### Chapter 15 – Knives in the Dark
Draeven was quieter than ever, the silence of a city suffocating under fear. The plaza where Kael and Selara had butchered the family was still stained crimson, and no one dared wash the stones. The blood had become a monument—a warning written in flesh.
Yet silence does not mean surrender.
Rennick moved through the alleys like a shadow, blending with the beggars and broken. His work was no longer about strikes or open defiance; it was about whispers, secrets, and knives hidden where Kael's guards would least expect them.
A guard captain was found dead one morning, his throat slit, a crimson hand painted on the wall in blood. A patrol's weapons cache mysteriously exploded in the dead of night, fire consuming both steel and flesh. And in the taverns, rumors spread—voices murmuring that Kael and Selara were not saviors, but demons in crowns.
The rebellion was learning. They could not face Kael's silver-eyed cruelty head-on. They would bleed him with shadows instead.
Selara, however, noticed the change. She stood in the council hall, her gown black as ink, her smile edged with something sharper. "The city grows quiet, but not in the way we wish," she murmured. "There are whispers, Kael. They speak of us as monsters, and though fear binds them, fear also drives rebellion."
Kael's jaw clenched, his silver eyes glinting. "Then we will sharpen fear until it cuts them from the inside."
That evening, the streets burned again—not from rebellion, but from *punishment*. Whole alleys were sealed and set ablaze, families screaming as fire devoured them for crimes they never committed. Guards dragged innocents into the plaza and executed them without charge. Selara herself chose victims at random—men, women, children—and marked them with her dagger before handing them to the flames.
"Let them whisper," she said, her voice silk over screams. "But let their whispers taste of ash."
From the rooftops, Liora clutched Rennick's arm, her eyes burning with horror. "We're killing them," she hissed. "Every step we take, every strike—it's the people who suffer!"
Rennick's face was stone, but his voice carried quiet steel. "That is Kael and Selara's design. They want us to break. But if we stop now, all that's left is obedience. And obedience is worse than death."
Liora closed her eyes, fighting tears. She had saved lives, smuggled bread, hidden children—but every act seemed to call down storms of cruelty. And yet, as she looked at Rennick, she saw the one thing Kael and Selara could not erase: defiance still lived, even if it bled.
By night's end, Draeven's streets were scarred with fire and blood, but the whispers had not stopped. In fact, they grew sharper. Rumors spread of unseen hands guiding the resistance. The Crimson Hand had been broken, yet something new—something darker and quieter—was being born.
In the palace, Kael watched from the balcony, his silver gaze piercing the smoke. "Let them play their games," he said softly. "Every shadow belongs to us. And when they think they are safe, we will show them that hope itself is a lie."
Selara leaned close, her smile like a dagger pressed to skin. "Then let the city learn," she whispered. "Mercy died the day we took the throne."
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