Aric sat alone in his study, a candle casting shadows across the high walls, lighting his face in a strange mixture of soft glow and deep shade.
His hand rested on an open ledger, and a faint, contemplative smile traced his lips as he read through the notes he had made.
He had been preparing for this moment for days.
The Church of the Holy Flame was an iron fist wrapped in the silken robes of righteousness, capable of swaying the masses and manipulating the nobility with a single word.
But now, Aric had found the cracks—and he intended to dig until the Church collapsed.
The door creaked open. Viscount Kael entered first, followed by Old Man Hitoshi. They walked with purpose—Kael's steps brisk, Hitoshi's steady, like a man who had seen centuries of schemes rise and fall.
Both paused, offering brief bows before Kael spoke.
