Carlson was the one who spoke next. He shifted in his seat, looking a little uncomfortable.
"And, what if I'm not the one you think I am?"
"Then congratulations. You get a chance to back out and not be a part of any of this," Aiden replied dryly, not bothering to soften his tone.
Carlson nodded, taking a deep breath. "And... if I am? Or even if anyone else is. What happens when you find James Corvette?"
The room fell silent. All eyes went to Elliott. He hadn't spoken much up until now, but he was still the emperor. At the end of the day, the decision rested in his hands.
Elliott leaned forward, his bandaged hand resting against the polished surface of the table. Carlson didn't say anything further, but the unspoken question behind his words hung heavy in the room. Cyrus was desperate to find James. If Elliott had James, then Cyrus would do anything to drag the prince into his clutches. Maybe... maybe he would even offer to stop the war.
When Elliott finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but absolute. "I do not trade life for peace, Carlson. Be it you or anyone else who is James Corvette, I will not sacrifice a life for my own peace. I will send no prince to their grave. A bargain made on a person's life is a deal that will never be struck here. Not while I sit on this throne."
No one objected. Aiden and Gabriella knew this already.
Gabriella's lips curved into a thin line. "Besides, even if you were to somehow agree, making a deal with Cyrus would be the most idiotic decision one could make. Swine like him do not honor deals or promises. He is exactly the sort of man who will take the prince and continue the war anyway. A signed treaty, a spoken vow— it means nothing to a coward cruel enough to murder infants in their cribs."
"But—" Carlson began, only to falter as Gabriella leaned forward, steepling her fingers. Her eyes glinted with sharp calculation.
"We're not searching for James to trade him to Cyrus. That is exactly what the tyrant wants. We're searching because if we find and confirm James... then we have the true heir of the Altherian throne. Alive. Acknowledged. And under our protection. He isn't a liability— far from it. He could be the asset that finally ends this war."
Her words carried weight, heavy and deliberate.
"It is no secret Cyrus is a tyrant without morals, who usurped the crown by force. The people of Altheria despise him already. More than half of the noble factions, after enduring his cruelty, secretly disfavor him too—though they remain silent out of fear. His reign lasted this long only because there was no other option in sight. How can resistance rise when there is no one else to rally behind?"
"But if we recognize James Corvette—publicly—then the news will spread across Altheria. We will give him full political and military backing, frame it as Velluria aiding the rightful heir to reclaim his throne."
Her voice grew colder, sharper. "This is how we end the war before it even formally begins. We turn Cyrus's empire against itself. By starting a civil war from within."
The plan hung in the air like smoke. Their intentions were clear now. They weren't just seeking to save their own empire anymore. The problem was bigger. Much bigger. The only way to truly end it was to rip out the rot that was Cyrus—tear it out by the roots—and give both empires a chance at a future.
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After their meeting, they began to rise to leave. Aiden was suddenly reminded of the sword still resting at his hip. He glanced at the high priest. "The moon-forged sword. Since the shadows are no longer a concern... it's of no use to me."
The priest gave a small nod. "Ah, yes. It would be best to return it to the archives."
The high priest led the way, and Aiden and Gabriella followed, each carrying the relics they had borrowed the night before. Finding no reason to stay behind, Elliott trailed after them as well, silent but present.
They soon reached the archives. Gabriella went first, depositing her cloak and the delicate hairpin, which the attending priests carefully returned to their respective places.
A priest approached Aiden then, holding the sword's case open. Without a word, Aiden slid the blade inside.
The priest stumbled. His arms trembled visibly under the sudden strain. Aiden's eyes narrowed, widening just a fraction in surprise. This wasn't some old man or frail devotee— the priest was young, strong. The sword had not felt heavy when Aiden held it. Not heavy at all. Yet here the young priest stood, staggering as though he were carrying a weapon forged from stone.
The commotion caught the high priest's attention. He stepped closer, robes brushing the ground, and his expression darkened slightly as he watched the young man carry the sword with obvious effort to its dais. The glass casing was lowered carefully over it, locking the relic in its resting place once again.
"What happened?" the high priest demanded.
The younger priest was still panting lightly, his brow furrowed in confusion. "The moon-forged sword... it suddenly increased in mass the moment the prince placed it in my hands."
"Increased in mass?" the high priest repeated, his brows drawing tighter together. "That... should not be possible." His eyes slid to Aiden. "Your Highness— you did not feel the weight?"
"Not particularly," Aiden answered truthfully.
The high priest looked troubled, clearly wrestling with an explanation. At last, he exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Perhaps it was simply that Your Highness is a trained warrior. What feels ordinary to you may feel heavy to others."
The words left his lips, but even he did not look convinced.
No one pressed further. The silence that followed was too dense, too peculiar.
When their task was done, Aiden turned and began walking out of the chamber with the priests. Elliott moved close to his side, steps soft, and Aiden's hand brushed against his sleeve as though by instinct—protective and steadying, making sure the emperor's pace did not falter.
Gabriella lingered behind. Her gaze was not on them but fixed on the sword now locked in its case. She stared long enough for the others to notice her absence at the door. Feeling their questioning gazes, she finally tore her eyes from the relic and follow after them.
The sword lay silent behind glass, tilting, if only by a fraction towards the direction Aiden had left, as if it was a weapon which had finally recognized it's master.
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AN: Soooo... Thoughts on the story so far?