It's the best ground for battle. If war breaks, that will be the bloodiest front."
Father watched my hand.
"And our place in it?"
I halted, eyes sweeping over the map until I found it.
"Mountains surround Aviel. They have the advantage from the heights."
My finger followed the mountains until I found the mountain pass near our border.
Tap.
"Steppe. The mountain pass leads into Elos territory. A moving force can slip through, cutting supply lines, and press toward the sea. If we hit fast and quiet, we hold the coast while the rest of their armies are occupied along the main fronts."
He watched me.
"And how do you plan to take it?"
My eyes met his.
"We wait for the conflict to escalate. If needed, we force it. We ignite unrest and spread propaganda through their cities. Then, when their guard is at its lowest, we move. Through the mountain pass, and advance to the coast. After that, the imperial armies follow while we hold the coast."
My smile widened as I finished.
"This war is an opportunity. A way to reclaim what we'd lost and seize more. A coastline in our hands would be a great achievement to leverage."
Silence settled.
Then Father lifted the cup, swirled the wine, took a measured sip, and set it down again.
There was a pleased edge to his voice.
"You have teeth. And you know how to use them."
Then—
His tone sharpened.
"But don't take more than you can chew. Spark a war, and you become a criminal. Don't say such things lightly."
Creak.
He rose, crossed to a side cabinet, and opened the bottom drawer.
From within, he withdrew a narrow box wrapped in a dark red cloth.
Thud.
He set it on the desk, unwrapped it, and pushed it toward me.
My heart raced, hands reaching for the box before he could take it back.
Inside lay the succession crest.
The Ashspire crest was etched on it in hard gold.
The edges were worn from generations of use.
My fingers hovered over it as I looked toward Father, waiting.
He met my eyes, voice low.
"You are heir."
For a moment, the world stilled.
The words pulsed in my head.
'You are heir.'
Then time moved again.
I closed my hand around the crest and pinned it to my vest over my left shoulder.
'It looked good...on me.'
Father poured a second cup and lifted it toward me.
I didn't let him wait.
My hand moved faster than it should, and I took the cup.
He raised his own and spoke.
"Listen."
I held the cup and listened.
"You will bury indulgence. You will bury convenience. When you fail, and you will fail, you will bury your pride. Don't expect me to catch you. I will not. If you fall far enough to threaten the family, I will let you fall."
He paused, letting each word land.
"You will not chase applause or pleasure. You will count debts. Forgive nothing that costs. Forget nothing that buys you time. If the Empire burns, we hold the bucket. If the Empire feasts, we hold the knife."
"Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"Yes, Father."
He inclined his head once and lifted his cup toward me.
"You are heir."
Clink.
I met his cup and whispered.
"I am heir."
***
Click.
The door closed.
I stood for a moment, leaning my shoulders against the door, letting the quiet settle.
My gaze shifted toward the desk.
The tall mirror stood where it always had.
I crossed the room and set my palms on either side of the frame.
The face in the mirror looked back.
Not a stranger.
Not a friend.
Just me.
I spoke to the man in the mirror.
"He says he won't catch me if I fall."
My smile vanished.
"Did I ask to be caught?"
The reflection didn't answer.
'Good. I like people who know when to keep quiet.'
A short, sharp laugh left me.
"He thinks he gave me a name tonight."
My fingertip tapped the crest pinned to my vest.
"The name was always mine."
I inclined my head and whispered to it.
"Old man, you told me you won't catch me if I fall. But who will catch you?"
A cold smile spread across my face.
I looked back at the man in the mirror.
He watched me with the same smile.
"The war is an opportunity. A door we will open soon."
The man in the mirror asked.
"Is 'soon' enough?"
Silence.
Our eyes locked.
He spoke again, asking with a deep smile.
"If they won't light the fire at the right time?"
I closed my eyes for a moment before opening them again.
My smile widened, matching his.
"I will light the fire myself."
***
Harmonia Calendar 715, Pyrr 25 - Roads of the Empire, Elandor
Night - Wagon
The first snow began to fall.
The wagon rolled over uneven streets, each bump answered by creaking wood.
Moonlight slipped through the cracks between wood, casting silver lines across my face.
Drip.
Tears fell to the floor, glittering like diamonds in the light.
I curled on the floor, clutching my head, trying to make myself small.
Pain tore through my skull.
The headaches worsened, and the visions never ceased.
Then—
Silence.
The vision vanished and with it the pain.
A face appeared in my mind.
And with it—
A name.
I spoke it with trembling lips.
"Lukas Wane."
***
First Arc
End.