The Citadel Archives had provided the team with the agonizing truth: King Alderon's plan was not isolation, but a global psychic takeover, backed by foreign benefactors.
Curse Blonde stood in the hollowed-out Throne Room, now operating as the combined group's headquarters. The massive, obsidian throne was draped in black cloth, a temporary symbol of the dismantled monarchy.
Lyra had secured the Vanishment Registry and was working with Torvin to establish rudimentary power. Elara and the Valmorah Watch stood guard, their suspicion of the Elite Team barely contained by their need for information.
Valis looked up from the global projection map, his face etched with worry. "The trade records are clear. Alderon was importing high-grade Ether refinement components and specialized Ether dampeners—the kind only three major global powers produce."
"The most consistent supplier is the Northern Coalition," Curse stated, pointing to a region on the map. "They control the world's Ether shipping lanes. They funded his tyranny, likely to gain access to the perfected binding technology once Alderon conquered the surrounding continents."
The revelation shifted the focus of the mission entirely. The military objective was over; the geopolitical one had just begun.
"Commander, our priority is to get this data to the outside world immediately," Curse ordered. "The Coalition must not be allowed to sweep this under the rug. They need to know the Crownlight is gone, and their global plan is exposed."
"We can't use the Citadel's external comms," Valis countered. "The system is dead, and the residual energy is too volatile. We need a clean broadcast point—something outside the primary explosion zone. We have only one option: the old Marrowgate Port radio tower."
The port was fifty kilometers away—a long, dangerous trek through an unknown and newly volatile country.
Curse turned to the resistance members. "Torvin, Lyra, how long until you can move the unbound citizens safely out of Valmorah City? We can't leave them here."
"We need at least twenty-four hours to stabilize them and prepare transport," Lyra replied, her voice filled with a technician's caution. "They are conscious now, but barely mobile. They are terrified by the sound of their own footsteps. We need to hide them in the deep, low-Ether passages."
"We need a beacon to summon aid," Torvin added. "But we are the only people who know this country. If we leave the city, the outside world will move in and claim the void."
💥 The Political Rift
The immediate threat was not from outside, but from the internal political pressure exerted by the Valmorah Watch.
Elara stepped forward, her hand resting near the hilt of a crude, metal knife. "The priority is Demise Country, not the world's judgment. We raze the Citadel, establish security, and start rebuilding our infrastructure. We do not risk exposing our people to foreign interference by inviting a Coalition response."
"We can't ignore the debt," Curse argued, meeting Elara's fierce gaze. "The Coalition will see our Silence broken as an invitation to invade and claim the territory and the technology. We must expose the conspiracy first. If they come for conquest, they come as criminals, not saviors."
"You speak of global strategy," Elara spat, nodding toward the Citadel archives. "We speak of our neighbors, our homes, and our freedom. We will hold the Citadel. If you broadcast the trade records, you risk revealing our location to their retaliatory forces."
Curse realized she couldn't afford a schism with the one organized local force. She needed the Watch's support to secure the city and protect the recovering citizens.
"I will not sacrifice our security," Curse conceded, making a hard, strategic compromise. "The Elite Team will split. Kael will remain here. He will help the Watch secure the Citadel and coordinate Torvin and Lyra's efforts to hide the unbound citizens. He is neutral and loyal only to the mission's core goal: protecting the people."
Kael, standing silent and massive in his armor, stepped forward and nodded to Elara, a silent agreement of cooperation.
"Valis and I will take the essential trade records—the proof of the foreign debt—and go to Marrowgate Port," Curse continued. "We will make a short, targeted broadcast. We expose the Coalition and call for legitimate, UN-sanctioned aid, not invasion."
Elara considered the proposal—a clear split of responsibilities and a non-royal guardian left behind. "If you do not return, we will assume you claimed the throne, and we will defend this city to the last person."
"Agreed," Curse said simply. "The Blonde Lineage is finished. My mission is to ensure freedom, not succession."
🚗 The Race to Marrowgate
The plan was set: a desperate fifty-kilometer dash to the coast.
Curse quickly shed her damaged power suit. She needed speed and discretion. She wore light combat fatigues, took her stabilized Ether Rifle, and kept the Solvane Key secured to her belt—its calming, pure Ether a constant, internal balance against the turmoil.
She and Valis prepared a refurbished military transport—a scavenged all-terrain vehicle—fueled by emergency Ether reserves.
As they drove out of the city, through the still, quiet streets that were once the killing ground of the Enforcers, the sight of the clear sky overhead was both a blessing and a chilling warning.
"We are exposed, Commander," Curse noted, watching the newly brightened horizon. "We are visible to the entire world for the first time in five years. We must reach that radio tower before the Coalition sends a scout."
Valis gripped the wheel, his eyes on the road. "We need to move like ghosts, Curse. This country is an open wound, and the world's vultures are circling."
The marathon of consequence had begun. Curse had traded the crushing weight of her father's tyranny for the terrifying, boundless uncertainty of global politics. Their race to expose the foreign debt was the only thing standing between Demise Country and a new, more predatory kind of silence.