The sun had not yet risen when the storm began.
Aerin stood at the highest balcony of the East Spire, overlooking the veiled expanse of the capital. Dawn struggled behind stormclouds, the sky choked with gray like the breath before a scream.
Below, messengers on black-winged ravens fanned out across the realm.
Each carried a copy of the ledger.
Each bore truth written in the blood of liars.
Cassius hadn't said a word since the crypt. He stood just behind her, silent as stone, the ever-present shadow at her back. She could feel his gaze—cool, heavy, unreadable.
"Do you think they'll believe it?" she asked without turning.
He didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was lower than usual. "They won't have a choice."
She gripped the balcony rail. "Good."
The wind tugged at her hair, at her sleeves, at the lingering fear she refused to name. The ledger was out. The spark had been lit.
Now came the fire.
Below, a commotion echoed through the Court Plaza. From this height, the nobles looked like ants in fine silk, their voices a murmur of agitation and outrage. The first copies of the ledger had reached the palace.
And the nobles had started to panic.
Aerin allowed herself a grim smile.
She turned to face Cassius. "What happens now?"
He looked older than usual today. Not in body—his immortal features never aged—but in presence. Something had shifted behind those red eyes, some part of him slipping further into the past.
"Now?" he said. "Now they'll come for you."
Her smile faded.
Cassius took a step forward, his tone darkening. "They'll send their spies. Their hounds. Veylin will likely call for a royal inquiry—then an execution. Quiet, clean, hidden behind protocol."
"Let them try," Aerin said, chin lifted.
Cassius studied her. "You're not frightened?"
"I'm furious."
"Good," he said. "You'll need that."
They moved to the lower levels of the Spire, where Thorne waited with a small group of allies: an old scholar from the High Archives, a former royal guard captain, and a street courier whose entire family had vanished during one of the Council's 'cleansings.'
Each of them now held copies of pages from the ledger. Some clutched them like weapons, others like prayers.
"We have five hours, maybe six," Thorne said, spreading a map across the table. "After that, the Council starts their morning session. If we can get three of these pages into the High Chamber record, the accusations become public record. They can't bury it."
Aerin nodded. "Then we hit them first."
The courier girl, Lys, shifted nervously. "What if they shut down the Spire gates?"
"They will," Cassius said bluntly. "They'll declare martial law within the hour."
"We still move," Aerin replied. "No more hiding. No more shadows."
She laid a hand on the map.
"We go to war."
Far across the city, in a tower wreathed in silver wards and silence, Veylin Solven opened the letter with a flick of his finger.
He read it once. Then twice.
A quiet breath slipped from between his lips. He folded the parchment, set it aside, and turned to the man kneeling before him.
"Is it true?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
The kneeling figure didn't answer. Blood leaked between his lips.
Veylin reached out and pressed two fingers to the man's temple. Magic shimmered through the air.
Images poured into his mind—Aerin breaking into the tomb, Cassius arriving too late, the ledger being taken.
Veylin's eyes narrowed.
"I see."
With a flick of his wrist, he turned the man's spine to ash.
The body crumpled.
Veylin stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his robe, and turned toward the mirror on the far wall. His own reflection stared back—silver-haired, immaculate, inhumanly elegant. Cold. Beautiful. Hollow.
"She forces my hand," he murmured.
He snapped his fingers.
A hooded servant emerged from the shadows.
"Activate the Black Mandate. I want her brought in before the sun sets."
The servant hesitated. "And Lord Cassius?"
Veylin's smile never reached his eyes.
"Kill him."
By midday, the storm had become more than metaphor.
Rain fell in sheets, soaking banners and silks alike as the High Chamber filled with drenched, indignant nobles. Some clutched damp scrolls. Others whispered behind jeweled fans. But all had seen the ledger by now.
And all knew its implications.
The royal record keeper called for silence.
And Aerin stepped into the chamber.
Gasps erupted. She wore the uniform of a royal bride—but the thorns woven into her hair were real, blood still wet on one petal.
Cassius followed behind her, unarmed, barehanded.
The record keeper cleared his throat. "Lady Aerin Valen, you are not sanctioned to speak—"
"I speak not as a bride," she said, loud enough for the whole chamber to hear. "But as a witness."
She held up the ledger.
"This is your truth."
She tossed it to the floor.
Pages spilled like wings. The chamber fell to a stunned silence.
Aerin began to read.
She named names. Listed dates. Detailed blood oaths forged under duress, the disappearance of civilians, the execution of innocent nobles—including her sister.
By the time she finished, even the golden-cloaked Lord Admiral was pale.
The silence broke like thunder.
Yells. Outrage. Accusations.
The court erupted into chaos.
And from the back of the chamber, Veylin entered.
Drenched in silver robes, flanked by soldiers in black armor, he moved like a god in judgment.
When he spoke, the chamber froze.
"Seize her."
Swords scraped from scabbards.
Cassius stepped forward.
And for the first time in over a century—he drew his blade.