In the late afternoon of the Eastern Empire, the red-eyed man sat with Rehena and Barron inside a modest café tucked away in the quieter part of the capital, far from the crowded slums. The smell of warm bread and steeped herbs drifted around them, yet Rehena's thoughts felt louder than the bustling street outside. She still couldn't understand how fate had carried her to the side of the man who once saved her—the second prince of the Eastern Empire, son of the first king's wife, a man whose relatives were known for crafting medicines. Even now, it felt unreal. A strange twist of destiny.
As the three of them ate their simple meal, the prince leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity while he studied Barron. "So, Sir Barron," he asked, his tone controlled yet sharp, "how did you end up here? Are you travelling with my father? Or has the emperor visited the East again without telling me?"
Rehena watched Barron inhale slowly, his shoulders rising with the weight of what he had to admit. When he spoke, his voice carried neither hesitation nor regret. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I am no longer the emperor's assistant."
Rehena's eyes flickered to him, catching the steadiness in Barron's expression. Still… her curiosity drifted to the red-eyed prince sitting across from them. She wanted—needed—to know his name.
"Why?" the prince pressed, his brows drawing together. "You're known as the undefeated knight of the Western Empire… the emperor's most trusted companion. Why abandon all of that?"
Confusion darkened his face, and a hint of disbelief curled his lips. Rehena stayed quiet, hands folded on her lap, listening as the tension thickened between the two men.
Barron straightened. "I betrayed the West and sided with the North," he said carefully. "It is a long tale… but today, we simply need your help, Your Grace."
The prince almost laughed, leaning forward with a smirk that stung. "You betrayed the West? For the North? Sir Barron, you must be jesting."
His tone carried a mocking disbelief. He had heard the rumours—rumours of the North rising, of rebellion growing stronger each day—but he didn't believe the North had enough strength to challenge the three great kingdoms. The way he looked at Barron felt insulting, and Rehena's heart tightened. She hated seeing Barron belittled, especially by someone who knew nothing of the North.
Before Barron could speak, Rehena lifted her chin.
"I beg your pardon, Your Highness," she said, voice steady though her fingers trembled beneath the table. "But I believe you are mistaken about the North's current standing."
She had to be careful—one wrong word and she might offend him. She and Barron still needed to speak of his mother's descendants, the ones who knew how to craft rare herbs.
The prince looked bored, uninterested. "If the North has risen as you claim, then why flee here with Sir Barron? What business does the North have in the East?" His eyes gleamed with provocation, as though daring her to reveal something reckless.
Rehena took a breath. "Allow me to introduce myself first." She placed a hand over her chest, bowing her head respectfully. "I am the Master of Lands and Resources Of North. We seek the help of the late empress's descendants—those who know how to craft herbs the North can no longer afford to lose."
Each word was careful, measured, though a flicker of irritation crossed the prince's expression. He believed the North would use his mother's legacy to fuel rebellion against the East. Despite the whispers that the king barely acknowledged him, the prince still clung to the hope that one day his father would look at him as a real son.
"My name is Maxsimirian Callistro Casinova," he said at last, bowing his head slightly. "Second prince of the Eastern Empire."
Then his voice hardened.
"But… I'm afraid I cannot help you."
Rehena froze. Even Barron's eyes widened. A cold wave of anxiety rushed through her. Failure—she tasted it on her tongue. She couldn't disappoint Celistine. Or Carlo, who let her join this mission despite his fear of losing her. Her fingers curled tightly around her skirt under the table as she stared down, whispering in her mind, Think, Rehena… think.
"May I know why, Your Grace?" she asked, voice unsteady.
Max crossed his arms. "My mother is gravely ill. She cannot participate in such things. And her descendants have long abandoned herb-crafting—they fled to a small village to live quietly, without trouble."
Rehena leaned her head forward despite her shaking heart. "But isn't this the perfect moment for change? Look at your people, Your Grace. They need a leader who will stand for them. Isn't it time for you to claim your place?"
Instead of feeling encouraged, Max's temper flared.
"Are you suggesting I rebel against my father… lady?" His glare cut straight into her, making her chest tighten. She had pushed too far.
Barron tried to step in. "Forgive what my lady said, but—"
"What about it, Sir Barron?" Max snapped, cutting him off. "My father is a great ruler of the East. Even if there are whispers that he doesn't acknowledge me, he is still my father."
Despite everything—the rumours, his mother's disgrace, his own status as the unloved prince—Max still clung to hope. And that made him impossible to persuade.
Rehena swallowed hard. Their chance was slipping.
"Your Grace… please," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, little lady," Max replied, rising from his seat. His farewell tone felt like a blade sliding between her ribs. "I cannot trust a northern woman travelling with a knight who suddenly betrays his master. Now… if you'll excuse me."
He turned and left the café, leaving Rehena and Barron frozen in place. Rehena's heart cracked. Her mission had failed. She had failed the North. She didn't know how she could face Celistine… or Carlo.
Her head bowed, eyes closing as anxiety hollowed her chest. She clutched her skirt tighter, trying not to fall apart.
Then—warmth. A gentle pat on her head.
Barron. Treating her with the same quiet care he'd always shown her since she was twenty-one.
Rehena looked at him, startled. Barron offered a faint, weary smile. "Do not worry, my lady. I suppose… we failed this time."
Rehena exhaled shakily, her expression empty yet full of sorrow. "Then we must leave," she murmured.
Side by side, they stepped out of the café, carrying the weight of disappointment. Max had refused them, and sometimes, no matter how desperately one tries, the answer remains no. They would have to accept defeat—for now—and search for another path. Another strategy. Another hope. Rehena only prayed that next time… she wouldn't fail again.
Night had settled heavily over the Eastern Empire, wrapping their small rented room in a dim, muted glow from a single oil lamp. Two weeks had passed since Rehena and Barron arrived with their three shadow-guards, men who moved silently through the empire gathering information they hoped would expose the East. Yet despite their efforts, they had gained little. After Max—the second prince—rejected Rehena's request, she had no choice but to leave as soon as their mission ended. Staying any longer in the East as a northerner would only invite danger.
Now, in this quiet night, the room was filled with the weight of failure. The wooden floor creaked softly as the guards shifted, their shadows stretching long against the walls. Rehena sat near the end of the rectangular table while Barron leaned against its edge, arms crossed firmly, his eyes sharp even in the dim light. His voice carried a cold command that sliced clean through the silence.
"Report," he said.
Rehena watched him; even under the faint glow, Barron's presence felt imposing. Celistine had been right to trust him—he possessed a mind sharpened by countless investigations, able to read through lies and stitch every hint of truth together.
Harith stepped forward, the lamplight brushing over his armour. "There is nothing of significance, Sir. The second prince was right… all the descendants of the late Empress are no longer here."
The disappointment pressed deeper into Rehena's chest, yet she kept her hands folded on her lap to hide the tremble.
Joshua followed, clearing his throat. "Nothing for me as well, Sir. I am still investigating."
Barron rubbed his jaw slowly, the faint leather creak from his glove echoing in the quiet room. "So… the second prince spoke the truth?"
Rehena felt herself leaning forward slightly, hoping for something—anything—until her eyes landed on Robert. There was something in the way he shifted, something restless, something he had not yet spoken.
"Robert," she said softly, "is there something you wish to report?"
Robert inhaled sharply, nodding. "Yes, my lady. I… disguised myself as one of the Eastern Mansion's servants tonight."
Barron's eyes narrowed. "You infiltrated the mansion? At night?" His tone carried disbelief. "Their security should be impossibly tight."
Robert shook his head. "It wasn't, Sir. It was surprisingly easy to slip in." He paused before continuing, lowering his voice as if afraid the walls themselves were listening. "While walking through the mansion in the late hours, I saw the current Empress—the second wife of the king. She wore a heavy cloak despite the warm night."
Rehena's skin prickled. A chill ran along her spine, though the room was far from cold.
"Continue," Barron ordered, leaning forward with a hardened stare.
"I followed her," Robert said. "She took her carriage towards the old cathedral at the far edge of the grounds—the one tucked away behind the trees. The night was unnervingly quiet… almost too quiet. When she slipped into the wooded path, I saw it—a large, two-storey structure hidden deeper inside. It resembled some kind of factory. A towering chimney rose above it, and thick black smoke was crawling into the night sky."
Barron straightened slowly. "Did you get closer?"
"I tried," Robert replied, "but the place was heavily guarded. Torches everywhere. Swords drawn. There was no way to slip further in."
Rehena exchanged a long, uneasy glance with Barron. A factory in the middle of the night? Hidden? Guarded? Connected to the disappearance of all herbalists?
"Sir," Joshua added, stepping forward. "I heard something tonight at the tavern… rumours. They say all herbalists have been banned from the Eastern Empire."
Rehena's eyes widened. "What? Then who is caring for the sick? How will the people survive?" Worry filled her voice, trembling slightly.
"They say the people must rely on the Empress's workers," Joshua continued. "But the herbs they make… they do nothing."
Rehena's fingers curled tightly into her skirt beneath the table. So this was deliberate… they removed every herbalist so the Empress alone could profit.
"Then why is she going to that factory in secret?" she asked.
Barron exhaled deeply, his voice dropping to a cold, decisive tone. "Isn't it obvious?"
Everyone turned to him.
"They're preparing something for the coming war."
The entire room went still. Even the flame of the oil lamp seemed to waver.
Rehena felt her breath seize, her heart pounding in her ribs. The shadows around them felt heavier—dangerous. Joshua and Harith stiffened. Robert swallowed hard.
The Eastern Empire was hiding something illegal beneath the veil of night—something dark, something powerful—something that could destroy the North… and the Blackthreads with them.