Three days passed like fever dreams after the forging of Soulrend. I delivered the cursed blade to Emperor Xaldron with ceremony befitting such a masterwork of evil, watched as his eyes lit up with unholy joy when he drew it from its wrapping. The weapon sang in his hands, a keening note that spoke of violence and death, and I saw him smile as he felt its hunger for his brother's blood.
"Magnificent," he breathed, testing its balance with practice cuts that split the air like screams. "I can feel its power, its purpose. When dear Xayon returns to us, this blade will ensure our reunion is... memorable."
He dismissed me with a wave, already lost in contemplation of the murders to come. I retreated to my workshop and tried to wash the stench of damnation from my hands, but some stains go deeper than flesh. The silver medallion fragment hidden within Soulrend was the only hope I had left—a spark of light in an ocean of darkness.
It was on the fourth day that the Academy fell.
I was repairing a broken sword when the screaming started, faint but unmistakable, drifting through the palace corridors like smoke. At first, I thought it was just another of Xaldron's purges, another batch of nobles being dragged to the dungeons for the crime of existing. But this was different—younger voices, filled with terror and confusion rather than the resigned despair of those who had accepted their fate.
One of my mind-wiped apprentices looked up from his work, his empty eyes showing the faintest flicker of something that might once have been concern. "Master," he said in his flat, emotionless voice, "shall we investigate the disturbance?"
"No," I replied quickly. "Continue your work. The affairs of the palace are not our concern."
But they were my concern, desperately so. Because I recognized some of those voices—young people I had seen at the Grand Tournament, students whose magical abilities had marked them for Thane's particular attention. The screaming meant the conditioning had begun, the systematic destruction of everything that made them human.
As evening approached, the sounds gradually faded to silence. Not the peace of resolution, but the terrible quiet that follows after hope has been murdered. I waited until the palace settled into its restless sleep, then made my way through the darkened corridors toward the Academy wing.
The halls that had once echoed with laughter and scholarly debate were now patrolled by Nerds, their black cloaks rustling like the wings of carrion birds. I moved carefully, using servant passages and hidden routes that few knew existed, staying in the shadows that had become my home these past months.
The Academy's main hall had been transformed into something from a nightmare. Where once students had gathered for meals and conversation, now stood rows of crystalline pods, each one containing a young person floating in viscous fluid that glowed with sickly phosphorescence. Tubes and wires connected the pods to a massive apparatus that hummed with dark energy, its purpose unmistakable.
This was where they were being remade.
I counted twenty-three pods—all the Level 10 students, just as Kellian had predicted. Their faces were peaceful in unconsciousness, but I could see the changes already beginning. Their features were subtly shifting, taking on the cold perfection that marked Xaldron's other servants. Their minds were being carved away, their personalities sculpted into shapes more pleasing to their new master.
"Impressive, isn't it?" The voice came from directly behind me, and I barely managed not to cry out in shock. Commander Thane stepped from the shadows like a wraith given form, his smile sharp as a blade. "The Emperor's vision made manifest—power without the inconvenience of free will."
I forced myself to remain calm, though my heart hammered against my ribs. "I was curious about the work being done here. The rumors—"
"Are all true, I'm afraid." Thane moved to stand beside one of the pods, running his fingers along its smooth surface with something approaching tenderness. "This young woman was quite gifted—Level 10 abilities, specializing in temporal manipulation. She could slow time to a crawl or accelerate it beyond normal perception."
Inside the pod, the student's body twitched slightly, as if responding to some dream or nightmare.
"Now she dreams of service," Thane continued. "Dreams of loyalty so pure it hurts to contemplate. When she emerges, she will remember nothing of her former life, nothing of family or friends or personal desires. She will exist only to serve the Emperor's will, and she will do so with perfect, unwavering devotion."
"And the others?"
"Each being perfected according to their gifts. Combat specialists will become living weapons, scholars will become walking libraries of forbidden knowledge, healers will become instruments of exquisite torture." His eyes gleamed with malevolent satisfaction. "The Empire will have servants unlike any in history—powerful, loyal, and completely without conscience."
I thought of Seraphina, the young woman who had delivered Kellian's message. Was she here, floating in one of these pods, her fierce intelligence being carved away to make room for slavish obedience? The thought made my stomach churn with helpless rage.
"The Emperor wishes to see you," Thane said, his attention returning to me. "A new commission, something even more... specialized than your previous work."
Another weapon. Another step further into damnation. But also another opportunity to gather information, to find some weakness in Xaldron's plans that the resistance might exploit.
"Of course," I replied. "I serve at His Imperial Majesty's pleasure."
We walked through corridors that had once been filled with the promise of knowledge, now transformed into pathways to horror. Students' rooms stood empty, their doors bearing the seals of the Nerds. The library's ancient tomes had been replaced with volumes of dark magic, their bindings still wet with what I prayed was ink rather than blood.
The throne room was darker than I remembered, lit only by braziers that burned with flames the color of old blood. Emperor Xaldron sat upon his crimson seat, Soulrend resting across his knees. The cursed blade pulsed with hungry energy, and I could feel its attention fix on me like the gaze of a predator.
"Ah, my faithful craftsman," Xaldron's voice carried across the vast chamber. "Your previous work has exceeded all expectations. Soulrend sings with such beautiful malice—I can barely restrain myself from testing its edge."
"Your Imperial Majesty honors me."
"Indeed I do. Which is why I have another task for you, something that will require all your considerable skill." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I need you to forge chains."
"Chains, Your Majesty?"
"Very special chains. Bonds that can hold not just the body, but the soul itself. Restraints that will prevent even a Level 10 mage from using their abilities to escape." His smile was like winter itself. "You see, I am expecting a very special guest. Someone whose arrival will require... careful preparation."
Prince Xayon. The trap was being set, the stage prepared for the final confrontation between the brothers. And I was being asked to forge the very chains that would bind the Empire's last hope.
"The materials will be similar to those used for Soulrend," Xaldron continued, "but the process will be even more delicate. These chains must be both strong enough to hold a god and subtle enough to appear as ordinary iron. My brother has always been clever—he will be suspicious of obvious magical restraints."
"When do you require them, Your Majesty?"
"Soon. Very soon. My agents in the outer provinces report that certain... messages have been delivered to places where my dear brother might receive them. Messages designed to draw him home, to force him to act before he is truly ready."
My blood ran cold. What kind of messages? What bait was Xaldron using to lure his brother back to Karadia?
"Nothing too dramatic," Xaldron said, as if reading my thoughts. "Just word that his former supporters are being systematically executed. That children are disappearing from their homes. That the Academy—his beloved Academy—is being transformed into a factory for producing slave-soldiers."
The truth hit me like a physical blow. This had all been planned, every atrocity carefully calculated to drive Prince Xayon to desperation. The purges, the Academy's corruption, even the torture of innocents—it was all bait in a trap designed to catch the one man who might save the Empire.
"You see, I know my brother," Xaldron continued, his voice filled with poisonous affection. "He cannot bear to see others suffer for his choices. His noble heart, his precious conscience—they are his greatest weaknesses. Soon, he will come riding back to Karadia like a hero from the old stories, ready to sacrifice himself to save those he considers his responsibility."
"And when he arrives?"
"When he arrives, he will find the Academy students transformed into weapons aimed at his heart. He will face the choice between killing innocents to reach me, or allowing himself to be destroyed by those he sought to save." Xaldron's laughter was like the sound of breaking glass. "Either way, I win. Either he damns himself by murdering children, or he dies knowing that his sacrifice changes nothing."
The plan was monstrous in its efficiency, diabolic in its understanding of Prince Xayon's character. But perhaps that very certainty was its weakness. Xaldron believed he knew his brother completely, trusted in his ability to predict and manipulate his responses.
What if he was wrong? What if the Prince Xayon who returned was not the same man who had left six months ago? Exile changed people, hardened them in ways that comfortable palace life never could. The noble prince might have learned pragmatism, might have developed the ruthlessness necessary to make the hard choices.
Or he might still be the same honorable fool who valued other lives above his own.
"The chains, Your Majesty," I said, forcing myself to focus on the immediate task. "What specifications—"
"Commander Thane will provide the details. The forging will take place in five days' time, during the new moon. By then, our preparations will be complete, and my brother's fate will be sealed."
I bowed deeply, my mind already racing with possibilities. Five days to warn the resistance, to prepare whatever defenses might be possible. Five days to find a way to turn Xaldron's trap against him.
As I left the throne room, Soulrend's hunger followed me like a cold wind, and I wondered if the spark of light I had hidden within its darkness would be enough to matter when the final moment came.
Outside, storm clouds gathered over Karadia,it seemed as if they could sense the echo of approaching war. The Brotherhood of Princes was about to face its ultimate test, and the fate of the Empire hung in the balance like a sword suspended by a thread. Yet, I am not prepared.
I prayed that thread would hold long enough for justice to find its mark.