The war table dominated the center of the chamber, its surface etched with valleys, rivers, and the jagged rise of the Blackfang Mountains. Kaelen stood at the head, silent as his eyes swept across the miniature world.
To his left, the firelight danced across Bryn's sharp features—his second-in-command, bold and impatient, always half-ready to argue. Beside him lounged Serah, arms crossed, her gaze flicking from noble to rebel like a cat watching both mouse and hawk. Dain sat further back, one leg crossed over the other, endlessly tapping his fingers—nervous energy wrapped in a nobleman's robe.
Across from them stood Lord Meron and Lady Cirel, the only highborns who had openly sided with Kaelen before the fall. Their titles remained, but their voices were softer now, uncertain.
"It's not just about sending forces to the border," Bryn said, jabbing a finger at the map. "If they march from the east, they'll follow the ridge and break through Graystone Pass before our scouts can blink."
"We'll need to make them think we're defending the pass," Kaelen replied calmly, "but set our trap further north—in the Vale of Wind. We let them stretch their supply lines, draw them deep into unfamiliar terrain."
"That's a bluff," Lady Cirel said, frowning. "What if they don't take the bait?"
Kaelen glanced at her. "They will. The Vale's roads are newer, easier for a marching army. And if they think we're guarding the pass, they'll assume we're trying to protect something valuable there."
"Decoy garrisons," Serah murmured. "Set up fake campfires, broken wagons, abandoned armor. Make it look like we were caught off guard, then retreated in panic."
Bryn grinned. "Now you're thinking like a commander."
Dain cleared his throat. "And if they don't come through the Vale or the pass?"
Kaelen answered without looking up. "Then they'll split. And that's what we want. A divided force is a dying force."
The room stilled. Even the nobles paused to digest the layers behind his plan. For a moment, Kaelen's expression was unreadable, eyes fixed on the small wooden figures he moved like fate itself.
But then his hand hesitated—just slightly—as he placed a token near the eastern edge. Too far.
He corrected it.
Serah noticed but said nothing.
Kaelen's voice lowered. "We position the bulk of our cavalry just south of Dorswyn's Forest. When their center stretches too thin, we strike the rear with a night raid."
Lord Meron rubbed his chin. "That's ambitious. You're betting on their overconfidence."
"I'm not betting," Kaelen said. "I'm counting on it."
Behind the confidence, his fingers curled faintly.
A slip. Again. The body resisted.
He masked the tension with a slow breath.
Serah leaned in slightly. "And what of the weapons stores from the old regime? We've recovered only half. The rest?"
Kaelen shook his head. "Still missing. Vaults emptied, records burned. The late king was a planner, if nothing else."
"And Elira?" Bryn asked suddenly, too casually. "She's not been seen in days. Thought she'd be here."
The room shifted slightly.
Dain looked up.
Kaelen did not flinch. "She's resting. Everything's been... difficult. For all of us."
Serah's brow twitched. Bryn opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Lady Cirel turned the conversation quickly. "If I may ask—what of the neighboring kingdom? Aurel's forces are organized, but slower. They haven't moved yet."
Kaelen's eyes returned to the map. "They will. Their spies already know the king is dead. But they're watching us closely. Waiting to see if the rebellion tears itself apart."
Dain finally spoke, quiet and thoughtful. "So we give them something else to watch."
Kaelen nodded. "We parade unity. Discipline. Celebration. Let them believe this kingdom is already stronger than it ever was."
"And what if they don't believe it?" Lady Cirel asked.
Kaelen's smile was faint. "Then we let them come see for themselves. In chains."
The room relaxed slightly—just slightly. The nobles nodded, reassured. The rebels exchanged glances. Dain tilted his head.
Kaelen turned away from the table.
"I want a formal declaration drawn up by nightfall," he said. "Let Aurel hear the people's voice, not just mine. And send scouts into the border towns. No contact—just eyes and ears."
Bryn saluted. "On it."
Serah stayed behind a moment longer, watching him as the others filed out.
"You hesitated," she said softly.
Kaelen didn't turn. "A lot weighs on a ruler's hand."
She gave a small nod, accepting the answer but not believing it.
When he was finally alone, Kaelen placed one hand on the edge of the table.
The wooden token he had placed too far east still sat there. Out of place. Wrong.
He let it stay.
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Meanwhile – Aurel, Royal War Hall
A lesser chamber, colder than its rival in Venus. Maps unfurled. News whispered.
Prince Thalos leaned over the table, his expression unreadable. Around him stood generals and scholars, uneasy.
"The king is dead," one said. "Venus is vulnerable."
"And yet..." Thalos muttered, "they haven't splintered."
"Not yet."
Thalos traced a finger across the map. "We strike when they do. Keep the legions on alert. But do not move."
"Yes, my prince."
Outside, the banners of Aurel fluttered. Storm gray. Patient.
--------------------------------------
Kaelen stood at the overlook with the rebel command, his cloak pulled close against the wind. Behind him, the others spoke in quiet tones, clustered around the hastily drawn topographic map nailed to a plank wall.
"This valley's a coffin," said Garren, the oldest of them. One eye blind, voice like crushed gravel. "Perfect. Too perfect. They'll never suspect it."
"They're not fools," Serah cut in. Her dark braid snapped behind her in the breeze. "If they've scouted it before—"
"They haven't," Kaelen interrupted smoothly. "They think we've fortified Graystone."
He didn't smile. Just pressed a token onto the map—his mark—a bronze piece etched with flame and frost. "This is where they'll die."
The Plan Unfolds
Serah raised an eyebrow. "Run us through it again."
Kaelen's fingers moved swiftly, placing carved figures on the map. "We've made a show of reinforcing Graystone Pass. That's what the scouts will report—obvious walls, open paths, a straight road to the capital. They'll see ease. So they'll take it."
"And when they do?" asked Yven, the youngest of the commanders. His fingers tapped nervously against his blade hilt.
"We close the mouth behind them. Archers hidden in the ridge will rain down. Cavalry here—" Kaelen pointed to Dorswyn's Forest on the eastern flank, "—will strike from the rear once they're trapped. They'll have no retreat."
"They'll try to push forward," Serah murmured, catching on. "But the terrain narrows too fast. A charge means chaos."
Kaelen nodded once. "And we feed them chaos."
Quiet Unease
A silence followed. Garren gave a low grunt of approval. Yven gave a crooked grin. But Serah's gaze lingered—not on the map, but on Kaelen himself.
"You've... changed how you explain things," she said after a pause. "Used to ramble more. Joked."
Kaelen didn't flinch. "Victory leaves no room for jokes."
Then, quieter, almost human: "Not anymore."
Later – Between Shadows
That night, campfires dotted the cliff edges, burning low under the stars. The rebels laughed, bickered, ate cold bread and dried fish. But Serah didn't join them.
She sat beside Loran, one of Kaelen's oldest friends—a quiet man with storm-colored eyes and a broken harp slung across his back.
"Did he say anything about Elira?" she asked, voice hushed.
Loran frowned. "Not yet. Maybe she's scouting? Or... maybe they slipped away again. You remember how they were."
Serah didn't answer. Her eyes drifted to the cliffs.
"It's just... he doesn't ask about her either. Like she's... gone."
Loran's brow furrowed. "We'll ask tomorrow. When this is done."
But neither of them noticed the shape unmoving in the far trees. A figure cloaked in black, face hidden, gaze locked on them with stillness too perfect to be natural.
Elsewhere – Beneath the Palace
Far from the cliffs, beneath the palace in Venus, Kaelen sat alone—deep below stone and silence. A single lantern flickered beside a scroll.
His hand trembled as he turned the page. Diagrams of the soul. Pathways of mana. Rituals etched in blood and time.
He whispered aloud. "If power comes from the soul... why do I have his?"
The cold answered with silence.
He rubbed the frostbitten edge of his palm. Inside, the fire raged against the frost. His body hated itself.
The mirror hadn't just swapped him.
It had changed something deeper.
"Did you... alter me?" he whispered—not to the ring, but to something older. "Did you give me more than his flesh?"
For a moment, a memory flared—one not his own.
A tree. Elira's laughter. Her fingers brushing snow from Kaelen's shoulders. A kiss he never lived.
Vaelric slammed the scroll shut. The lantern flickered, nearly dying.
"I need to find a way to silence him," he muttered. "Fully. Forever."
Meanwhile – In Aurel
Far to the east, past gray rivers and silver plains, the Kingdom of Aurel stirred in war.
A long table stretched beneath an iron chandelier. Maps covered the wood. Prince Alric, youthful and lean with piercing green eyes, traced a line toward Graystone Pass.
"Our scouts confirm what we expected," he said. "Kaelen has overcommitted to Graystone. Fortifications are hasty. We press there, break through, and take the capital before harvest."
Beside him, General Halren frowned. Heavyset, methodical, scars curling beneath his collar.
"Still feels too easy."
"That's why we strike fast," Alric replied. "Their king is dead. Their new 'hero' is a boy barely settled on the throne. He doesn't know what he's doing."
Halren grunted. "Or he's baiting us."
"Then let him," the prince said with a smile. "I want his head on my table."