Within the clamorous depths of Aslilia's city jail, Ricardi strode through the narrow, dimly lit corridors, a guard leading the way. The rhythmic clang of metal doors and the muffled shouts of inmates formed a constant, unsettling backdrop. They were heading towards Aelius's cell.

  "As they approached, Aelius thrust his hands through the bars of his cell, his voice full of defiance. 'I knew you'd come yourself.'"

  "Ricardi stopped before the cell, his expression cold and unreadable. 'You continue to impress, Aelius. First, you dispose of Regulus. Then, you engineer your transfer from the inescapable prison. And now… here I am, because you want me to… what? Get you out? So I ask myself: what could you possibly have to offer?'"

  Aelius met his gaze unflinchingly. "Since you acknowledge what I'm capable of, you'll also know that the price will be… something you truly desire."

  Ricardi's lips curled into a thin, almost cruel smile. "Go on. I'm intrigued."

  Aelius's voice was firm, despite his confinement. "I'm not a fool, Ricardi. Get me out first."

  As Aelius emerged from the city jail, blinking in the unexpected sunlight, he found Gavril and Zao waiting for him. Gavril, standing and holding the reins of two horses – his own and Aelius's –rushed to his brother, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Relief washed over Aelius, a wave of emotion so intense it almost buckled his knees, as he returned to his brother, hugging. Then, he turned to Zao, clasping the older man's hand in a gesture of gratitude and farewell.

  "Goodbye, my friend," Aelius said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm leaving Aslilia. Thank you… for everything you've done for us. Be careful. If you sense danger… leave the city. Get out."

  Zao, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding, couldn't hold back the tears. "Kaya… she loved you both. Like her own sons. Stand by each other. And whatever you decide… I wish you both strength."

  Gavril, unable to contain his own grief, embraced Zao one last time. "Farewell, old friend."

  Aelius and Gavril mounted their horses, the simple act of a symbol of their regained freedom. They rode out of the city, leaving behind the suffocating weight of Aslilia's oppression, leaving the towering walls of Aslilia.

  As they rode, Gavril turned to Aelius, his voice hesitant. "How… how did you convince him to release you?"

  Aelius's expression hardened. "I gave him someone he needed."

  Gavril frowned, concern etched on his face. "Someone? Who?"

  Aelius, abruptly changing the subject, said, "Take me to her, Gavril."

  Gavril, sensing the shift in his brother's mood, simply nodded. "Of course, brother."

  They rode in silence for a while, the only sounds the rhythmic beat of their horses' hooves and the rustling of the wind through the trees. Finally, they reached the banks of the river, the place where Kaya had been laid to rest.

  They dismounted, and Gavril led Aelius towards the grave. With each step, Aelius's movements grew heavier, his heart aching with a grief he could barely contain. His hands trembled, and a film of tears blurred his vision.

  He stopped before the grave, a simple mound of earth beside the flowing river. The air was filled with the gentle sounds of nature – the murmur of the water, the rustling of leaves, the songs of birds. The scent of wildflowers and damp earth hung heavy in the air. It was a place of profound peace, a sanctuary. A place that reflected on the late Kaya.

  Gavril, his voice soft with shared sorrow, said, "I buried her… where she loved to be."

  Aelius nodded, his throat too tight for words. "It's… a beautiful place."

  He knelt, slowly, reverently, lowering his head to the earth, pressing his lips to the cool soil and grass that covered Kaya's resting place. "Rest in peace, sister," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

  As he rose, his grief hardened into resolve. His eyes filled with fierce determination. "Here," he said, his voice low and steady, "we bury our pain. And here, is where they’ll feel ours… Here… we draw our swords. We begin our rebellion. And we bring down our Father."

  ***

  In the evening, a lavish royal banquet was held in the grand hall of the Nordhall palace, a celebration of the day's race and a display of unity between the kingdoms. The immense chamber throbbed with life: music swirled through the air, mingling with the boisterous laughter and conversations of the assembled nobles, princes, and elite.

  At the head of a massive, ornately decorated banquet table sat the King, flanked by the visiting dignitaries – the various princes of the other kingdoms. Notably absent were Hiran and her son, Georgi. Beside the King's imposing chair, Kaelar, the victorious rider, knelt in a posture of respect and deference, the very image of a loyal subject.

  The King, beaming with pride and satisfaction, addressed Kaelar, his voice lowered in a more personal tone. "You have made me proud, son. Before this entire royal assembly, before all your brothers, and before your homeland of Aslilia… all are proud. Therefore, ask what you will. What reward do you desire?"

  Kaelar lowered his head further, his voice humble. "Your words, Your Majesty, are honor enough. They are rewarded in themselves."

  The King chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "My son, such an opportunity does not present itself often. It is an opportunity many would envy. Therefore, my advice, as a father first, before I speak as your King – when a chance presents itself… Ask what you desire. when such a gift is offered, do not let the one, the person bestowing select. Ask."

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  The King then beckoned to Daeghir. "Daeghir, approach."

  Daeghir moved forward swiftly, bowing low. "Your command, Father?"

  "See that all the requests of our magnificent rider are fulfilled. Reward him as he sees fit. Do you understand?"

  Daeghir's response was immediate and unquestioning. "As you command, Father."

  Kaelar rose, bowing deeply to the King. "I am deeply grateful for your generosity, our Father." He then followed Daeghir, leaving the immediate presence of the King.

  ***

  In one of the palace's washrooms, Clytos stood relieving himself. Falken entered and took a position at the urinal beside him.

  "I thought you'd left with your mother," Clytos said, without looking at him.

  Falken chuckled softly. "It wouldn't do to leave our kingdom unrepresented. Someone had to stay."

  After a short pause, falken said.

  "I saw the Valdrin were present, Basly, I saw him between all those present. "

  Clytos acknowledged with a short nod. "Yes, around. Wherever there are great events, you can be sure the Valdrin will be lurking nearby."

  They finished, and moved to where servants stood holding pitchers of water and towels draped over their shoulders.

  "I've heard about your… achievement," Falken said, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "The increased birth rate. The… detached wombs. Tell me… how did you accomplish it?"

  Clytos, drying his hands, glanced at Falken. "I'm not surprised you know so much."

  Falken, also finished washing, replied with a small shrug. "Don't be so sensitive. It's a small world. Rumors travel quickly."

  They exited the washroom and began to walk side-by-side along one of the palace corridors.

  "Your mother believes it's demonic work," Clytos said, a hint of challenge in his tone. "Why are you so interested?"

  "Curiosity spurs knowledge, drives science." Falken replied, his voice smooth.

  Clytos paused, before asking.

  "How is your horse farm doing?"

  Falken's smile widened. "You know about that? Is your curiosity piqued, wondering what kind of progress I made, in my field? Don't worry. I’ve never been stingy with what I know. And will tell you."

  They stopped walking. Clytos turned and faced Falken directly.

  Clytos's expression turned serious. "Actually, I'm not interested. I'm… saddened. That someone with your mind, your intellect, is wasting his life on such… trivial pursuits. And with that old woman."

  Falken's voice turned cold. "Are you mocking me, Clytos?"

  "Yes," Clytos replied bluntly. "I am. When we returned from Valdria, I offered you a place. A chance to work with me. Every facility would have been at your disposal. And you… refused."

  "I will never abandon my homeland to work for your father," Falken retorted, his voice tight with anger. "To help him consolidate his power, his tyranny. Are you… are you proud of what you're doing?"

  Clytos simply offered a mocking smile. "Enjoy what remains of your life… and your happy little horse farm." He turned to leave.

  "Don't mock my horses, Clytos," Falken called after him. "They might bite you someday."

  Clytos paused for a beat, in a half way to his walk, then looked back to the front, and muttered, more to himself than to Falken, "You know… the worst thing about you, when we were colleagues… was your sense of humor." He continued on his way, leaving Falken standing alone in the corridor.

  ***

  Back in the grand hall, amidst the continued revelry, Valerius stood with a group of nobles, ostensibly engaged in conversation. But his mind was elsewhere. He sipped his wine slowly, absently, oblivious to the music, the laughter, and the chatter around him. His gaze, and all his focus, and intense glares, were fixed on Basly, the Valdrin, who stood some distance away, returning his stare with an unnerving intensity.

  From Valerius's perspective, he saw Daeghir approach Basly. He watched, his heart pounding, as they engaged in a hushed conversation, their heads close together. Then, a detail even made him, sweat…Daeghir's eyes, and Basly's, flickered towards him.

  A wave of unease washed over Valerius. He made a decision. Moving with a forced casualness, he began to weave his way through the crowd, his destination the exit. He needed to escape, to think.

  But just as he neared the doorway, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He turned, his heart sinking, to find Daeghir and Basly standing before him.

  "We need to talk, Valerius," Daeghir said, his voice low and devoid of any warmth, quietly, as though not to draw undue attention.

  Valerius remained stiff, frozen, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. Basly gripped Valerius's wrist, tightening his grip.

  "Listen to your brother," Basly said, his voice a silky, menacing whisper. "You wouldn’t want to spoil your Father's mood."

  Valerius snatched, and removed Basly’s, the Valdrin’s, grip. "Certainly…" he said.

  In a secluded area of the palace, far from the prying eyes of guests, Daeghir shoved Valerius against a wall, pinning him there. "We fulfilled your request," Daeghir said, his voice tight with controlled fury. "We provided you with workers at pitiful wages. And you… you deliver that pathetic speech, belittling them, manipulating them, driving them to kill each other!"

  "Believe me…it was all an accident!" Valerius protested.

  Basly interjected smoothly, “All these areas, every town where we sent them to your mine, talking. All are now speaking about your ridiculous speech, and, all, everything. Your… disrespect, they hate. But what is important? What truly? The delay in delivering the sacred stones. You have embarrassed us. Thwarted your brother's efforts. "

  Daeghir's anger flared. "I'm trying to improve our reputation, and you're ruining it with your stupidity!"

  Valerius shoved Daeghir back, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and defiance. "Stay away from me! And don't forget – I am a Ruler in Aslilia!"

  "Ruler of shit," Daeghir spat, and he, tried launching, himself forward, ready to strike.

  Basly swiftly intervened, restraining Daeghir. "Enough, Daeghir. We're not here to escalate things."

  Valerius, struggling to regain his composure, demanded, "What do you want me to do? I was facing a rebellion, orchestrated by Marcus! He brought down Regulus with one of his soldiers, and now he's coming after me! He told me so, to my face!"

  "You could have dealt with them," Daeghir said, his voice dripping with contempt. "With gold or with blood. But instead, you chose those… ridiculous theatrics."

  Basly cut in, his voice calm but firm. "That's irrelevant now. You will pay for what you've disrupted. We will attempt to repair the damage."

  Valerius, attempting to salvage some control, said, "I will do it myself. My Father ordered it."

  "No," Basly said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You will hand over the gold. And it will be double what your Father decreed. Is that clear?"

  Daeghir, pressing his advantage, added, "And it will come from your personal funds. If you used the mine's resources to solve your problems… I’d happily let the Valdrin, chop off your head." Valerius adjusted his clothing, a forced, insincere smile plastered on his face, and departed.

  Basly, pausing beside Daeghir, said, after the departure.

  "What do you think he means about Marcus? Do you think he's started to move?"

  Daeghir dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. "Don't believe anything that child says. I'll look into it myself."