Darius's POV
I don't beg.
Not for power. Not for position. Not even for survival.
But influence? Influence requires finesse… and sometimes, submission dressed as strategy.
Classic moved like a phantom—his alliances were invisible, his men loyal to silence, and his steps so calculated they left no footprints. I respected it. Hell, I envied it.
But now… I needed in.
It started with a note.
Slipped into the glove compartment of a high-ranking palace guard—one I knew answered directly to Classic. It wasn't signed. No threats, no offers.
Just seven words:
"I know. I don't want to fight."
Two nights passed.
Then the shadow showed up.
I was walking through the abandoned tech wing—no guards, no surveillance—when I felt it. A presence. Controlled breathing. Then a whisper behind me:
"Classic wants to know what you know."
I turned slowly. "Enough to either join him or ruin him."
Silence. Then the shadow moved.
"You get one chance. Meet him. Midnight. The old observatory."
I didn't blink. "I'll be there."
Midnight.
The observatory was stripped of all its grandeur—just broken glass, steel beams, and the scent of empire dust. And yet… there he stood.
Classic Blackwood.
No guards. No mask. Just a prince with a plan.
He didn't look surprised to see me.
"Darius," he said plainly. "You're Amara's blade. Why are you here?"
I took a breath. No theatrics. No riddles. Just the truth.
"Because blades get discarded when the throne shifts."
He studied me, then tilted his head. "And you want to switch sides?"
"I want to survive. More than that—I want to build."
Classic folded his arms. "You kept my secret. That's loyalty... or leverage. Which is it?"
"Both," I admitted. "But I choose where to place them."
He smirked faintly.
"You'll be watched," he said. "No orders. No missions. Not yet. Just eyes in the dark."
I nodded once.
He turned away, walking into the shadows.
Just before he vanished, he spoke again.
"Welcome to the real war."