The tavern hadn’t emptied.
By the time Karl and Lucy stepped through the door again, the air was heavier than before. The silver lanterns burned low, smoke curled thick enough to sting the eyes, and the voices of beasts—wolves, boars, serpents, foxkin—rose and fell in waves of rumor and anger. Refugees still filled the benches, clutching their mugs as though the bitter drink could chase away dread.
Karl smirked faintly, pushing his hood lower as he shouldered past a group of vultures muttering about wings torn from the sky. Lucy trailed close behind, quiet as ever, though her eyes swept the room the way they always did—sharp, measuring, ready.
At the corner table, Lucian waited.
He hadn’t moved since they’d left. Hood shadowed his face, cloak loose, but there was no mistaking the stillness about him, the weight that pulled the air tight. The crowd gave him space without realizing why.
When Karl dropped into his chair, his smirk widened, the faintest trace of a laugh in his throat. Lucy shook her head, something soft crossing her lips, and for a breath she almost smiled.
Lucian’s brow rose. He leaned back slightly, eyes sliding from one to the other.
"You two an item now?" he asked, voice even, almost bored.
The question hit the table harder than any mug.
Lucy’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade unsheathed. Her glare could have cut steel.
Lucian met it for a beat, then exhaled, muttering under his breath, "Alright. I’ll shut up." He lifted his hand in mock surrender and let the silence stretch a moment longer before shifting back to the matter at hand.
"Sit," he said. "Both of you. We’re here now. Time to plan."
Karl leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, smirk still hanging at the edge of his mouth. Lucy sat straighter, her cloak folding neatly into her lap, eyes fixed on Lucian.
The tavern noise rolled around them, but their corner was its own world.
Lucian finally spoke again, tone low, certain. "The capital won’t hold long if we strike right. But we need more than chaos. We need direction."
He tapped the table once, the wood rippling faintly under his finger as space itself bent.
"Karl," he said, lifting his gaze to his brother, "you’ll go to the palace."
Karl’s grin sharpened. "About time."
Lucian didn’t smile. "You’ll be the distraction. Loud, obvious. Enough to pull their eyes. The palace will throw everything they’ve got to pin you down."
Karl’s claws tapped against the wood, each click echoing sharper than it should. "And while I’m dancing with the palace guard?"
Lucian’s eyes slid to Lucy.
"We’ll cut off their reinforcements," he said.
Lucy’s brow twitched, the faintest nod following. "Where?"
"The east quarter," Lucian answered. "That’s where the flow comes from. Armories, barracks, and the ward channel. They’ll expect support from there. If we sever it before they march, the palace won’t hold the line. They’ll be trapped inside their own walls."
Karl chuckled under his breath, leaning back. "So I pull the hornet’s nest down on me, and you two clip their wings before they can swarm. What then?"
Lucian’s eyes narrowed, steady. "Then Kaelis attacks."
The name dropped like stone into water. Thɪs chapter is updated by nοvelfire.net
Lucy’s fingers stilled against the table. Karl’s smirk faltered for half a second, then widened again.
Lucian continued. "He’ll launch the strike once we’ve broken the outer veins. He wants wolves. He’ll get his wolves. The Nova Sanctum will move in tandem—air strikes, heavy fire. Enough to drive the city into frenzy."
He paused, gaze sweeping the two of them. "And in that frenzy, we move for the palace. That’s when it falls."
The plan hung between them, sharp and brutal.
Lucy shifted first. Her voice was even, but there was weight under it. "You’re assuming Kaelis will wait for the signal."
Lucian met her eyes, unblinking. "He will. I’ll make sure of it."
Karl’s laugh rolled low, sharp. "You’ve got him on a leash, huh?"
Lucian didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence said enough.
Karl leaned forward again, smirk tugging wider. "Fine. I’ll play my part. Palace walls, palace guards—it’s almost poetic. You should’ve seen me there, once. I was the disappointment of the halls. Now I’ll be the fire that eats them."
His claws dragged faint lines across the table, his grin lit with old spite.
Lucy’s gaze stayed on him for a moment, unreadable. Then she turned back to Lucian. "If the Nova Sanctum strikes, the wards will rise. We’ll need to cut them before Kaelis’ flames reach the heart."
Lucian nodded once. "That’s our job. You and me. The wards are old, woven into the bones of this mountain. I can break them, but it’ll take time. You’ll keep them off me."
Lucy inclined her head. "Understood."
The tavern’s noise surged again around them—boars slamming mugs, wolves snapping in argument, foxkin whispering about shadows. But none of it touched their table. Their world was narrowed to three faces, one plan.
Karl drained his mug in a single pull, slamming it back down. Foam dripped across his claws. "So we light the match tonight?"
Lucian shook his head, calm. "Not yet. Tomorrow. The city’s tense now, but not enough. Let the rumors fester one more night. By morning, fear will be ripe. Then we strike."
Karl’s grin thinned, but he nodded. "Tomorrow, then."
Lucy glanced once toward the door, her cloak brushing her arm as she shifted. "The guards will tighten their sweeps by dawn. We’ll need to move before curfew."
"We will," Lucian said. His voice carried no doubt.
For a moment, the three of them sat in silence, the plan solidified between them like stone.
Karl finally broke it, his smirk softening just slightly. "You know," he muttered, tilting his mug, "I almost missed this. Sitting at a table, planning to burn an empire."
Lucy gave him a look, half glare, half weary patience. "Try not to enjoy it too much."
Karl barked a short laugh. "No promises."
Lucian only sat back, his gaze steady on the table, the faint ripple of warped space still bending the wood under his fingers.
"Tomorrow," he said again, quiet but final.
And the word settled over them like a weight.
Tomorrow, the palace would burn.