The air in Velyr's private study was scented with ashroot and bloodwood ink. He sat alone beneath a wall of forbidden scrolls, tracing a symbol in the dark with his gloved finger—an ancient rune of protection… or destruction, depending on how you read it.
Then—he felt it.
A shift.
A presence.
Someone had followed him.
Not today. Days ago.
Someone had watched.
Someone knew.
He stood slowly, eyes narrowed.
"Mirror."
He whispered the name like a curse.
He remembered the faint echo of footsteps. The flicker of silver eyes at the far end of the chamber. The Empress's sudden hesitations at court. Her sharper tone.
And tonight—he heard the rumors.
"The Queen was in the old tunnels.""She didn't speak to anyone after.""Her guards have doubled."
Too quiet.
Too aware.
He poured wine into a dark iron cup and murmured a spell over it—Oathfire—a truthbinding enchantment.
The flames inside flared blue.
"Someone betrayed me."
He turned to his assassin, cloaked in ash-grey.
"Find the slave," Velyr said. "The one they call Mirror. Make it clean. Make it look like an accident."
Meanwhile...
Mirror moved silently through the west corridor, unaware.
But he felt it.
A cold shift in the air.
A gut feeling, honed by years of spying.
"Someone's watching me now."
He turned a corner—and froze.
A dagger sliced through the air—aimed straight for his throat.
He barely dodged, rolling across the polished floor, eyes locking onto a shadowy figure.
The assassin attacked again—faster than most trained warriors.
But Mirror was trained in darker places.
He caught the assassin's arm, flipped him, and slammed him into the pillar—hard enough to crack stone.
"Tell Velyr," Mirror growled, pressing a hidden blade to the man's throat, "next time… I won't let you leave breathing."
The assassin vanished into smoke.
Back in her chamber, Myreiya turned toward the window as thunder rolled across the sky.
She felt it in her bones.
"Velyr knows."