The fire Saelar ignited with the fall of House Vrael had spread. Three weeks passed, and the Elytharan Empire trembled beneath the weight of uncertainty. Fear bred hesitation. Hesitation bred opportunity.
Saelar stood at the head of a council deep within the rebel stronghold of Valarcrest, a reclaimed fortress nestled in the wild mountain range of Draumveldt. Maps littered the war table. Red markers pinned the cities still loyal to the Empress. Blue marked the neutral or wavering.
> "Our next move is not war," Saelar announced. "It's liberation."
He dispatched envoys to the minor noble houses: the Thalvors of the North, the Illanreth of the Silver Coast, and the powerful Domeiren Merchant Alliance—each known to despise the Empress but too afraid to act alone.
Myrcella D'Arvenelle rode as a diplomatic envoy, her presence as Saelar's betrothed lending the mission legitimacy. Her refined grace and noble speech opened the gates of hesitant lords.
In the city of Lunemar, she stood before the Lord of House Thalvor and said:
> "My lord, Saelar Velgaeron is not a tyrant, but a flame of justice meant to burn away the rot of corruption. Join us—not for rebellion, but for rebirth."
Meanwhile, Alicent Malveris took a different route. She entered the Domeiren Guildhall under a glamour, seduced a key merchant lord, and blackmailed another. The results were the same: coins flowed to the rebel cause, and supply lines quietly shifted in Saelar's favor.