The moon hung low over the lands of House Vrael, a militarized noble house loyal to the Empress and infamous for its brutal rule. Their fortress, Caelhold Keep, sat on a rocky cliff like a fang jutting from the land, unyielding and merciless.
But tonight, shadows moved.
Saelar, dressed in black and silver, stood within the dense thickets overlooking the keep, flanked by Kerrin and several elite assassins of the Black Thorn.
> "We strike at midnight. No sound. No survivors in the war room," Saelar said coldly. "This is not war—it's a surgical reminder."
Meanwhile, Alicent Malveris, in disguise as a Vrael courtesan, had infiltrated the inner walls two days prior. Her role? Poison the general's cup, sow seduction-fueled distrust, and plant enchanted scrolls of treason in the chambers of Lord Vrael's sons.
Back at the command center near the border, Bramir led a secondary force—his orders were to seal the roads, destroy signal towers, and prevent any loyalist rider from reaching the capital for help.
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Inside Caelhold, Alicent danced through the corridors like smoke, her smile sweet, her eyes sharp.
> "Men like these always fall the same way," she whispered, slipping a paralyzing poison into a glass of aged wine.
She delivered the drink to General Herov Vrael, a beast of a man who had crushed rebellions for the Empress. Moments later, he collapsed mid-meeting, convulsing in front of his war council.
Before the soldiers could react, shadows surged.
The Black Thorn assassins rained down from the rafters like vipers—silent, precise, and ruthless. Kerrin slit the throat of the keep's spymaster. Two mages tried to summon flame, but Saelar appeared behind them like a ghost, his blade flickering once—twice—then silence.
> "Your loyalty to tyrants ends tonight."
By dawn, House Vrael was leaderless, its heirs accused of treason, and its keep now under Saelar's silent occupation.