The office was built to impress.
Dark oak walls lined with shelves of meticulously organized ledgers. Thick carpets imported from the southern provinces muffled every footstep. A wide window overlooked a snowless city far from the North, its glass etched with protective runes meant to keep secrets from wandering ears.
Two men sat across from one another at a heavy table.
Both were middle-aged. Both well-fed. Both dressed in layered finery that spoke of wealth rather than strength.
And both were angry.
"We lost three caravans last month," the man on the left said, fingers tapping against a ledger. "And two investment houses folded the moment Morwen fell."
The other snorted. "Expected losses. She was always a risk. Too ambitious."
"A risk we curated," the first snapped. "We placed her. Funded her. Fed her information."
"And she failed," the second replied coolly. "Which brings us to the real problem."
They both fell silent.
Then,
"Valen Arkwright."
The name hung heavy.
"He wasn't supposed to survive," the first man said. "He was average. Predictable. A placeholder noble."
"And now?" the second asked.
"And now," the first replied grimly, "he kills his brother in public, dismantles a faction in days, and moves pieces we can't see."
The second man leaned back. "Something changed him."
"Yes."
"And I don't like mysteries that bleed money."
They exchanged a look.
"We can't let the North stabilize under him," the second said. "If he secures the magicstone mines, we lose leverage."
"Then we remove him."
The first man nodded. "Quietly."
A pause.
"…Or loudly," the second added. "If quiet fails."
Their glasses clinked.
A decision made.
XXXX
The prison was silent when Valen stood before the cell.
Torches burned low along the corridor, their flames leaning subtly toward him, drawn by something they did not understand. Evelynn sat within the iron bars, chains loose around her wrists—not because she had been spared, but because escape no longer mattered.
She looked up.
The mage stood at Valen's side, unmoving, eyes empty, hands folded as if awaiting instruction.
"You were right," Valen said, his voice echoing softly through the stone. "About the curse."
Evelynn's brow lifted slightly. "Was I?"
"It can be removed."
The words struck harder than any blow.
Her breath caught despite herself.
"But," Valen continued, unhurried, "not without cost."
She studied his face, searching for hesitation. Finding none.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Submission," Valen replied. "Not obedience bought with fear. Not control taken by force."
He stepped closer to the bars.
"A choice."
Evelynn let out a quiet, humourless laugh. "You don't bargain lightly."
"I don't accept fractured loyalty."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid.
"And after?" she asked.
"You work for me," Valen said. "Openly. Fully. Without lies or reservation."
"And if I refuse?"
Valen met her gaze without blinking.
"Then nothing changes," he said simply. "You remain broken."
The chains along the wall shuddered faintly, reacting not to his words but to the truth in them.
Evelynn closed her eyes.
Ten years of failure passed behind her lids. Blood. Deception. Borrowed faces. Dead ends. All of it leading here.
When she opened them again, the defiance was gone.
"…Very well," she said quietly. "I choose to submit."
The tattoo along Valen's arm ignited not with light, but with presence.
The air compressed.
Evelynn gasped as invisible pressure wrapped around her mana heart not crushing, not violent but total. Every instinct in her screamed to fight, to reject, to claw back control.
She didn't.
She released her hold.
The moment she allowed it
The domination settled.
Not as chains.
Not as pain.
But as a binding acknowledgment.
A bond, forged by choice rather than force.
Valen turned.
"Begin," he said.
The dark mage stepped forward.
He did not hesitate.
Hands glowing with unstable energy, he placed them against Evelynn's chest and began to chant a language older than sanctioned magic, one that devoured the speaker as much as the spell.
The curse screamed.
Evelynn screamed with it.
Black tendrils ripped free from her mana heart, dissolving into ash as the mage's body withered rapidly skin cracking, blood boiling away into nothing.
He smiled once.
Then collapsed.
Dead.
The silence afterward was profound.
Evelynn fell forward, coughing, shaking.
Then
She breathed.
Deeply.
Freely.
Color returned to her face. Her posture straightened. The suffocating weight she had carried for a decade was gone.
She wasn't whole.
Not yet.
But she was alive.
She looked up at Valen, eyes shining not with devotion alone, but something fiercer.
Gratitude.
She knelt.
Not forced.
Chosen.
"I will serve you with my life," Evelynn said softly. "Until the end."
Valen nodded.
XXXX
Outside the prison, the air felt different.
Captain Edrik Frosthelm stood at the base of the stone steps, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the heavy iron doors. He had felt it just a moment ago. A fluctuation. A pressure that made the hairs along his neck rise.
Something had ended down there.
He exhaled slowly.
So it's done, he thought. Morwen is finally dead.
The doors groaned open.
Valen emerged first.
His stride was calm, unhurried, as if nothing of consequence had just occurred beneath the keep. A heartbeat later, a woman stepped out beside him.
Edrik stiffened.
She walked with quiet composure, black hair falling freely over her shoulders, her expression composed, eyes alert.
Valen stopped beside Edrik.
"This is Evelynn," he said evenly. "She will serve as Head of Strategic Affairs."
Edrik blinked once.
Then bowed.
"As you command, my lord."
He did not question it.
He had learned quickly that Valen did not make empty decisions.
Valen gestured toward the prison entrance. "Have the chamber cleaned. Remove the body."
Edrik nodded. "I'll see to it personally."
As he descended the steps, the iron doors closing behind him, Edrik's thoughts settled into certainty.
Poetic, he thought grimly. Morwen died in chains, grasping for power she never deserved.
Inside the prison, the air was still heavy with burnt mana.
Edrik entered the cell.
At its centre lay a blackened corpse charred, twisted, unrecognizable. The stone beneath it was scorched. Residual magic clung to the walls like a lingering scream.
He paused.
Then shook his head.
"So that's how it ends," he muttered. "Scheming to the very last."
He looked away, oddly satisfied.
"Count Valen showed mercy letting you live this long," he added quietly. "You brought it on yourself."
He signaled the guards.
"Clean it. Burn what's left."
Outside, Valen walked down the corridor beside Evelynn.
She glanced at him sideways, lips curving faintly. "You let him believe it was her."
Valen didn't look back.
"Belief is a tool," he said. "Truth is a liability."
Evelynn inclined her head.
"I understand."
Behind them, the prison doors sealed shut.