Evening skies over Althaar loomed grim, as if holding back rain that refused to fall.
Lucard Vehlheim returned to the border command post after two full days of navigating alleys and whispers in wine dens.
Information had been gathered.
But the puzzle that formed was sharper and far more dangerous.
He handed his investigation notes to Commander Alberch,
and prepared to send a report to Askelor.
But before he could rest, an officer entered with a tense expression.
"Lord Vehlheim, a letter. From Lord Verlmir.
He requests your presence tonight at his estate."
Lucard stared at the officer for a moment.
"Exactly as expected," he murmured.
His eyes sharpened welcoming the quiet war to come.
Elsewhere in the city, in a stone manor left from an older era,
Lord Verlmir sat in his study warm, yet dark.
The curtains were drawn, and only firelight cast flickers across his sharp, weathered face.
Before him lay a report from his men mentioning a cloaked figure speaking to locals,
leaving silver coins and whispers of promises.
And one name that tightened his chest: Lucard Vehlheim.
"The Archon sent his shadow…" he whispered.
He stood and walked slowly to the window,
looking out upon the city he ruled.
His gaze fell on the small buildings, the stone roads,
and his people unaware they were now pawns.
"Was I reckless? No. I was too fast.
But they can't accuse me. Not yet."
"Lucard. The hand from the shadows.
If I don't play this wisely, I'll drown before the first wave hits."
His fingers gripped the window's edge.
"I do this for this city...
For a land forgotten by the central throne.
If the Empire sees us only as a tax border,
then I'll make them see we are fire that can burn their lines."
But he knew if exposed,
the Empire would not offer forgiveness.
Not for a traitor.
Not for a noble serving two faces.
"I need to measure him.
If Lucard suspects me, I'll know tonight.
If not… I still have time."
His hand moved swiftly, writing an invitation
with warm words laced in hidden snares.
He sent his personal guard to deliver it directly to the command post.
When the door closed and the soldier's footsteps faded,
he returned to the fireplace.
Eyes unblinking.
"This is no longer about taxes.
This is about the price of a name.
And I will not be a footnote in history."
Night fell.
In a city split in two, two eyes prepared to meet one from the Empire's shadows,
one from the embers beneath old stone power.
Each with an agenda.
Each with blood yet to be spilled.