The air in the barracks was dry and silent. Not the kind of silence that had peace—but one of order. Disciplined men. Loyal men. War-hardened.
Xavier Aregard stood before a wide war table, staring down at a map of the Aregard Empire. Pins marked deployments and troop movements, some fresh with red wax.
From the Western Front all the way to the northern coasts, most of the imperial legions now answered to him. Not by speech. Not by banners. But through fear, through loyalty to strength, and through necessity.
The death of the Emperor had created a storm. But Xavier did not speak into it. He waited. He watched. And in silence, he made the army his own.
Behind him, General Bront approached quickly, his boots echoing across the marble. "Three more battalions pledged loyalty this morning. Fourth Legion, Sixth Cavalry, and the Skywatchers."
Xavier didn't look up. "And the Silver Mantles?"
"Holding out. They request a public endorsement before moving."
