Rumours spread faster than ravens.
By the time dawn crept over the mountains, the North was already burning with stories—whispered in taverns, muttered in market squares, carried along frozen roads by merchants and soldiers alike.
Frostvein was dead.
Blackmoor had vanished.
Entire bloodlines erased in a single night.
Outside the North, the tales twisted quickly. Valen Arkwright was called a butcher. A tyrant. A demon wearing a crown of snow. Southern scribes wrote of him with trembling ink, painting him as something unnatural—too young, too ruthless, too absolute.
But within the North?
The reaction was very different.
The people did not weep for fallen lords who had hidden behind walls for decades. They did not mourn nobles who had gambled their lives away while never once standing in the snow beside their soldiers.
They felt something they hadn't in a long time.
Awe.
In the North, strength was not cruelty it was proof. And for generations, the nobles had failed to prove themselves. They had schemed, bargained, and bent knee to outside powers, all while calling it survival.
Valen Arkwright had ended that illusion.
He had stood where others hid.
Bled where others sent men to die.
And punished betrayal without hesitation.
Recruitment offices overflowed before noon.
Men and women lined the streets of Arkwright territory, offering service, swearing oaths, demanding to be part of something that finally felt real. Old veterans returned with armor pulled from storage. Young men lied about their age. Even former Frostvein and Blackmoor soldiers arrived in silence, heads bowed, waiting to be judged.
They were not turned away.
The one placed in charge of shaping them was Captain Edrik no, Commander Edrik now.
He took to the role with grim pride.
Training grounds rang day and night with steel and shouted orders. Discipline was brutal but fair. Loyalty was rewarded. Cowardice was not tolerated. And beneath it all, something strange spread strength that grew the more men believed.
Edrik did not question it.
He simply trained harder.
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While the North roared awake
Valen Arkwright lay still.
Morning light filtered softly through heavy curtains, painting the bed in pale gold. Evelynn slept curled against his chest, bare skin warm against his own, her dark hair spilled across him like ink on parchment.
Valen's fingers moved idly through it, slow and thoughtful.
For the first time in days, there was no blood on his hands.
No maps to study.
No names to erase.
Just breath.
Warmth.
Quiet.
"The rumours are already out of control," Evelynn murmured sleepily, eyes still closed. "You're apparently a demon now."
Valen huffed softly. "Convenient."
She shifted closer. "What happens next?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"Before the coronation," Valen said at last, "I want everything in order."
Evelynn opened her eyes, looking up at him. "In what way?"
"I'm locking down the North after the coronation," he replied calmly. "For a time. Borders sealed. No armies in. No politics out."
She frowned slightly. "That's extreme."
"Necessary," he corrected. "Only magicstone exports and food imports will move. Nothing else."
"Why?" she asked quietly.
Valen's hand stilled in her hair.
"Because the North has been hollowed out," he said. "For decades, we were bled by treaties, favors, and wars fought for others. We've lost strength real strength."
His gaze drifted toward the window, toward the distant mountains.
"I'm going to give it back."
Evelynn searched his face. "And after that?"
Valen smiled faintly.
"I have bigger plans."
She shifted, propping herself slightly on his chest. "Such as?"
He spoke a single phrase.
"The Demonic Forest."
Evelynn stiffened.
The forest at the northern edge of Arkwright territory was a nightmare spoken of in hushed tones a place of monsters, corrupted mana, and death. A boundary no one crossed willingly.
"That place is suicide," she said. "You found the dark mage there. Barely survived."
"I know," Valen replied. "And that's why everyone believes the demons live there."
He met her eyes.
"They don't."
Evelynn went still.
"The demons come through it," Valen continued, voice low. "But they're not native to this continent. They come from another far north. An entire landmass beyond what people believe exists."
He exhaled slowly.
"This world isn't whole," Valen said quietly. "What we live on is only one continent—divided into three powers."
He shifted slightly, Evelynn fitting more comfortably against him as he spoke.
"The North," he continued. "Once fractured. Now united."
She nodded.
"The South is the Aurelian Kingdom," Valen went on. "Rich, patient, and ruled by people who understand influence better than war."
Evelynn's breath slowed as she listened.
"And between them," Valen said, "the central lands."
"The elves," Evelynn whispered.
"Yes," he confirmed. "Neutral territory. Claimed by no crown. Guarded by the World Tree at its heart. Older than our histories. Older than most gods people still pray to."
His gaze hardened, eyes reflecting something far beyond the room.
"People stopped exploring because the edges were dangerous," Valen said. "Because monsters waited there. Because forests turned hostile and seas swallowed ships."
He looked down at her.
"So they convinced themselves this continent was all there was."
Evelynn was silent now, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
"But it isn't," Valen said softly. "Beyond it are other lands. Other continents. The demons don't come from our forests they come from far beyond them."
A pause.
"I don't intend to stop at the edge of what people are comfortable believing."
Silence settled over the room.
Evelynn rested fully against his chest, fingers curling lightly into his skin.
"Then," she said softly, "the world is going to notice you."
Valen's fingers resumed their slow, thoughtful motion through her hair.
"Good."
Outside, the North prepared for coronation.
Inside, Valen shifted, one arm tightening around Evelynn's waist as he rolled them smoothly, drawing her over him. She let out a quiet breath of surprise that turned into a soft laugh as she found herself straddling him, palms resting against his bare chest.
"You really don't know how to stop, do you?" she murmured.
Valen looked up at her, eyes dark with intent and warmth. "I don't want to."
He pulled her down and kissed her deep, unhurried, full of promise. Evelynn melted into it immediately, her body relaxing as she settled against him, the tension of plans and futures slipping away for a while.
They shifted again, slower now, until she lay beside him, tangled in his arms, her leg draped over his hip, skin warm against skin. His hand traced idle, familiar paths along her back as her fingers found his chest, drawing small, absent patterns there.
The bed creaked softly.
Breath mingled.
The world narrowed once more to closeness and heat and the quiet certainty that neither of them needed words right now.
The door remained closed.
And while banners were raised and crowns prepared beyond those walls
Valen Arkwright chose, for a little longer, to stay exactly where he was.
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