The wind howled through the stone towers of Valdrann Castle, carrying with it the scent of rain and smoke from the kitchens. Every gust seemed to carry whispers of plots and hidden ambitions. The cold stones of the castle seemed to hold every spoken word, as if they were silent witnesses to what was unfolding in the shadows.
Kael Draven stepped into the great council hall. His boots echoed sharply on the stone floor, a cold, metallic sound announcing his presence. His black cloak, soaked by the relentless rain, clung to his armor. His gray eyes scanned the room carefully. Every lord, every courtier, every impassive face could be an enemy. Kael had learned to read what words could not say.
The king was absent, officially too ill to attend the council. In his place, Chancellor Mareth Vorn presided over the meeting, a cold smile on his lips. Kael knew that behind this polite mask lay a sharp and dangerous intelligence.
— Captain Draven, Mareth said, his voice soft but cutting, your reports on the East are alarming.
Kael laid his maps and parchments on the table. Three bastions had fallen to the rebels this week, and the threat was spreading rapidly. He pointed to each location, his fingers trembling slightly despite his composed exterior.
— If we do not act quickly, the rebellion will reach the capital by the end of the month.
A heavy silence fell over the room. The lords exchanged measured glances, each weighing the weight of his words against his own ambitions. Kael knew that here, speaking of strategy alone was never enough. Every word could be turned against him, every gesture observed and analyzed.
— The kingdom is fragile, Kael murmured to himself, and those who smile today may stab tomorrow.
Mareth's cold smile widened slightly.
— Always cautious, captain. But remember: war is not won only with swords. True enemies often hide behind friendly faces.
Kael nodded, his fingers gripping the maps tightly. He observed each lord: behind their neutral expressions played an invisible game, a dance of power and betrayal.
After several minutes of debate, the council dispersed. Whispers resumed in the corridors, but Kael knew the real conversations were happening in the shadows.
As he left the great hall, he noticed a flickering torch at the end of a corridor. A fleeting figure slipped behind a door. Kael blinked, but nothing. The entire castle seemed to breathe around him, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.
In his chambers, Kael drew out a parchment hidden in his tunic. The king, officially dead from illness, had left him this message a few days before his disappearance. The words were hastily scrawled:
> "If you are reading this… I am no longer safe.
The throne is threatened from within.
Trust Kael Draven, the overlooked bastard.
Beware… the one who smiles will stab."
Kael read the letter several times. Every word echoed in his mind. The king had known. He knew that his own palace had become a trap.
Sitting by the fireplace, Kael spent the night thinking, the flames casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. He understood that every decision he made from now on could change the fate of the kingdom.
By morning, he went to the armory. The soldiers greeted him with respect, but Kael saw only pieces on a chessboard. Alliances and betrayals formed and fell apart, and a single misstep could cost lives.
> "If the throne is built on lies, I will uncover the truth… before it is too late."
Kael donned his black cloak, ready to face the day, ready to navigate a world where the sword was not always the only weapon, and where loyalty was measured by the light of a smile or the depth of a silence.
And somewhere, in the shadows of the castle corridors, someone was watching him.