Two heavy-set guards stepped forward.
Esteban did not resist. He allowed them to take his arms, regarding them with a quiet, almost sorrowful pity.
"You believe you are seizing power, Ezequiel," he said in a low voice. "Yet you are only opening the gates. Without my guidance to navigate what is to come, you are steering a ship into a hurricane."
He paused, his gaze steady.
"May God have mercy on Antioquia, for you certainly will not."
Ezequiel did not so much as glance at him as he was led away. Instead, he approached the great map and placed his hand over the lands belonging to Carlos. His eyes gleamed—not with doubt, but with the dangerous certainty of a man convinced the world had finally fallen into his grasp.
Behind him, one of the noblemen hesitated. His voice, when it came, carried a trace of unease.
"Are we… doing the right thing, sir? It is undeniable that his visions have aided us in the past."
Ezequiel gave a short, dismissive sneer.
