Chapter 10 A Calm Before the Collision
Elias
I rode hard.
Not for the omega wagon—gods, never for that—but to outrun the rot and smoke of the outer rings. The closer I drew to the Inner Capital, the more the air shifted. The reek of blood and soot thinned. Pine resin. Floral smoke. Fresh bread from the clean bakeries.
The city walls rose in front of me, white stone and obsidian inlay, coils of runic wire and shielded watchtowers. Towers gleamed with gold-maned beast banners in red and black.
The Capital in her glory.
I flashed my crest ring and the gate opened without inspection. Riders were waved through. Guards bowed without raising their heads. Even after years at the borders, my authority still seeped from the stone of this place.
I crossed the grand plaza before dusk.
This was the Drakovia the world feared—not the starving outskirts most prisoners were dragged through, but marble fountains, glass spires igniting in sunset gold, alphas in lacquered armor, well-fed omegas in compliance-nets walking in ordered lines. Silks. Jewels. The faint echo of orchestral music from upper terraces.
War never scarred this place.
It only fed it.
I dismounted and tossed my reins to a stablehand who looked scarcely old enough to hold them. Then I walked the palace promenade. The reflecting pools. The carved archway of the Phoenix Throne. Estate guards opened the iron gates of House Veras as if the motion were instinct.
Home.
I stepped into the foyer, and a familiar voice cut through the marble-vaulted entrance.
“Brother Elias!”
My younger sister slammed into me before I could even remove my gloves. Her hair was braided in the royal style now—high rank. Her embrace was fierce, and I returned it with one armored arm.
“You’re late,” she accused, though she was smiling.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I said dryly.
She swatted me. I allowed the ghost of a grin. She had grown so much.
Our father appeared next—older, grayer, but his eyes as sharp as flint. His hand fell on my shoulder with a soldier’s weight.
“You return in one piece,” he said.
“Barely.”
“Welcome home.”
No embrace. No sentiment. But for him, those words were almost indulgent.
A servant hurried forward and bowed low.
“My lord, Lady Vespera requests your presence in council.”
Of course she did.
I exhaled and dismissed the servant.
She had barely stepped foot back in the capital and already summoned a council.
~~~~~~
Not much had changed in his absence.
The council chamber still smelled of incense and ambition.
High ceilings. Prism chandeliers. Floor mosaics of the three-headed gold-maned beast: the empire, the future, the bloodline.
Lady Vespera lounged by the hearth in crimson silk and layered gold. Styled to look delicate yet utterly lethal. Her gaze inspected me as though I were a weapon she intended to count, sharpen, and aim.
“You arrived sooner than expected,” she said.
“I took the fast route.”
“You always do.”
Her lips curved—sly, knowing, too pleased.
Then, almost idly:
“I’m surprised you intervened at the outer gates.”
I kept my expression blank. “An unnecessary culling would have delayed the checkpoint.”
She laughed.
“Oh, come now. You could have let them dispose of her. A broken mark is no use to anyone.”
“I wanted the wagon to keep moving,” I said. Nothing more. She didn’t deserve my reasons.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
“So cold for someone raised by your mother.” Then, as if it were nothing: “The one from that transport survived.”
I didn’t blink.
“And?”
“And she was transferred to the Upper Ring labor rotations with the two who kept her stable. Aelorian stock is stubborn when it wants to be.”
I didn’t understand why she thought this should matter. Omegas moved around like livestock daily. One survivor meant nothing.
“Anything else?”
Instead of answering, she gestured.
Others were waiting—Chancellor Varyon with ink-stained fingers and dead eyes, the breeding bureau delegate, High General Othran. A war council disguised as polite company.
Vespera folded her hands.
“We need a report from the front. Begin.”
I stepped forward.
“We won the battle at Styrphia,” I said. “But the cost was higher than projected.”
“Losses?” Varyon asked.
“Significant.”
“How significant?”
I didn’t soften it. “Half a battalion.”
Silence dropped like a blade.
General Othran cleared his throat. “And Aeloria? The other front?”
“We received dispatches this morning,” Vespera replied. “Lord Miron delivered the summary.”
A scribe unrolled a parchment and read:
“Aeloria resists. Their king still holds the inner capital. Their armies remain unbroken. However—”
A pause.
“Border villages and outlying cities have fallen to Drakovian control. Casualties are substantial. Many omegas were taken. The rest fled or scattered.”
The temperature in the room changed—satisfaction, concealed poorly.
“Progress,” Vespera said.
“Panic,” Varyon corrected.
“Which amounts to the same thing.”
A ripple of dry amusement swept the chamber.
“And the people?” she asked.
The scribe answered, “Broken. Frightened. Easy to control.”
The room emitted a hum of approval.
“Good,” Othran said. “Then Drakovia keeps its advantage.”
I didn’t speak. While I had ended one battle, another had been forged behind my back.
I studied the chamber instead—new guard rotations, new insignias, subtle shifts in command. And why this council without the emperor?
“Something feels different,” I said.
Vespera’s lashes lowered. “Everything changes, Elias.”
A lord leaned forward, fingers tapping the table. “The captured omegas from the outer cities are robust specimens. The breeding council is satisfied.”
I didn’t answer.
Another noble chimed in lightly, “And your own selection, Lord Elias? Surely you have chosen one?”
Vespera’s eyes flicked to me. “He has not yet reviewed the candidates.”
Judgment stirred in the room.
I held her gaze without wavering. “I’ll review the candidates.”
For now, that was enough.
Later, I crossed the balcony overlooking the upper city. Alchemists’ towers glittered. Carriages rolled through trimmed hedgerows. Music drifted from palace windows.
Not a trace of the mud and blood of the outskirts.
I watched the road where the next transport would crawl its way in. Smoke and frost swallowed the outer rings.
I thought of the halls of my family estate, where my siblings still lived, where incense always burned in my mother’s chambers. My father had taken my campaign report in private. The rest of the empire’s mess fell to me.
A servant approached and bowed. “My lord, Lady Mirelle requests your presence for afternoon tea.”
I nodded.
I barely saw my sister before I left for the war. The feeling of speaking with her earlier was both familiar and distant.
I looked back to the road—the glittering capital rising ahead like a jeweled trap.
The empire demanded my attention. My family demanded my presence. And somewhere on that road, forces beyond my control were already moving—shadows of war and survival on a collision path I could not yet see.
Two survivors were traveling toward each other.
Silent sparks waiting to meet flame.