Back at the palace, the windows of the Chancellor's office were the only ones still glowing with light. Cian sat at his desk, surrounded by maps, ledgers, and the half-eaten remains of a sandwich. His spectacles were smudged with ink, and his hair was a chaotic nest of stress and exhaustion. On his desk sat a small communication crystal, pulsing with a steady, golden light.
"He did it," Cian whispered, looking at the report from the coastal scouts. "He actually sank the entire fleet in under twenty minutes."
Cian didn't feel joy; he felt a terrifying sense of urgency. The destruction of the Southern Fleet would send shockwaves through the neighboring kingdoms—the Eastern Khaganate and the Western Federation. They had been waiting for the Argentine Empire to weaken so they could strike. Now, they would realize that the empire hadn't weakened; it had evolved.
"Raven," Cian called out.
The shadow girl appeared instantly by his side. "Yes, Chancellor?"
"The 'Ghost' is no longer a secret. By morning, every spy in the capital will be sending word home. We need to move to Phase Two of the Reconstruction. I want the borders sealed. Not with soldiers, but with the Nexus arrays. I want every merchant crossing the border to be 'vetted' by our agents. If a single ounce of Imperial steel leaves this country without my signature, I want the merchant's head on a pike."
Raven nodded, her eyes shining with a dark respect. "And what about the Council? They are currently in the wine cellar, trying to drink away their fear."
"Let them drink," Cian said, standing up and stretching his stiff back. "Tomorrow, I will present them with the new tax codes. They won't have enough gold left to buy a bottle of water, let alone a bottle of wine. Oh, and Raven?"
"Yes?"
"Make sure Vaelin is comfortable. The King will want to see him the moment he returns. He's the only one who can help Livius understand the Silver Dragon's memories."
As Raven vanished, Cian turned back to his maps. He looked at the vast expanse of the empire, a land of potential and rot. He knew that the battle on the sea was just the beginning. The real war—the war for the soul of the people—would be fought in the marketplaces, the schools, and the courtrooms. And he was the one holding the pen.
"Sleep well, Livius," Cian murmured, looking out at the calm, moonlit horizon. "The world is going to be very different when you wake up."