corlis
The rostrum rose against the outer wall of the Summit Palace, like a suspended execution balcony—exposed to the sky, unforgiven by the earth. It was built to be a deliberate visual spectacle, a declaration of power and dominance, where all in the city could see what needed to be said without a single word.
It was meticulously designed, paved with polished black stone that reflected the harsh glare of the sun.
At the center of the rostrum, the ten members of the garow family stood side by side, wrapped in a suffocating silence. Their bodies were worn down. bearing the marks of prison and torture.
Their torn clothing didn't just reveal their weakness; it exposed the cruelty of those who had stripped them of their dignity. Their faces were pale, drained of life, as if the blood had abandoned them and life itself had become a distant echo of a long-dead glory.
Dark steel chains bound their hands and feet, coiling around them like snakes. The cold metal cut into their skin in silence, finishing what the walls hadn't said and what the prison cells hadn't screamed.
At the edges, the five commanders of the Storm squad stood spaced along the perimeter, like ominous sentinels guarding the gate to oblivion. Their eyes swept the area.
Their long, dark green cloaks flowed around them like a deceptive curtain, enhancing their imposing presence, each bearing the emblem of a coiled cyclone across their backs. Each one carried an aura of command—none of them needed to speak to assert their authority. One look was enough to freeze anyone in place.
Below the wall, behind tight security barricades, the nobles had assembled in orderly rows, their ranks layered by status as if attending a royal performance. Their embroidered cloaks, heavy jewels, and luxurious perfumes couldn't mask the coldness in their eyes or the unease on their faces.
Their silence wasn't out of respect, it was a mask hiding storms of thoughts: some gloating over the Jarrow family's fall, others wary that their turn might come next, and the rest curious about how Vortax would use this moment to solidify power or eliminate rivals.
Behind the rostrum, Vortex was preparing to ascend, Gareth at his side. Just before stepping onto the first stair, the sharp tapping of Minister Ushin's cane broke the stillness, followed by his hesitant words, spoken through cracked lips, as if they hadn't tasted peace in years:
"I... I don't feel right about this," Ushin said, his voice heavy with an unsettling old age.
"Do you truly believe Nile will risk everything to save his family? And what if he doesn't appear? What happens if the people speak their mind? After that... there'll be no going back."
Vortex turned and walked toward him slowly. He placed a hand on Ushin's frail shoulder, more bone than flesh beneath the fabric.
The touch was like bone wrapped in cloth. He spoke in a quiet voice, one that carried finality: "There's no need to burden yourself with worry. You've drained your energy over the past forty years… It's time to step aside quietly. Your time is over, Oceane. Now, sit... and watch."
he turned and began climbing the steps of the platform, a wicked smile forming on his face. As he neared the top, the horizon opened before him, as if spreading its arms for the fateful scene to unfold.
He approached the row where the garow family stood frozen. His new royal cloak, crimson and embroidered with silver thread, swayed around him. He looked out at the crowd packed into the square below, all eyes drawn upward.
He turned toward Lion, who watched him from the corner of his eye. body stiff, gaze unmoving, as if trying to cling to the last shreds of his pride.
Vortex spoke in a calm, polished tone—one that carried a veneer of formal respect, yet hid a faint undercurrent of mockery.
"This is the first time we've met since that day. A pity that it must be under such circumstances, sir garow."
He smiled with measured composure, turning his gaze toward the horizon for a moment before adding,
"The swifter the rise, the louder the fall. Look at those faces over there… every one of them stands in restrained anticipation, awaiting your downfall as a thirsty man awaits the rain.
They are the same people with whom you once shared tables, laughter, ventures, and even the council's secrets.
You may wonder why. It is not because they truly hate you… but because you are better than them. And no one can bear another being better than themselves."
He stepped closer, until he stood directly behind Leon, leaning slightly to whisper in his ear, his voice low and intimate: "There is still a way out, Lion. I can end this farce right now… pull you and your family out of this snare.
You keep your name, your holdings, your influence. All you have to do… is pledge your allegiance to me."
He paused briefly, then continued slowly, placing a hand on Lion's shoulder: "I'm extending my hand to you. This is not a courtesy I offer to everyone. Think carefully… will you take it? Or will you let pride lead you to ruin?"
Vortax stepped back, as if granting Lion the space to digest his words, then added in a voice so low it could only be heard from a few paces away
"All you need to say is that the queen's assassination was Nile's doing alone.
That your family had no part in it.
He sought to frame his own kin, whom he secretly despised—to strike two blows with one stone: to become the sole heir to House garow, and to rule from the shadows by controlling Corlis as a puppet in his hand."
He fell silent for a moment, measuring the weight of his words before softening his tone—though it remained laced with caution: "We can offer Nile as a temporary sacrifice… a candle to pin the blame upon. A transitional step, until the storms pass and the incident is forgotten, and everything returns to its natural order.
Do not worry, no harm will come to him. You can be the one to spirit him away, send him far from here, where he can live a new life, as though none of this ever happened."
Lion's face betrayed no sign of Vortex's offer, as if the venomous bargain presented to him were nothing more than the passing rustle of wind.
Instead, he gave a short, quiet laugh that unsettled Vortex for an instant.
Then, raising his head slowly, the tousled strands of his brown hair fell away from his eyes, revealing a calm gaze.
"You think you can tempt me to betray knight Nile? With a handful of fleeting privileges, forged by House garow's own hand over a century's time?
It seems you have no idea what we are. What you offer is not tempting… it is laughable.
The values you deem trivial? We are the ones who forged them, generation after generation.
We wove them as sails are woven for ships. House garow is not made of men who look for a way out… but of men who carve the road themselves.
We craft the ships, yet no ship can craft us."
vortex stepped back, but did not lose his composure. He gave Lion a sharp glance, then replied in a cold voice: "You don't build ships because you want to, but because you're forced. Because you need them. It's not a choice, but a noble constraint.
And over time, what you create becomes a part of you, defining your value. You might create something... then find that you no longer own it, but it owns you.
You become its shadow, walking where it dictates, living as it wills."
"This would be true if you held on to it… Do you think I do?" Lion said, raising his handcuffed hands as if displaying the shackles as a testament to his resilience.