The days that followed were a blur of blood, sweat, and silence. Aden and the hounds continued their mission, methodically clearing out the territory surrounding the orc settlement. The landscape, once soaked in blood and tainted by rot, gradually began to resemble a semblance of peace. Yet there was no peace in their hearts—only vigilance. Trust remained a fragile thread among them, stretched taut with every step.
Each night, they camped closer to the edge of the orc village. Fires burned low, and the wind carried whispers of old grudges and new loyalties. Despite the hard-won victories, silence often reigned—until Aden broke it, asking questions that mattered, that stung.
Meanwhile, Bren—the hound tasked with delivering a report to the Empire—pressed on across treacherous terrain. Cold winds battered him, and snow hissed beneath his steed's hooves. His destination loomed: the Imperial Palace.
By a twist of fate, Bren arrived just as the Emperor was holding a high council meeting with the Five Great Dukes: Duke Venmont, Remes, Vasco, Tristan, and Duke Thorne.
The atmosphere in the grand chamber was tense. Discussion circled the growing threat of the northern kingdom of Vardain, expanding by the day, and the weakened, divided Kingdom of Sael, barely holding its borders.
This meeting carried further weight than politics alone. The Empire's Founding Year was near—a monumental celebration not only of its birth but also coinciding with the birthday of the Emperor's daughter. A convergence of festivity, diplomacy, and quiet power struggles would draw every noble house to the capital.
Suddenly, a herald interrupted the council. "A messenger from Dahaka has arrived."
"Sent him in," the Emperor said.
Bren entered the hall and knelt, his voice unwavering despite the gazes of the most powerful men in the Empire.
"Your Majesty, I bring word from Dahaka. Aden Vasco led the hounds in the purge of the orc settlement. Not only did he survive, he... changed the tide of battle. We owe our lives to him."
The Emperor raised a brow. "Changed the tide?"
Bren nodded. "He entered a state of uncontrollable rage. A berserk fury. He killed a High Orc alone. With nothing but brute instinct. The others barely held the line while he tore through the beast."
The Emperor's voice echoed the room. "Wrath"
Duke Tristan leaned forward. "A man who loses himself to wrath so easily... can he be controlled?"
Duke Remes scoffed. "This is why i don't like Vasco, they are a ticking bomb waiting to misfire"
The Emperor's gaze sharpened. "A weapon misfires only when wielded poorly. I see a blade. A sharp one."
Duke Venmont tapped his seat. "And blades can cut both ways."
The Emperor stood, voice like steel. "Send an emergency summon. Aden Vasco is to report here in two weeks."
The room rippled with murmurs.
The Emperor turned to Duke Ed Vasco, who had remained silent despite all that had been said.
"Vasco," the Emperor said, voice measured, "the Wrath.... do you think the boy can control it?"
Ed Vasco's eyes met the Emperor's with a look that said little and implied everything.
"Such things are never about control," he said slowly, as though recalling something lost. "They're about reflection. The wrath is only as wild as the man who bears it—and the man is shaped by things we often never see."
The others listening to this didn't speak, they where once reminded of the most dangerous technique a Vasco can weild, because they had seen it in real battle and the tower of corpses which fell because of Duke Vasco's Wrath.
A pause. His voice turned almost hollow.
"If Aden is still the boy I once knew, then perhaps the question isn't about whether he can control it... but whether he wants to."
The room went still. A whisper of wind might've carried more certainty than those words. The Emperor's gaze lingered on the Duke, the flicker in his eyes now harder to read.
"Your Majesty, is it wise to place such trust in him?" Duke Thorne asked.
The Emperor turned to the window, gazing out at the capital below. "We don't trust him. We watch him. We test him. This Founding Year, all eyes will be on us. Let them see that we also have a trump card on us."
With a final word, he declared, "From this day forth, Aden Vasco is no longer a murderer. No longer a hound. By imperial decree, he is a free man."
The other Dukes where shocked at the Decree, although they expected it, they had no words of objection.
Ed Vasco remained silent and looked out of the window, and then he thought to himself, "Where did it all go wrong with you.. Aden".
Bren rode back with urgency. When he returned to Dahaka, dust-caked and weary, he carried more than a message—he carried a future.
"Aden," he said, dismounting. "It's done."
Aden opened the scroll. The imperial seal stared back at him like an eye.
"You're free," Bren said.
Ilric grinned. "Well, damn. Looks like we'll need better clothes."
One by one, the hounds clapped Aden on the shoulder, offering quiet congratulations.
"It wasn't just me," Aden said.
With heavy hearts and lighter steps, they packed their supplies. The mission was complete. Their next journey would take them far from blood-soaked soil to the heart of the Empire.
A week passed. The hounds cleared the remaining sections of the orc-infested territory. It was grueling, but with Aden now unchained, a fire burned within the group. Their bond, once scarred by betrayal, now felt reforged in steel.
As they prepared for the journey to the Imperial Palace, Bren approached Aden.
"I'll head back ahead of the group," he said. "Someone has to announce our arrival and smooth the way. They're not used to hounds entering through the front gates."
Aden nodded. "Make sure they know we're not coming as hounds. We're coming as survivors."
Bren smirked. "They'll hear you, loud and clear."
With that, he departed once more, his figure fading into the white fog of dawn.
Far across the continent, envoys from the weakened eastern Kingdom of Sael quietly made their way to the Chronos Empire. Emperor Julius Chrono, ever the tactician, accepted the move with open arms—an unspoken counter to the rising northern threat of Vardain.
The envoys of Sael crossed into Chronos territory under banners of diplomacy and celebration. The occasion was double-edged— to mark the empire's founding and a royal birthday, the Emperor's daughter stepping into public light for the first time in years. It was an invitation wrapped in tradition, laced with politics, and sharpened by hidden intentions.
Among the flood of nobles and dignitaries streaming into the imperial castle, one name stood apart. Not a duke or prince, but a man once shackled.
Aden Vasco was walking straight into the storm.