Chapter 88 Elena Heart- POV
While the Lower Districts smoldered with the frantic search for a "Dead King," the Upper District of Drakmor sat in a deceptive, opulent silence.
In a manor tucked behind iron gates entwined with silver ivy, the air didn't smell of rain or mud—it smelled of expensive sandalwood and the sharp, metallic tang of high-level sorcery.
Grace stood in the center of a circular drawing-room, her posture perfect, her expression a mask of icy composure. But inside, her nerves were fraying.
The palace was in shambles; the "death" of Xavier had triggered a political feeding frenzy. Every minor house was clawing for a seat on the Regency Council, and the streets were a powder keg of rumors.
"The vacuum is perfect," Grace murmured, addressing the darkness at the far end of the room. "With Xavier gone and the Heart assassin framed, the transition to the New Order should be seamless. The people want stability. We will give it to them."
From the shadows, a figure shifted. He was draped in robes of midnight silk, his face hidden behind a mask of polished white bone, a featureless, haunting visage that even Grace didn't recognize.
He was the architect of the Silver Sun, the shadow benefactor of a house so ancient its name had been stricken from the royal ledgers.
"Stability is a lie we tell the weak, Grace," the masked man rasped, his voice a distorted, low-frequency hum. "We want the Gate. We want the power of the Titans. Is the gold for Leo secured?"
"The Duke and the Guild Leader are finalizing the transfer as we speak," Grace replied, a smirk playing on her lips. "By dawn, the Black-Iron Ravens will be under our—"
A frantic pounding at the door shattered the atmosphere. A messenger, his face pale and his breathing ragged, burst into the room. He didn't even bow.
"My Lady... the Merchant Guild... the vault..."
Grace’s eyes narrowed. "Speak, you fool."
"It’s gone! All of it! The gold, the mana stones... the Silver Vault is a tomb of empty air!"
The silence that followed was more terrifying than a scream. Grace felt the blood drain from her face. "Empty? That is impossible. The wards—"
"They didn't break the wards, My Lady! They bypassed them! And... the Void-Anchor stone. It’s been taken. It was used to swallow the entire treasury."
"WHAT?"
The masked man didn't move, but the air in the room suddenly dropped twenty degrees. Frost bloomed instantly across the windows, and the fine crystal chandeliers overhead began to vibrate with a high-pitched, glass-breaking whine.
"Elena Heart," the masked man whispered, the name sounding like a curse.
"She... she was supposed to be dead in the blast!" Grace screamed, her composure finally shattering. "I saw the Sanctum collapse! No one survives that amount of mana-fire!"
The masked man turned toward Grace. In a blur of motion that no human eye could track, he was across the room. His hand, encased in a black-steel gauntlet, lashed out.
SLAP.
The force of the blow sent Grace spinning across the room. She hit a marble pedestal, her head snapping back as a sickening crack echoed.
She collapsed to the floor, her cheek instantly swelling into a bruised, purple mess, her lip split and bleeding.
"You incompetent bitch!" the masked man roared, his voice now a booming, magical thunder that cracked the plaster on the ceiling.
He raised his hand, and a flare of necrotic, green magic erupted from his palm, snaking out to wrap around Grace’s throat.
He hauled her up into the air, her feet dangling inches off the floor. Grace clawed at the magical noose, her eyes bulging, a choked scream dying in her throat.
"I gave you the resources of the Great Houses! I gave you the intelligence to corner the King! And you let a common street-rat walk away with the wealth of my entire operation?"
"M-My Lord... mercy..." Grace wheezed, her face turning a terrifying shade of grey.
He threw her against the wall like a discarded doll. "There is no mercy for failure! The Ravens will not march for promises! They march for gold! Without that payment, Leo will flip his coat back to the Crown before the sun rises!"
He turned to the messenger, who was cowering by the door. "Send the order to every bounty hunter, every shadow-blade, and every corrupted guard in the four provinces. Change the posters."
The masked man leaned over Grace, who was shivering on the floor, clutching her throat.
"Elena Heart is no longer just a traitor," he hissed.
"She is the end of our world. Increase the bounty. I don't want 100,000 gold cores. Offer 500,000. Half a million to the person who brings me her head—and the emerald ring on her finger. Dead or alive, I don't care. But if that ring is not in my hand by the time the Titans wake, I will peel the skin from your body while you are still breathing."
Grace screamed as a second flare of magic scorched the floorboards beside her, a final warning of the nightmare she had unleashed.
Outside, the rain continued to fall, but the political landscape of Drakmor had shifted forever.
The hunt was no longer for a killer; it was for the woman who held the kingdom's heartbeat in a single, shimmering emerald.
Elena Heart was now the most expensive fugitive in history, and the entire world was about to start looking for her.