Jakob’s - POV

  As the last of my people and family drifted out of the pavilion and the murmurs faded into the morning air, I found myself alone with my thoughts. Inevitably, they turned to my youngest son.

  Nathan.

  Even now, I struggle to understand how a boy of seven can possess such clarity, such insight. His ideas cut through problems like a seasoned strategist, not a child barely past his letters. I am proud; gods, I am proud; but that pride is tangled with fear. What sort of mind did the gods place in my son? And why him? Why us?

  Among all my children, each gifted in their own right, Nathan stands apart. Jack’s swordsmanship is exceptional; Serena’s magic is blossoming beautifully; but both of them were shaped by Nathan’s guidance. His influence. His brilliance. Yet it is not his power that unsettles me most. It is his mind. Sharp. Unyielding. Visionary.

  A thought struck me then, sudden and blinding, like a lantern flaring to life in a darkened room.

  What if Nathan became the head of our noble house?

  Not someday... the day he comes of age. The lands we reclaim, the legacy we rebuild… he could lead it all. I would guide him, of course, but he is far more suited to the burdens of leadership than I ever was.

  My father never prepared me for anything. Cruel, pragmatic, and obsessed with my brothers; he dismissed me the moment my class manifested as an archer instead of a warrior. Perhaps he saw no value in me. Perhaps he simply lacked imagination.

  It no longer matters. They are all gone now. The weight of our lineage rests on my shoulders alone.

  For years, poverty gnawed at my pride. I felt like a failure... to my wife, Dianne, and to our children. But now… now I have a chance to build something worthy of them. A new house. A new future. And Nathan will inherit it, by my will and by the gods’ blessing.

  As if summoned by my resolve, Anda stepped into the pavilion and handed me a sealed letter. The wax bore the sigil of the High Priest of Bunzad.

  I broke the seal quickly and scanned the contents.

  An invitation to a private dinner. Three days from now. Interesting.

  A slow grin spread across my face. This may work out very well for us indeed.

  Supreme Exarch Buren Aichhalden – POV

  The reports from our ambassadors to the Grand Duchy of Froi lay spread across my desk like a set of accusations. I read the first page once, then again, letting each line settle into place. The grand duke agreed. After years of defiance, after decades of resisting every diplomatic pressure we applied, he agreed. But not without conditions. Reasonable on the surface. Transparent to anyone who understands the mind of a cornered ruler.

  He is buying time.

  A small smile crept across my lips. Time is a weapon, and he has just handed me a blade.

  Anyone with clarity would see the motives behind the grand duke’s sudden shift. But clarity is a rare commodity among the exarchs. Exarch Birkendorf, in particular, is likely celebrating already; his judgment clouded by the same appetites that have long compromised him. Lust and power have rotted his mind to the core. He will see this agreement as a victory, not strategy.

  “Good news, I assume?” Exarch Cawl’s voice broke through my thoughts.

  “Yes. Very good news.” I handed him the report. “It seems the grand duke has finally agreed to accept our demands.”

  Cawl scanned the parchment, his expression tightening into disbelief. “What is this? Impossible. The last Shaxaian high noble bending? The great grand duke bowing to pressure? His age must be catching up with him. I can’t imagine the rest of Froi a and Shaxaian nobles accepting this.”

  “No,” I replied, “his mind is still sharp. Sharper than most give him credit for. He is asking for additional time until his eldest daughter reaches maturity. That alone tells us everything.”

  Cawl looked up. “So, he is preparing for war.”

  “It appears so.” I folded my hands. “But we can work with this. I know it is a stretch, but you must convince the other exarchs of the merit of waiting.”

  Cawl exhaled slowly, then nodded. “I can do that. And… I see your point. Waiting gives us time as well.”

  “Exactly.” My voice lowered. “The state of our church is deteriorating. Corruption, greed, and indulgence have taken root so deeply that the institution barely resembles what our forebears built, what they died for. The aberration of the Sisterhood of Gneab is only one example of how far we have strayed. I could not stop the other exarchs then, and I cannot stop them now. But this situation is different. We can no longer allow the institution to drift further from its purpose. This delay gives us the opportunity to complete the last pieces of our alliance. And when the time comes for renewal, you will guide the faithful back to the true teachings, after burning down the cancer that is Birkendorf and his ilk.”

  Cawl let out a short laugh. “It amuses me that the head of our church is planning its own destruction.”

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  I allowed myself a faint smile. “Correction Robert. Not destruction but renewal. I no longer recognize the institution we lead. Holy prostitution? Have you ever heard of such depravity and stupidity? What began as a misguided attempt at symbolic devotion has become a marketplace of bodies. And our priesthood; filled with men who mistake charm for virtue; has embraced it eagerly. Exarch James Birkendorf leads them like a shepherd guiding sheep into a pit.”

  Cawl’s jaw tightened. “He has influence and power. Too much.”

  “He has seduced them,” I said. “Not with beauty, but with promises of indulgence in the flesh. With the assurance that their weaknesses are not sins but privileges. And they accepted it. They welcomed it. They reshaped doctrine to justify it.”

  Cawl’s voice softened. “Your Holiness, it wasn’t your fault. No one could have predicted that the exarchs you once trusted would undermine you. I doubt the goddess would condemn you for what others have done.”

  “I failed her, Robert.” The admission felt heavy, but honest. “Her teachings were twisted, and I was powerless to prevent it. I carry part of that burden.”

  Cawl lowered his gaze. “Birkendorf and his allies slowly reshaped the institution, and your former friends handed him the authority to do so. And when you pass away, they will choose him as Supreme Exarch.”

  “All for the desires of the flesh,” I murmured. “And for wealth.”

  Cawl gave a rueful nod. “And for wealth.”

  For years I had attempted reforms; small ones, large ones, and structural ones. Every effort was met with resistance, obstruction, or quiet sabotage. The institution had grown too large, too comfortable, too entangled with worldly desires. Renewal would require more than decrees or councils. It would require a return to purpose, even if that meant letting the old structure burn away.

  “Robert,” I said, steadying my voice, “we must prepare. I believe we have several years before the grand duke makes his move. When he does, the world will shift. And in that moment of change, we will guide the faithful toward something better. Tell our people to begin the necessary preparations.”

  “Understood, Supreme Exarch” He hesitated. “Should we send someone to the grand duke? Quietly?”

  “In time,” I replied. “But not yet. He is still wary of us. We must earn his trust before any cooperation is possible.”

  Cawl tilted his head. “And how do we do that?”

  “That,” I admitted, “I do not yet know.”

  Exarch James Birkendorf – POV

  There were moments I cherished more than any sermon or council meeting; quiet pockets of indulgence where incense clung to the air. Wine stained my tongue, and the soft rustle of silk reminded me of the privileges granted to those chosen by the goddess. The chamber glowed with the warm flicker of candles, their light dancing across marble and gold. The girl at my side knelt in silent devotion, her presence a testament to the “sacred duties” the Sisterhood had perfected over the years.

  This, I often told myself, was what the goddess of fertility intended: the celebration of flesh, wealth, and power. The world’s pleasures were not temptations... they were blessings.

  A knock at the door shattered the stillness.

  The girl froze. I rested a hand on her head, a gesture of reassurance and command. “Remain,” I murmured. Then, louder: “Enter.”

  The door creaked open, revealing High Priest Yanis. His eyes flickered immediately toward the naked girl, lingering longer than they should have. I felt an irritation coil in my chest.

  “Do you have nothing better to do,” I said coldly, “than let your gaze wander where it does not belong? She is fulfilling her sacred duty.”

  Yanis bowed quickly. “My apologies, Your Eminence. I bring urgent news from our Ambassador Noel Mallet. The grand duke has responded.”

  That caught my attention. I exhaled slowly, letting the indulgent haze fade. “Speak.”

  “The grand duke has agreed to our demands,” Yanis said, though his eyes still darted toward the girl, betraying his nerves.

  Good news indeed. Even so, I needed clarity. I dismissed the girl with a gesture. “Child, wait for me in my chambers. We will resume later.”

  She bowed and slipped away, leaving the faint scent of perfume in her wake. I made a mental note to commend Sister Naira for her impeccable training of the new initiates. The Sisterhood had become one of our most effective instruments, devotion wrapped in silk and obedience.

  “Continue,” I ordered.

  “The grand duke has agreed to allow the recruitment of Shaxaian girls into the Sisterhood of Gneab,” Yanis said. “Beginning with his eldest daughter. In exchange, he requests renewed trade with the theocracy.”

  A slow smile spread across my face. “The goddess smiles upon us. Prepare the summons for the new recruits.”

  But Yanis hesitated. His fingers twitched. His eyes shifted. There was more.

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “He… asks for time,” Yanis said. “He will offer his daughters, but only when the eldest reaches maturity.”

  I felt heat rise in my chest. “He dares dictate terms to us?”

  Yanis flinched. “Your Eminence, he offers something else in return. He promises that the entire Grand Duchy of Froi will convert to the goddess’s embrace.”

  A mass conversion. Now that was interesting.

  “How old is his eldest daughter?” I asked.

  “Eight, Your Eminence.”

  Seven years. A long wait, but not unreasonable. But she will still be beyond the reach of the more depraved fools among the exarchs. And I had no interest in children, only in the power of devotion of young beautiful women.

  “So be it,” I said. “We accept. And as a gesture of goodwill, we will resume trade with Froi immediately. They must be starving by now.”

  Yanis swallowed. “Your Eminence… the other exarchs may not agree. Especially the zealots. They want new converts immediately. Our influence on the eastern continent is waning. And what if this is merely a ruse by the grand duke?”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “The bait he offers will be enough to sway them. They are predictable men; greedy, impatient, and easily manipulated. And if the grand duke reneges on his promise, we will burn his duchy to the ground and ‘liberate’ his people. No one will come to his aid. The Shaxaian nobles who remain in that monster?infested wasteland have their own battles to fight. He is alone.”

  “But—”

  “Enough,” I said sharply. “Do as I command. Call for a grand meeting. And remember this, Yanis; when I ascend to Supreme Exarch, you will stand among us.”

  His eyes widened. Gratitude and ambition warred across his face. “Thank you, Your Eminence. I will not fail you.”

  He bowed deeply and left.

  Silence returned to the chamber, broken only by the soft crackle of candles. I leaned back, letting the weight of the moment settle. Yanis’s concerns were not unfounded. The grand duke might be plotting. He might be desperate. He might be lying.

  But it did not matter.

  Whether he honored the agreement or not, the outcome would be the same. The last vestige of the Shaxaian Empire would fall. Their traditions, their pride, their stubborn resistance... all would crumble.

  And when it did, my revenge would be complete. Mother would be proud.