Elira didn't react right away. She stared at Ori, her sharp eyes studying him in the dim cabin light. The castle and the city were quieter now, the only sound the faint hum of the people and the distant wash of waves.
Then, at last, she exhaled, folding her arms. "That's a bold accusation, Ori."
Ori clenched his fists. He had expected doubt, but something in the way she said it—measured, cautious—set his nerves on edge. "It's not just an accusation," he said. "It's the truth."
Elira arched a brow. "According to your Mantle."
"Yes," he said firmly. "I've gone over it. More than once. Alric is definitely lying about how the king died."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked at him as if weighing his conviction against her own instincts. Then, with the same careful tone, she asked, "And you're certain your Mantle, in its current state, is functioning correctly?"
Ori bristled. "You think it's broken?"
"I think it's damaged." She leaned against the table between them, her gaze steady. "And I think that means you should question how much you trust what it's telling you."
Ori opened his mouth, then shut it again. She had a point—but the Mantle's account had been too clear, too precise to dismiss. "If there was any uncertainty, I'd say so," he insisted. "And even in its current state, it saved our arses back in the forest. That has to count for something."
Elira tapped her fingers against the wood, exhaling through her nose. "Even if you're right, you need to tread carefully."
Ori frowned. "You think I'm the one who needs to be careful?"
"Yes. You are accusing a man of regicide," she said, her voice sharp now. "Not of dishonesty. Not of incompetence. Regicide. That is not a claim you make lightly. Not without proof."
Ori set his jaw. "The Mantle should be proof enough."
"Not to everyone. Especially an entire kingdom of people that follow him."
That gave him pause.
Elira straightened. "If you speak too soon—if you accuse Alric without something undeniable—then the only thing you'll accomplish is making yourself a target."
Ori's frustration flared. "Rylan is in danger--do you not see that? Or am I to act as if I don't know?"
"I'm not saying I don't believe you, and I know what it implies for Rylan," she said. "But watch him. Listen. See if there's anything else that confirms what you already suspect." She stepped toward the door, resting her hand against the frame. "And until then, tread lightly."
She left without another word.
Ori stood there, jaw clenched, anger simmering under his skin. He hated the thought of letting a snake slither unchecked. What if he waited too long and something happens?
He let out a long breath and rubbed his temple.
"She's not wrong."
Ori nearly flinched. "You really need to stop doing that."
"I wouldn't have to if you acknowledged my presence before brooding dramatically."
Ori sighed. "What do you want?"
"To point out that you know being too reactive could be damaging to not just you, but Rylan as well." The Mantle's voice remained level, clinical. "You have the right conclusion, but no clear path forward. Elira has given you wise counsel. Heed it."
Ori paced to the window, staring out at the dark waters. "So the waiting game then. Great."
"Wait. Watch. Learn."
Ori scowled. "That's not much of a strategy."
"Neither is charging in blindly."
He raised his head to the ceiling as if peering past it. He wondered how his father might have handled this. He'd never seen the man uncertain, though Sir Girus would claim differently. Then he began to miss Sir Girus. He exhaled somberly.
Elira's words echoed in his mind.
If you speak too soon, you'll only make yourself a target.
He rolled his eyes--giving in to Elira and the Mantle's logic. Fine. He would wait. But only for Rylan's sake.
"Alright," he muttered. "We wait."
"Good."
The Mantle fell silent.
Ori ran a hand down his face, exhausted. He wasn't going to get any clearer answers tonight. He turned from the window and made his way toward the lavish bed in the center of the room.
For now, he'd get some rest.
And tomorrow, he'd start watching.
[The next morning…]
The training yard cracked with energy—shouts, sparks, the distant pulse of spellfire. Ori watched from the archway, eyes flicking between the formations of soldiers and the man observing them from the raised platform: Alric.
He stood with hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning each soldier with surgical precision. He didn't speak, didn't bark orders. He didn't need to. The instructors bowed their heads slightly as he passed.
Ori felt the weight of his presence among the soldiers.
"Quite the sight, isn't it?" came a voice beside him.
Ori turned to see a man in silver and crimson armor standing with arms crossed. A blue sash across his chest marked his rank, though Ori didn't recognize the insignia.
"Captain Vaelen," the man said, offering a hand.
"Ori," he replied, taking it cautiously.
"I know who you are." Vaelen gave a small smile. "Word travels fast around here. Especially when one of the king's wards is a man returned from the dead."
Ori didn't return the smile. "Didn't realize I was that interesting."
"Everything involving the young lord is of interest. To someone."
They started walking along the edge of the training yard, the hum of magic thrumming under their feet as another soldier slammed a conjured barrier into place.
Vaelen motioned toward the soldiers. "The king's forces are adapting quickly. Magic used to be a secondary focus. Alric changed that. Said if our enemies evolve, we must evolve faster."
"Enemies?" Ori asked, tone casual.
"Always," he said, casting his gaze across the yard. "Whether they take physical form or no. Darkness is ever at our doorstep."
Ori didn't respond. To him, the statement sounded delusional. His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of unease passing over his face. The Mantle agreed—seeking enemies for the sake of having them isn't the way of a proper ruler. As it stood, Marival was at war with no one—hadn't been since the kingdom of Xandralis brought about the Era of Ninefold Peace. And they hadn't been targeted by the mysterious army either. If they'd been strengthening their forces like this since King Seraphis died, they must have plans for something big. Ori couldn't fathom what, but the thought coiled in his gut like smoke.
They walked a few more paces in silence. Ori glanced again at Alric on the platform. "He does this everyday?"
"A pass-time of his," Vaelen answered. "A strong army sets a ruler's mind at ease."
Ori looked sideways at him. "You speak as if he's the true king."
Vaelen chuckled, low and unreadable. "Of course not. Rylan is king. Every soldier here would lay down their life for him. But there are some who do not agree with his rise to the throne."
"He's an heir. What is there to agree about?"
The captain's eyes didn't waver. "Without his Mantle, young Rylan lacks the talent for casting. Because of this, some would argue that he is unfit to rule."
That made something in Ori's stomach turn. There it was—the bitter root twisting beneath it all. Alric thinks himself a more capable and worthy ruler. And from the looks of it, Marival's military agreed. He could see the game they were playing now. But to what end? Would Rylan meet the same fate as his father?
He wasn't going to let that happen, but he had to be smart. As much as he wished to act, Elira's warning still rang in his head.
"Interesting," Ori said slowly, his tone probing. "What's your opinion on his highness's... magical shortcomings?"
Vaelen halted mid-step. His expression didn't change, but something sharpened in his eyes. "You won't hear talk like that in these ranks," he said smoothly. "Rylan is our king. His strength isn't measured by spellwork alone. So long as he draws breath, his word is our command."
Ori didn't need the Mantle to know he was lying.
He studied the captain. "And if Rylan wasn't...breathing? What then?"
Vaelen smiled again, but there was no warmth this time.
""Then we trust the man standing beside him knows best—just as we always have."
That was exactly what Ori feared. The implication in Vaelen's words was clear—and chilling. He wasn't just a loyal captain. He was a believer. And so were the men who followed him. That made them all threats to Rylan.
Ori held his gaze. "Right."
They resumed walking.
Vaelen looked toward Alric. "He'll call for you soon, I imagine. He likes to know who walks his halls."
Ori didn't reply.
As they neared the edge of the yard, Vaelen added, almost offhand: "I hope your stay here is a peaceful one. You seem like someone who cares deeply for his highness."
Ori glanced at him. "I just pray I'm not alone in that."
Vaelen gave a small nod. "We all have our roles to play, king Ori of Loc. Yours ...should be a useful one."
Ori stopped walking. When he turned, the captain was already moving away, boots crunching gravel in perfect rhythm with the marching soldiers. He had his answer. And more questions than ever.
Later that day—
Ori found himself back at the castle, seated in a massive chamber reserved for high-level strategy briefings and internal matters of state. The room was lined with bookshelves and long windows that filtered sunlight through colored glass, casting fractured light across polished stone. He sat alongside Rylan and Alric at a table meant for council discussions, while a handful of quiet attendants lingered along the edges of the chamber, waiting on orders or tidying parchments from the last meeting.
Though the room was familiar, the atmosphere felt heavy today—measured and restrained, like a stage waiting for its cue. Rylan and Alric sat at the council table reviewing weekly reports, their conversation muted but consistent. Ori kept one eye on the discussion, the other on Alric's expressions, watching for shifts beneath the polished exterior. With Elira and Kirin off inspecting the docks, he felt strangely alone in the room, more a guardian than a guest. After his encounter with Vaelen, he couldn't shake the feeling that something sharp and final might happen at any moment. If Alric had allies hidden in plain sight, what was to stop an "accident" from happening right here? He had to stay calm. If Rylan sensed his unease, he'd surely inquire. And that would only raise suspicions.
The young lord leaned over Alric's shoulder, propped on his elbows as he studied the scrolls Alric unfurled with practiced ease. His eyes tracked each line of notation with interest, nodding faintly at intervals as if trying to absorb the rhythm of governance through observation alone. Then, a thought struck him.
"Has anyone seen Captain Thorne lately?" he asked, glancing up. "He's normally in charge of the night watch, isn't he? Shouldn't he be here by now?"
Alric didn't miss a beat. "Reassigned," he said smoothly, not even looking up from the parchment he was reviewing. "A minor outpost on the eastern border. Routine reshuffling."
Ori, seated a few chairs down, felt a sudden pull at the edge of his senses. A familiar tightening behind his eyes—the Mantle stirring.
"Falsehood." The Mantle declared, a small window appearing in his vision.
He looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. Alric didn't so much as flinch.
Rylan's head tilted curiously. "Strange. He's always been stationed here—since before I could remember."
"Urgent orders, as I recall." Alric folded his scroll with precision and offered a thin smile. "As you know, Thorne was never one to shirk his duties."
But Ori knew better. He couldn't stand it now—the ease with which Alric lied. He knew Rylan would hang on to every word he spoke.
Ori shifted in his seat, leg bouncing under the table as the weight of unasked questions piled in his chest. He longed to slip away—to find a quiet alcove, somewhere private where he could speak freely with the Mantle. His fingers curled into a fist beneath the table. The Mantle stirred in response.
But suddenly, Rylan glanced his way. "You don't have to sit through all of this, you know. It's not exactly thrilling material."
Ori forced a small smile, voice steady. "Are you kidding? This is the part of kingship no one sings songs about, but should be glorified all the same. It's the bone structure that actually holds a kingdom together." He shrugged. "It's not boring. It's essential."
Alric looked up, clearly caught off guard. For a moment, something softened in his expression—some old memory perhaps, or actual pity. He folded his hands and nodded faintly. "Well said. Spoken like a true king, indeed. One wonders what Loc might have become under such clarity."
The tension thinned just enough to dodge suspicion, but Ori's pulse hadn't slowed. He still hadn't spoken to the Mantle. Every passing moment felt like a missed opportunity.
That's when the voice chimed in—cool, collected.
"Sensing abnormal anxiety levels. [NOTE]: Verbal communication is only necessary to transmit commands. I am aware of the variables stressing you, and I'm fully capable of cataloging them for a clearer grasp of the situation—without you having to give the order aloud. Would you like a suggestion?"
Ori exhaled, jaw unclenching. Finally.
"Currently, you are not at liberty to speak—or act without drawing suspicion. So let's adapt. I'll compile all relevant pieces while you work on not looking like you're planning to blow up the castle. Deal?"
A faint shimmer flickered in his peripheral vision. The Mantle displayed a holographic chart—two columns: LIKELY CONSPIRATORS and POTENTIAL ALLIES. Faces and titles scrolled steadily as names were cross-referenced and flagged.
Despite the storm in his chest, Ori felt a strange calm settle over him. He hadn't been here long. He didn't know many people. But this perspective made the battlefield visible.
When the data finished loading, the Mantle summarized in plain, clinical language:
"Conclusion: This is a coordinated conspiracy. Not merely political—likely fatal. The military is fully compromised. Assume any loyal officer has been 'REASSIGNED.' Rylan is almost certainly the final target. Elimination will be subtle. First absence, then erasure. If Seraphis was removed, Rylan will follow. No need for a puppet king if Alric's already won the people. But your display earlier earned his attention. He'll tolerate your presence—for now."
Ori studied the names, patterns forming. He could almost read the logic of it all. For the first time since its reawakening, the Mantle felt less like a burden and more like a partner.
"Alric wants Rylan away from Marival—distracted, displaced. But now the king is home. And we're in his way. The best move for now: remain close to Rylan. Until tonight."
Ori remained still, face unreadable, the "False" warning finally fading from view. But the Mantle's synopsis had put it all together for him. When the castle slept, when the torches dimmed and whispers replaced command—he'd follow the thread. He'd find out what really happened to Thorne.
Meanwhile—
Elira stood at the stern of the ship, her cloak trailing behind her in the wind, telescope pressed to one eye as she studied the castle in the distance. The golden glow of sunset danced across its towers.
Kirin approached quietly, her boots soft against the planks. "You're watching for movement?"
"I'm watching for escalation," Elira said without looking.
"If Ori's right, the moment to act may come swiftly."
Kirin folded her arms. "And if he's wrong? If he's misread the situation?"
Elvira lowered the telescope. "Then he'll have wasted a night chasing shadows. But if he's right and we do nothing, Rylan's life could be forfeit."
Kirin hesitated. "You've placed a great deal of trust in him, Elira. Are you sure he's not a liability? He doesn't even have full use of his Mantle. Which is—might I add, the sole reason we went through great lengths to find him."
"He's an ally now." Elira interrupted. "And you are to treat his life as you would treat mine. If anyone moves against him or Rylan—they answer to us. That's an order from your Queen."
Kirin bowed her head, tension behind her eyes. "Understood. Do we know if he's discovered anything yet at least?"
Elira raised the scope again. "No signs of panic. No flames. My guess? He'll wait until fewer eyes are about. If nothing happens by morning… then perhaps he was mistaken. But something tells me we should be ready for anything."
Kirin gave a slow nod, then turned to leave and prepare. Her queen had given the order, and Kirin would obey. Still, in the quiet of her heart, she wasn't ready to place Ori's life on the same level as Elira's. Loyalty was one thing—usefulness, another.
Soon, night settled over the castle like a velvet curtain, muffling the world beneath it. A hush had fallen on the corridors, broken only by the occasional clink of armor or whisper of wind through the high windows. The flames in the sconces burned lower now, casting long, shifting shadows on the stone.
The castle had settled into its usual midnight hush, torches casting flickering halos along the stone halls. Ori moved like a shadow, hood drawn, footsteps silent on the pristine floor. He passed the occasional guard, offering only a nod. Most knew who he was. Fewer dared question him. He was still royalty after all.
Captain Thorne's quarters lay at the far end of the west wing, beyond the armory and just past the portrait hall—a tucked-away section of the keep meant for seasoned officers and high-ranking command. It was a place of quiet dignity, where duty-bound men and women returned from the field to sleep with one eye open.
Ori paused at the door. It was unlocked. No seal. No sign of transition.
He opened it.
Inside, the room was still—eerily so. The bed was neatly made, corners tucked with military precision. A folded uniform rested at its base, untouched. Polished boots stood beside a half-open trunk. A cloak, half-draped over the back of a chair, looked like it had been abandoned mid-motion. The desk was orderly but covered in signs of active use: pens uncapped, notes half-written, a small cup of tea gone cold. A few books lay splayed open on a nearby shelf, as if someone had left intending to return in minutes, not days.
Ori stepped further in, eyes scanning every detail. The mantle catalogued it all. Every object Ori laid eyes on was highlighted by bright line, then accompanied by a description. There were no packed bags, no sealed orders. Just a room that looked as if its resident might return any moment.
He stood in the center of the room, jaw tight. "Well that settles it," Ori muttered to the Mantle, his voice low and bitter. "He definitely wasn't planning to leave anywhere. Especially not for a reassignment."
The Mantle hummed.
"This is what we needed. We should check Alric's study. There's bound to be evidence of the order given. Then, we'll have him without question."
Ori slipped through the outer halls of the eastern wing, hugging the cold stone walls. Alric's study was under constant guard—two stationed at the front doors at all hours. But the Mantle had drawn up a different route.
A narrow ledge ran along the outside of the tower wall, barely wide enough for a toe's width. Ori scaled the ivy-laced stone using embedded drain spouts and a rusted window brace, hands sure despite the wind biting at his cloak. The Mantle guided each movement with ghostly projections—handholds outlined in flickers of white light.
When he reached the window, he paused, catching his breath. With a soft tug and careful pressure, he eased it open and slipped inside.
Alric's study smelled of old cedar, aged paper, and incense burned down to its final coil. The walls were lined with shelves—books, treatises, and volumes stacked with military precision. A decanter of wine rested on a stand by the hearth, still uncorked. The fire had long gone out, casting the room in deep red shadows and low flickering from the dying embers.
Ori moved silently across the ornate rug, eyes scanning the room. The Mantle highlighted drawer compartments and flagged suspiciously clean sections of the shelves. He worked quickly, fingers running over cabinet latches and false bottoms until, finally, in a locked drawer beneath Alric's desk, he found it: a letter sealed with black wax.
He opened it.
It was addressed to Alric. The author: Vaelen.
"All dissenters have been removed from our ranks. Those whose loyalties could not be confirmed are no longer present within the castle. There is no threat to the succession. Soon, the young king will see that he is surrounded only by those who believe in the path forward."
Ori's heart dropped.
He's cleaning house.
Before he could react, a voice curled through the dark behind him—measured, confident.
"I must admit... I assumed it would be Queen Elira. Or perhaps that steward of hers. But you? Quite the development, I must say."
Ori turned sharply.
Alric stood in the doorway, one hand resting on his cane, the other behind his back. Two guards filed in behind him. He smiled, not cruelly—but with something like melancholy.
"So it's true," Ori said, voice low with anger. "You murdered your king. And Rylan is going to be next?"
Alric tilted his head. "On the contrary. Rylan was safe... up until you pulled this stunt. All you had to do was stay out of the way. Keep him busy. Keep him distracted. But now?" He took a slow step forward. "Now I'm afraid I can no longer tolerate your presence here."
Ori's fists clenched. "Why, dammit? Why betray your king—your people? Why do all of this?"
Alric's eyes held him for a long moment—calm, unreadable.
"Because peace is no longer a luxury we can afford. You see—a great power stirs to life under our very noses. One that only spares those with power, and those with the strength to seize it. You must understand... things such as sentiment make for very fragile crowns."
The Mantle spoke.
"He's referring to the Mantle. That's what he's after."
Ori's eyes widened.
"You mean…you did all of this…to obtain the Mantle's power for yourself?"
"I don't owe you any explanation, outsider. It's not like you'd understand. You squandered your Mantle's blessing and your kingdom." He said, slamming his cane on the marble floor, then pointed to Ori. "Seize him."
Chapter End—