Rudrek stood in his throne room, an imposing figure clad in deep crimson armor etched with battle scars. His broad shoulders and weathered face bore the weight of a lifetime spent in war, each wrinkle a testament to the years of ruthless conquest. His dead black eyes, devoid of warmth, scanned the grand chamber as he swirled a goblet of prestigious wine, nearly a hundred years old, poured in honor of today's occasion.
He had taken the throne after his father's execution when he was eight, ruling ever since with an iron grip. Now, he intended to pass the crown to his daughter, Kirith, for he had no sons. The future of his kingdom hinged on how this meeting unfolded.
Surrounding him were soldiers in thick crimson armor, their helmets covering their heads, each gripping a long, gleaming spear. The atmosphere was suffocating, filled with the silent presence of warriors who needed no words to assert their loyalty.
Rudrek lifted a hand and pointed to the door. "Bring me Vera."
Two guards obeyed without hesitation, disappearing beyond the towering doors. Moments later, they returned, dragging a woman between them. They threw her to the ground a few feet before the throne. She landed on her knees but quickly composed herself, lifting her chin.
"Your Majesty," she said, her voice steady. "You summoned me, and so I am here. I speak for my kingdom, and I'm ready to listen."
Rudrek leaned forward. "Vera, speaker on behalf of the Ironclad Kingdom, I have called you here to discuss a few matters."
A nod from him, and a nearby guard stepped forward, filling a goblet with wine. The guard extended it to Vera, who hesitated for only a second before taking a sip. It helped her steel herself.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, keeping her composure.
Rudrek nodded. He swirled his own wine lazily, his voice unhurried. "Ikaris, the Sovereign of Ironclad, has dirtied his hands over and over throughout his reign."
Vera's frown was immediate. Rudrek smirked at her reaction. "Why so upset? I'm merely speaking about your leader, nothing personal."
Her fingers clenched around the goblet. "You speak of the revolutionary Ikaris, ruler of Ironclad, my home. So you must understand why I find your words insulting."
Rudrek took a slow, indulgent sip of wine. "I have a question, Vera."
She forced herself to nod. "Ask it, then."
"How much does your kingdom value the life of a single citizen?"
The question hit like a hammer to the ribs. Vera's breath hitched. Where was he going with this? Her mind raced.
A lie or the truth? Which would be more dangerous?
Finally, she steadied her voice. "Ironclad values its people. We would go to great lengths to protect even one soldier."
A mistake.
Rudrek's lips curled into something that might have been amusement if there was an ounce of humanity in him. His voice deepened, carrying a chilling finality. "I have a follow-up question."
Vera's pulse pounded. "Go on."
"How much does your kingdom value your life?"
Silence. Her stomach turned ice cold. The air itself seemed to press in, suffocating. He was tightening the noose, and she had walked right into it.
She forced her chin up. "Ironclad will do everything in its power to ensure my survival. No matter the cost."
Bold. Defiant.
Exactly what Rudrek wanted.
"And if they don't?" His voice was smooth, almost lazy. "If Ikaris decides you're expendable?"
Her reply came too fast. "Ikaris is no coward. If he were to abandon me, it would be a stain on his name"
His smirk widened.
Vera realized too late. This was never a negotiation.
Guards shifted. Boots scuffed against the floor as they repositioned.
She slammed her goblet down. "You fucker." Her breath came in sharp bursts now, fury battling the sickening realization creeping up her spine. "You planned this from the start."
Rudrek merely lifted his goblet again, the very picture of indifference.
Vera's snarl twisted into something wilder, almost unhinged. "Ikaris will turn this kingdom into ash for this. You're dead, you hear me? Dead. When he finds out, he'll take your fucking head."
Rudrek didn't flinch. He simply waved a hand, and three guards seized her, dragging her from the chamber. She thrashed, cursing them with every breath, but they hauled her away like an afterthought.
His soldiers returned to their posts as if nothing had happened. He extended his empty goblet, and a guard dutifully refilled it.
One down. One left.
"Bring me Silas," Rudrek ordered, his voice calm, as if issuing a simple command rather than summoning a man whose reputation was as wild as the rumors that followed him.
The massive doors groaned open before the guards could even react. Silas strode inside with a deliberate slowness, a man who refused to be rushed. His steps were measured, his chin high, his eyes sharp as they scanned the chamber. A smirk played on his lips as if he were merely amused to be here.
He took in the details. The throne, the armored guards standing at rigid attention, the deep crimson banners swaying lightly from the draft. And, of course, the man at the heart of it all.
Silas stopped in the center of the room, standing where Vera had been only moments before. "I'm here," he announced, his voice carrying effortlessly.
Rudrek barely acknowledged him before gesturing to a guard. A goblet of wine was extended in silent offering.
Silas cocked an eyebrow. "I'll pass. I don't drink."
Rudrek scoffed, swirling his own goblet, watching the liquid catch the light. "I've called you here, Silas, speaker on behalf of… well, yourself."
Silas raised his hands. "That's me."
"I wanted to discuss an opportunity."
Silas tilted his head, expression shifting into something thoughtful but still laced with mischief. "Let's hear your demands, then."
Rudrek leaned back, fingers tapping lazily against his goblet. "We've imprisoned an Ironclad spy. This act alone will lead to war. And I thought it would be beneficial to have you, Silas, the so-called demon on my side."
Silas let out a short, amused laugh. "You're just going to ask nicely and hope I agree out of generosity?"
Rudrek's lips barely twitched. "Our offer: shelter in the royal palace, food, security, and most importantly-protection for you and your friends."
Silas's smile never wavered, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze, something that sharpened. "Sounds more like a veiled threat than an offer. Anything else?"
Rudrek took a slow sip of his wine, letting the silence stretch. "The bounty on your head is quite large, and I have to admit, it's tempting to claim it myself. Maybe if you refuse, I'll just let you walk right out of here and see how long you last. Citizens, assassins… they'd tear you apart."
Silas blinked, tilting his head. "I have a bounty?"
"Oh yes," Rudrek mused, swirling his goblet. "Not just any bounty, one placed by the leader of Ravengarde himself. Tace has put a price of 12,000 shardens on your head."
Silas had no idea what a sharden was worth, but the way Rudrek said it carried a weight that needed no explanation. A bounty that large meant one thing. He was worth killing. But instead of alarm, he let an easy grin stretch across his face, leaning into the game. "Well, guess that makes me famous."
His expression didn't waver, the smirk as steady as ever. "Still not interested."
Rudrek exhaled, feigning disappointment. "You leave me no choice."
Rudrek took another sip of wine, his gaze unwavering. "You've left me no choice," he said smoothly, and gestured to his guards.
Silas shifted into a fighting stance, smirk fading into something sharper. "You really think these guards have-"
He stopped mid-sentence, realization hitting as the guards didn't move toward him, but instead out of the massive doors. They pulled them shut with a heavy finality, sealing the room in suffocating silence.
Now it was only them. No more audience. No more distractions.
Rudrek set his goblet aside with precise care, and leaned forward, his voice a low murmur. "Just me, you… and a secret."
Silas arched a brow, his stance still relaxed, though every fiber of him was poised, ready. "A secret? Now you've got my attention. What could I possibly have to hide?"
Rudrek didn't smirk, didn't toy with the moment like a man savoring control. He didn't have to.
Instead, he spoke the words with the weight of something undeniable. "He's alive."
Silas's smirk faltered in a flicker. "Well, good for him. Who, exactly, are we talking about?"
Rudrek's gaze sharpened, unyielding. "Rellen."
The chuckle died in Silas's throat. The smirk faded, replaced by something raw. For the first time in a long while, he had no quip, no remark to throw back. Silence.
"What?" His voice barely carried.
Rudrek smiled, slow and knowing. "Rellen Drast is alive."
Silas's breath hitched. His mouth opened, but no words came. A part of him rejected it instantly, screamed that it was impossible. But Rudrek wouldn't have said it if it weren't true, he played with lives, not lies.
Rudrek leaned back, satisfaction curling at the edges of his lips. "Do you see it now? The front page of every newspaper: 'Ironclad spy captured, admits his leader's name will be stained if he refuses war.' And beneath that, the next headline: 'Silas found guilty of the murder of Rellen Drast-who somehow survived.'"
Silas's fingers curled into fists. He could feel his pulse in his skull, the rage building, the unbearable urge to rip Rudrek apart. But he couldn't. Not here. Not now.
His voice was low, razor-sharp. "I'll do whatever."
He turned sharply, raising a hand in a casual farewell, but his movements were tight, controlled. He glanced back, his eyes dark with promise. "If I ever hear of this again," his voice dropped to something lethal, "I'll use your severed head as décor."
Without another word, he strode out, his pulse hammering. The doors shut behind him, but the weight of Rudrek's words stayed, pressing against his ribs like a vice.
Rellen Drast is alive?