(Planet Ixtal, Temporary Skyshard Mansion, Leo’s POV)
After concluding his meeting with Moltherak, Leo returned to Ixtal without delay and immediately summoned Chaosbringer to brief him on the shifting political landscape that now surrounded the Cult.
"My Lord," Chaosbringer said as he entered the room and bowed deeply, as Leo wasted no time laying the situation out before him.
"I met him," Leo began, leaning back in his chair as Chaosbringer straightened attentively.
"And?"
"He is not hostile. He will not interfere in Cult territories, and he even agreed to trade," Leo replied after a brief pause. "However, if we are attacked, he will only move to protect us if it suits him, and if not, he may simply avenge us afterward."
Chaosbringer absorbed the information without interruption, his expression controlled and thoughtful.
"He made it clear," Leo continued evenly, "that he is an ally in alignment, not in obligation.
And that we cannot count on him for concrete support as and when we might need it."
Silence settled between them, and for a moment Leo expected visible concern, yet instead Chaosbringer lowered his head slightly as though contemplating something far more intricate than disappointment.
"My Lord," he said carefully, his voice soft and deferential, "this is not a problem. In fact, if handled correctly, this may become a tremendous advantage."
Leo’s gaze sharpened, though he did not interrupt.
"In this universe," Chaosbringer continued, keeping his eyes lowered in respect, "perception is often more powerful than reality. The Great Clans do not move based solely on strength, but rather on perceived strength."
"As long as the universe believes that the Dragon King stands behind the Cult, even in name, that belief alone shifts the political equation in our favor."
Leo tapped his fingers once against the table. "Explain."
Chaosbringer bowed slightly deeper before continuing.
"If a faction strikes the Cult while the perception exists that Moltherak favors us, then it ceases to be an attack on the Cult alone and instead becomes an indirect challenge to the Dragon King’s judgment and authority.
No Clan will wish to test whether Moltherak’s indifference is absolute or conditional, and that uncertainty alone will breed hesitation."
Leo’s expression shifted subtly as he listened.
"If we publicly acknowledge trade with the Dragons, allow controlled leaks of private audiences, and ensure that our fleets are seen departing from Du Lohora and Draconia unopposed, then the narrative will construct itself," Chaosbringer explained humbly. "The Cult and the Dragon Dominion are aligned."
Leo remained silent as Chaosbringer finally lifted his gaze slightly.
"My Lord, Moltherak does not need to protect us actively. He only needs to refrain from denying association, and the rest can be shaped."
A faint, almost reverent smile touched his lips. "Leave the rest to me."
Leo studied him for several seconds before Chaosbringer bowed once more.
"I will begin weaving the narrative immediately. Within the next three to five years, it will not matter whether the Dragon stands beside us physically, because the universe will believe that he does."
A quiet confidence settled in the room as he added softly, "And once belief hardens, it becomes truth in the minds of our enemies."
Leo leaned back slowly, realizing that for the first time since leaving Du Lohora, the uncertainty surrounding Moltherak no longer felt like a vulnerability, but rather a form of leverage.
"Very well," he said calmly. "Do it."
Chaosbringer bowed deeply. "As you command, my Lord."
As he exited the study with plans already forming behind lowered eyes, Leo once again realized just how important Chaosbringer was to his Empire, and with his advancing age, how losing Chaosbringer would be the biggest political blow he would ever have to face in his life.
—---------------
(Meanwhile Planet Granada, Mauriss’ POV)
Mauriss laughed softly as he turned the Grudgekeeper dagger between his fingers, the polished edge catching intermittent flashes of lightning while his thoughts moved not toward the weapon itself, but toward the divine throat it would soon be pressed against.
*KABOOM*
The universe had not even begun to adjust to the fracture of the old order, and already the Great Clans were behaving as though severing ties with Kaelith had granted them new wings, and as though independence itself could substitute for power.
Five Gods standing alone.
Five banners raised in premature confidence.
Five potential corpses.
His smile sharpened as he began narrowing the field with patient intent, because chaos without structure bored him, whereas targeted elimination reshaped eras.
Du Trask surfaced first in his mind.
Owner of Du Lohora.
Humiliated publicly by Moltherak.
Forced to watch his dominion crumble without the strength to reclaim it.
That kind of wound festered.
Pride injured before the universe did not heal cleanly, and Du Trask would be compensating already, overextending forces, speaking louder than necessary, trying to reassert relevance.
Remove him now, and the Du Clan would not simply lose a God.
They would lose face.
Their recent humiliation would calcify into permanent weakness, and the other Clans would quietly begin circling their remaining territories.
Then there was Ru Vassa.
Bold.
Resilient.
Recently tested in open war.
Her injuries had not been fatal, yet Mauriss remembered the moment her defenses faltered, the strain in her aura that no proclamation of unity could fully conceal.
Eliminate her instead, and the narrative would shift violently.
A Goddess who defied the old order only to fall in the new era would send a sharper psychological tremor through the remaining Clans.
Mauriss rolled the possibilities through his mind with cold precision.
Du Trask’s death would fracture territorial stability.
Ru Vassa’s death would fracture morale.
Both outcomes promised cascading distrust.
The question was not who deserved to die.
The question was which collapse would ignite greater disorder.
*Tap* *Tap*
He tapped the dagger lightly against his palm, a thoughtful rhythm accompanying the storm’s distant rumble.
"They believe they’ve stepped into a new age," he murmured, amusement threading through his voice.
Independence had made them bold.
Bold Gods miscalculated.
Whether it would be Du Trask’s wounded authority or Ru Vassa’s fragile body that he extinguished first hardly mattered in the grand design.
What mattered was momentum.
And Mauriss had every intention of ensuring the universe never found its footing again.