CHAPTER 67: HOUSE OF ARDENT

The grand chamber glowed with an aura of power. Velvet curtains swayed gently in the evening breeze, golden chandeliers burned with soft white light, and polished marble reflected the solemn presence of the man at its center.

Dimitrius Ardent sat behind a carved obsidian desk, his posture regal, his golden hair shining faintly under the glow. Scrolls and documents lay neatly stacked, and the faint hum of a magical screen flickered before him. His eyes—sharp, unyielding—traced lines of strategy reports with the calm patience of a ruler burdened by decisions that shaped nations.

The double doors opened.

A woman entered—beautiful, elegant, her white-golden hair cascading like moonlit silk. She did not rush, but walked with an innate grace that commanded attention. Isolde Ardent, his wife, and the matriarch of the Ardent line, glided across the chamber and seated herself opposite him.

"Dimitrius."

He sighed softly, closing a page with deliberate care. "Isolde, I am working right now. Can this wait?"

Her gaze lingered on him, unreadable yet piercing. "You are leaving for Thrain, aren’t you? For the gathering of the world leaders?"

"Yes." Dimitrius leaned back, folding his arms. "It should have been held a month ago, but Crimson Guild’s chaos forced us to delay. Now that Ren has captured Halden Kairen—killed him, no less—there is no reason to postpone. The anti-demon alliance must move forward." He set aside his file, tapped the screen off, and finally gave her his full attention.

Isolde tilted her head slightly. "The Sword Emperor... he truly captured him? I thought he would never dare step into werewolf territory. Yet he did, and he returned."

Dimitrius’s lips curved faintly, though there was no joy in it. "It was necessary. The Demon Alliance needed to be reminded of limits."

"That," Isolde murmured, her voice lower now, "is exactly what unsettles me. What if they retaliate while you are gone, while the Sword Emperor himself stands beside you? What if vengeance brews in the shadows?"

Dimitrius narrowed his eyes at her. There was something in her tone—too specific, too pointed. "Isolde... did you see something?"

Silence fell. The flames in the chandeliers flickered as if stirred by an unseen draft.

Her fingers brushed the armrest of her chair, delicate yet tense. "When I was cultivating last night... a vision came to me. Not clear, not whole. But... unsettling."

Dimitrius’s brows furrowed. "Tell me."

Her eyes, normally serene, now carried an unspoken weight. "It was... fragments. I stood amidst white towers, gleaming under the sun... but their shadows stretched unnaturally long. The air was thick, not with wind or mist, but with something heavier, oppressive. I heard ringing—like a thousand bells breaking in unison. Then... light. A blinding flare that devoured all sound, all shape, leaving only silence behind. When the silence lifted, the city... was no longer the same."

She did not continue.

Dimitrius leaned forward, his mind racing. White towers... shadows stretching unnaturally... a flare swallowing sound... silence where life should be.

His jaw tightened. "Etherlight."

Isolde’s gaze flickered, but she did not confirm. "I only know it felt... close. Too close. Like something waiting, ready to unravel."

Dimitrius’s fingers drummed against the desk. He had seen enough threats in his lifetime to recognize the shape of one cloaked in prophecy. This was no random vision. "An explosion," he muttered, piecing it together. "No... more than that. A weapon. Something designed to erase "

Isolde shivered at his words, though she had not spoken them herself.

The air between them grew heavy. Dimitrius stood, his golden hair catching the chandelier’s light, casting him in a sharp, commanding silhouette.

Isolde’s eyes lingered on her husband for a moment longer. Dimitrius gave her a faint smile.

"Do not worry. Nothing will happen while I am away."

Reluctantly, she nodded and rose. With measured grace, she left the chamber, the echo of her footsteps fading into silence.

The moment the doors closed, Dimitrius’s expression hardened.

"Sylas."

From the shadows, a figure stepped forth as if the air itself had parted. A tall man with a scar running across his cheek knelt at Dimitrius’s side. His brown-black hair framed a face weathered by years of silent work in darkness. The dark robe he wore carried the insignia of the Black Mantle Intelligence, the Human Federation’s most secretive organization.

Sylas bowed deeply. "My lord."

"Did you find anything?" Dimitrius asked, his tone cold and direct. "Who among the council leaders is tied to the Crimson Guild?"

The council was no simple assembly. Ten Rank 9 elders stood at its peak, each a titan of influence, while numerous Rank 8 overseers handled domains of trade, military, diplomacy, research, and law. If corruption lurked there, the consequences could fracture the Federation itself.

From the shadows, Sylas kept his head bowed. His scar caught the flicker of chandelier light, giving his face a sharper edge.

"We have not uncovered anything within the council, my lord," he admitted. "Their traces have been erased too thoroughly. But..." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "One of our agents within the Demon Continent has sent word. There is... movement. On the southern border."

Dimitrius’s eyes narrowed, his golden hair catching faint light as he turned ever so slightly. "Is it confirmed?"

"Yes, my lord. The report bears the seal of the embedded network. They swear by their lives it is accurate."

Silence hung in the chamber, heavy as steel. The southern border... it was always volatile, but for the demons to stir there now, after Crimson Guild’s disruption, was no coincidence.

"Notify the Atherhart family immediately," Dimitrius ordered, his tone clipped. "Tell them to mobilize their vanguard forces. If the demons test our borders, I want their advance shattered before it begins."

Sylas pressed his fist against his chest. "It shall be done."

Dimitrius leaned back slightly, his eyes still sharp. "And what of the boy?"

Sylas hesitated, knowing exactly who he meant. "Ezra."

"Yes," Dimitrius’s voice carried weight, quiet but unyielding. "That boy. Have you found anything about him?"

Sylas—himself a mid Rank 8 and vice leader of the Black Mantle—hesitated. "I was... stopped."

Dimitrius’s eyes narrowed. "By whom?"

"The Head of Black Mantle... and the Sword Emperor."

Dimitrius leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "What did he say?"

Sylas lowered his head further. "He said... do not look into Ezra Celestrian. He is his disciple. If you continue, he will meet you with his blade."

The room fell silent.

Dimitrius’s expression betrayed nothing, but inwardly he had already expected this. "I suspected as much. Enough. Do not dig further into Ezra." He pulled a scroll from his desk, its seal marked with the crest of the human high council . "Take this to Garruk. Tell him to investigate the entirety of Etherlight. Every alley, every guild, every whisper in the markets. And... instruct him to put the council elders on high alert for the next two months. I will be away."

Sylas pressed his fist to his chest. "Yes, my lord."

"Go."

The intelligence officer bowed low before vanishing into the shadows as suddenly as he had appeared.

Dimitrius exhaled slowly, then sent a pulse of telepathy outward.

A few moments later, the doors opened again, this time revealing an older man. His hair was white as snow, his uniform crisp and flawless. His presence, calm yet firm, carried the aura of an experienced warrior—Rank 8, though now serving with dignity as butler of the Ardent household.

"Orric," Dimitrius greeted, his expression softening slightly. "Uncle Orric, it has been a while. How have you been?"

The old butler bowed. "I have been well, my lord. To see the Ardent household flourish under your hand... it brings me genuine happiness."

Dimitrius allowed himself a small smile. "Good. Then I must trouble you again. Secretly assign more guards to Marcus’s side. His protection must remain absolute. And... pass a message to the Grace family. Quietly."

Orric’s eyes flickered with understanding. "At once, my lord. Is there anything else?"

"That will be all. You may go."

Orric bowed and departed, his presence fading like a steady flame retreating from the chamber.

Once alone again, Dimitrius leaned back in his chair. For the first time that evening, the weight of solitude pressed upon him. His thoughts turned to a name he had not spoken aloud in years.

Valerius Celestrian.

His only true friend, once upon a time. A bond forged in trust, now shattered by the tides of fate.

Dimitrius closed his eyes, a sigh slipping past his lips. "Life... forces you into roles you never wished to play. Sometimes... to protect what must be preserved, you must become the villain."

The chandeliers flickered, shadows dancing across his golden hair. Alone in his chamber, Dimitrius sat—no longer the husband comforting his wife, nor the father securing his household, but the leader of humanity, burdened with choices that would reshape the world.

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Author’s Note:

. Remember every name—it’s going to become important as the story progresses. For now, Marcus and ezra aren’t directly involved, but trust me... they will be. You’ll see how in time, so be patient and enjoy the buildup!