The Carroway rebellion had been extinguished before dawn, yet its ashes still smoldered.
Across North America, whispers rose like embers carried by the wind. Some noble families swore deeper loyalty to Arthur, terrified by the Emperor's swift vengeance. Others, however, saw the Carroways not as fools—but as martyrs.
And martyrs bred movements.
The Old Guard's Whisper Network
In shadowed mansions from Quebec to Texas, nobles gathered in secrecy.
"The Carroways stood alone," hissed Lady Mortensen of Montreal. "If we rise together, the Emperor cannot stamp us all out."
"They control finance, not blood," said Baron Harrington of Chicago. "Steel, oil, and land are still ours. If we starve their empire, the people will turn."
Messages spread through encrypted networks, through couriers, through whispered oaths sworn in firelit rooms. The Old Guard would not strike openly—not yet. Instead, they seeded chaos: strikes in factories, sabotage of Ashford-owned distribution hubs, and quiet assassinations of minor Ashford loyalists.
The Empire's Response
In New York, the Ashford Council convened again.
Bianca spread maps across the table. "We've confirmed five coordinated uprisings—Montreal, Chicago, Dallas, Miami, and Los Angeles. If left unchecked, they'll link together into something larger."
Roxy smirked. "Give me seventy-two hours. I'll collapse their communication grids. No messages, no coordination."
Vivian shook her head. "No, this is bigger than wires and whispers. This is ideology. They've begun painting you as a tyrant, Arthur. To crush that, you need more than fear—you need to seize their symbols."
Aurora, calm as always, nodded in agreement. "The Old Guard calls itself the heart of tradition. Then we must show that the Emperor is not only wealth, but destiny."
Arthur leaned back, steepling his fingers. "So the Carroways were only the opening act. Good. Let them gather. Let them believe they can rise."
Strategy of Fire and Gold
Arthur didn't strike all at once. He chose carefully.
In Chicago, he sent Yesenia's priests, who turned striking workers against their noble patrons, painting them as exploiters.
In Miami, he unleashed Candy's nightlife empire, flooding the city with distractions and pleasures until rebellion withered in decadence.
In Dallas, Bianca's logistics networks rerouted supplies, bankrupting the nobles' oil refineries overnight.
In Los Angeles, Vivian orchestrated a public scandal: secret footage of noble families engaging in grotesque excess while citizens starved.
Each rebellion weakened, but not destroyed. Arthur wasn't interested in quick exterminations anymore. No—he was letting the Old Guard bleed themselves dry.
The Emperor's Shadow
One night, in Montreal, Lady Mortensen received a package. Inside was a single black rose, its petals dipped in gold. No letter, no threat—only the flower.
She burned it in her fireplace, cursing Arthur's name. But her hands trembled, for she knew what it meant:
The Emperor had noticed her.
The Turning Tide
By the month's end, rebellion still flickered—but every move the Old Guard made seemed to play into Arthur's hands. Their wealth drained, their allies defected, their image tarnished.
And yet… whispers said the Old Guard was preparing something greater. Something not of whispers and sparks, but of open fire.
Arthur stood at his penthouse window, overlooking Manhattan's glittering skyline. He raised a glass of wine, his reflection catching the faint glow of the empire's golden interface.
"Good," he murmured. "Let them come. The empire grows sharper when it is tested."