The morning arrived like a blade to the throat—sharp, cold, and entirely unwelcome.
The estate grounds stirred well before the sun's golden crest reached the mountain ridge. Servants moved in tight-lipped silence. Couriers dismounted their steeds in formation. Black-armored knights from the Imperial Order lined the main road, their arrival sending tremors through the hearts of every retainer and noble watching from behind silken curtains.
Aden stood in the garden, still cloaked in the final remnants of sleep. His breath came slow, steady, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the frost-laced petals of the red hydrangeas swaying beneath the morning dew.
He had felt it before they even arrived—the shift.
Power was moving again.
A black carriage pulled by obsidian-clad horses creaked to a stop before the estate gates. No banners. No insignia. Only silence and dread.
From within the carriage stepped a single messenger: a boy, perhaps no older than fifteen, clad in imperial gray. His scroll was sealed in violet wax—stamped with the twin-headed dragon of the Emperor.
The boy approached Aden and bowed low, his eyes trembling.
"Sir Aden Vasco. The Emperor summons you to the capital."
Aden said nothing at first.
His gaze remained fixed on the hydras, even as the wind stirred violently around them. The air rippled with tension.
He reached forward, plucking one of the petals between his fingers. A dark smudge marked the edge—faint, but there. Burnt.
Even beauty dies near me now.
He turned at last and took the scroll.
The seal cracked without resistance.
As his eyes scanned the contents, a slow grin formed on his lips.
"A seat has opened within the Twelve Imperial Seats."
"You have been deemed a candidate."
"The Emperor wishes to witness your capabilities firsthand. Do not keep him waiting."
He folded the scroll, tucking it into his coat.
Behind him, footsteps echoed.
Ed Vasco approached, wearing his usual midnight-black robes. His expression was unreadable—one forged from decades of war and loss. But there was something else now, too. A strange uncertainty. A wariness that hadn't been there before.
"You received it," Ed said.
Aden nodded. "Seems the Empire is going to go through a lot of change."
Ed scoffed lightly. "That's how it always goes, the other families won't sit quiet as power comes to us."
The two stood in silence for a long moment. Birds chirped overhead. The Imperial Knights waited like statues.
"You know what this means," Ed said. "The Twelve Seats aren't just titles. They're battlegrounds. Every man and woman on that council has armies behind them. Families. Bloodlines. Sorcery older than kingdoms."
"I'm counting on it," Aden replied. "I'll make it all ours."
Ed stared at him.
Something flickered in the older man's gaze—pride, perhaps. But laced with sorrow.
"Greed is a dangerous emotion a man can have," Ed said quietly.
"Don't let it consume what is left of you."
Aden looked away.
"I won't go down that easy, Father."
Ed didn't speak again. He simply stepped back and gave a single nod.
And as Aden strode toward the black carriage, the knights saluted in unison.
He didn't look back.
Not once.
Because ahead of him stood the Empire.
And at its peak—the Twelve Imperial Seats.