For all the celebration in Solmere…
Not all of the continent shared in its joy.
In Alexandria, the mood was very different.
Locked down.
Controlled.
Watching.
The walled gates were no longer welcoming trade—they were filtering it.
Every caravan entering the city was stopped.
Every crate inspected.
Every traveler observed.
And most importantly—
Every inch of ground was being swept for shadows.
At the center of it all stood the Mage General.
Seraphine Veylora.
Her presence alone commanded silence.
Tall, composed, and radiating an almost suffocating control over mana itself, she moved through the city like a cleansing storm. Her staff hummed softly in her grasp, a conduit for precise, relentless magic.
"Dispel."
The word echoed lightly as she moved through a checkpoint.
A ripple of energy expanded outward.
Shadows fractured.
Dissolved.
Gone.
Again.
"Dispel."
Another wave.
Another purge.
This wasn't guesswork.
This was methodical extermination.
Jax's shadow network—what remained of it—was being erased piece by piece.
Weeks ago, his shadow assassins had already been hunted down and destroyed.
But Seraphine was not satisfied.
Not until there was nothing left.
Inside the castle…
That same intensity had become a point of tension.
The other generals were growing restless.
To some, her actions were necessary.
To others—
It was overreach.
"You're locking down an entire capital over shadows that are already gone," one general muttered.
Seraphine didn't even look at him.
"Then you have nothing to fear."
Another leaned forward.
"Or nothing left to prove."
That earned a glance.
Cold.
Measured.
"You mistake caution for ambition."
"And you mistake control for loyalty," the general shot back.
The room shifted.
Eyes moved.
Because everyone knew the truth beneath the words.
Seraphine had the Queen's favor.
And not just favor—
Proximity.
Access.
Influence.
That alone made her dangerous.
At the far end of the chamber stood another figure.
Quiet.
Observing.
The Empire's Spy Master General.
Vaelrith.
His expression gave nothing away.
But his eyes—
They missed nothing.
"Enough," Vaelrith said calmly. "Infighting serves no one."
That settled it.
For now.
Later…
In the Queen's private war chamber…
The tone shifted.
More controlled.
More dangerous.
Fewer voices.
More weight behind each one.
Seraphine stood at one side.
Vaelrith at another.
Several generals remained.
And then—
Someone new.
A mage.
Not one of the established command.
Not one of the known elites.
And yet…
Confident.
Too confident.
"Taking him out is the priority," one general said.
"That much is obvious," another replied. "But we lack the means. Not without our full mage division."
A pause.
Then the new voice spoke.
Calm.
Measured.
Unfamiliar.
"What about curses?"
Silence followed.
Not confusion.
Not dismissal.
But interest.
Vaelrith's gaze shifted slightly.
Seraphine's grip on her staff tightened—just barely.
"What do you mean?" one of the generals asked.
The mage stepped forward.
"What is he… without his senses?"
A slow glance around the room.
"What is he… if he cannot move?"
Another step.
"What is he… if he cannot breathe?"
The room grew colder.
"Explain," Seraphine said.
The mage inclined their head slightly.
"A binding curse. Not crude. Not temporary. Something precise."
Their voice lowered.
"Something that doesn't fight his strength… but bypasses it entirely."
Vaelrith spoke now.
"And how do you intend to anchor such a curse?"
The mage smiled faintly.
"Through connection."
Vaelrith didn't move.
"I have items," he said slowly. "Objects he has touched. Been near. Influenced."
The mage's eyes lit slightly.
"Then we have what we need."
A general leaned forward.
"And the result?"
The answer came without hesitation.
"Blindness."
"Paralysis."
"Poison in the veins that cannot be purged."
A pause.
"And silence."
The room absorbed that.
"If he falls…" another general began.
"He won't rise again," the mage finished.
Seraphine studied them carefully.
"How long?"
"Two weeks."
The answer was immediate.
"Time to prepare the circle. Time to gather the remaining mages. Time to siphon what power we can and direct it into something… focused."
A general nodded slowly.
"And once he is down…"
"We move," another said. "We take back what was lost."
Vaelrith spoke again, quieter this time.
"We wait for confirmation."
A glance toward the mage.
"We do not act on belief."
The mage's smile sharpened slightly.
"Do you doubt what we can do?"
Vaelrith met their gaze.
"I trust what I can see."
A pause.
"I have seen the Queen's power."
Another.
"I have not seen yours."
The room held its breath.
The mage didn't flinch.
"Then you will."
The meeting broke not long after.
Plans forming.
Lines being drawn.
Doubts left unspoken—but not gone.
The generals dispersed slowly.
Some convinced.
Some wary.
Some already imagining victory.
Vaelrith lingered.
Of course he did.
He always did.
He watched.
He listened.
He waited.
The mage moved toward a nearby table, reaching for a glass of dark liquid left untouched during the meeting.
Their fingers wrapped around it.
Casual.
Unaware.
Vaelrith stepped forward just enough to pass beside them.
A simple motion.
Unremarkable.
His hand brushed the edge of the table.
The glass shifted—just slightly.
Barely noticeable.
But it was enough.
Enough to mark it.
Enough to remember.
Enough to claim it.
Vaelrith continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Behind him—
The mage lifted the glass.
Unaware.
Unbothered.
And already—
Part of a different plan.