The Secret Pact

That night, Ardellon was cloaked in a darkness broken only by the flickering oil lamps hanging along the narrow alleys. The light rain had just subsided, leaving the air heavy with the scent of wet earth. The streets of the poor district, usually bustling, were now silent, as if sensing a hidden movement in the shadows.

Lyselle walked slowly beneath the hood of her black cloak. Her silver hair was concealed, and her face was vaguely hidden by a thin veil. Beneath her calm stride, her heart beat faster than usual. She knew—this night could determine the course of their journey. Not just for Ardellon, but for herself as well.

Someone was waiting at the agreed-upon location. It wasn’t a grand royal chamber, but an old warehouse on the city's outskirts, flanked by dilapidated houses. From the outside, it was just a regular, abandoned building. Inside, however, there was a long wooden table, two chairs, and a small lantern that swayed gently, casting moving shadows on the damp stone walls.

Seated at the table was a young man with raven-black hair, dressed in simple clothes despite the undeniable aura surrounding him. His gaze was sharp, yet there was a weariness lurking within. He was Caelan Draven, the Crown Prince of Ardellon, who had been watching Lyselle from afar all along.

As Lyselle entered, the heavy wooden door creaked. The sound echoed, a signal that a new chapter was beginning.

Caelan looked up. A faint smile, more a gesture of caution than warmth, played on his lips. “You came. For a moment, I thought you might avoid this.”

Lyselle lowered her hood, revealing the High Elf's face and a direct gaze that met his. “And I thought you might have prepared a secret ambush.”

Caelan let out a brief, humorless laugh. “If I wanted to capture you, believe me, I wouldn't have chosen a place like this.”

A silence fell between them. The only sound was the drip of water from a leaky roof. The small lantern on the table cast a golden light into their eyes, making the meeting feel like a forbidden conspiracy.

Lyselle pulled out a chair and sat across from Caelan. She regarded him with great caution. “You know what I’m trying to do, don't you?”

Caelan interlaced his fingers on the table, leaning slightly forward. “I know enough. You didn't just come to help the poor. You came to bring an ember. And I... may have the oil to make it burn brighter.”

Lyselle raised an eyebrow. “So you admit it. That you, too, are fed up with the four thrones.”

Caelan didn't answer immediately. He stared at the lantern as if searching for the right words. Finally, he spoke softly, almost a murmur: “These four kingdoms have been rotten for a long time. The people are left to starve while the nobles hoard gold. And my father... is nothing more than a king who turns a blind eye, as long as his throne remains secure.”

Lyselle heard the bitterness in his voice. She could see that despite Caelan’s guarded expression, a deep wound was hidden within him.

“So, is that why you agreed to this meeting?” Lyselle asked carefully.

Caelan’s gaze now sharpened, piercing directly into her eyes. “No. My reason is simple. I want to know if you are truly different from them. High Elves... or witches... they always speak of saving the world. But in the end, they only replace one tyranny with another.”

Silence once again enveloped the room.

Lyselle took a deep breath. She knew this negotiation wouldn't be easy. Caelan wasn’t the type to believe blindly. “I'm not promising a world without tyranny. I’m only promising a world where people have a chance to choose. And for that... I need you.”

Caelan's eyes narrowed. He tapped his fingers on the table, slowly, rhythmically, as if testing every word Lyselle spoke. “You talk as if I'm the key to your plan.”

“Because you are,” Lyselle replied firmly. “Without support from Ardellon, I can’t possibly shake the four thrones.”

Caelan was silent. Then, a slow, faint smile appeared on his face. Not a warm smile, but that of a man who enjoys a dangerous game. “Then show me. Show me that you are truly different from them. Convince me... that this secret alliance isn’t just an empty promise.”

The crackle of the fireplace was the only music filling the meeting room. Occasionally, a burning log would spark, adding to the oppressive silence. Lyselle sat upright, her fingers clasped in her lap. Caelan leaned back in his chair, but his gaze remained unwavering—sharp, as if every word that came from Lyselle’s lips was being carefully weighed.

“The four thrones,” Lyselle began carefully, “each stands upon a lie. Virelion with its slave trade, Drezhen with its military ambitions, Selvaria with a religion that turns a blind eye to suffering, and Ardellon… with a starvation deliberately maintained to perpetuate the power of its nobility.”

Caelan didn't reply at once. He picked up the silver cup on the table, sipped the red wine slowly, then set it back down. “You speak as if you know many secrets, Lady Lyselle. But knowing and acting are two different things. What is it you truly want from me?”

Lyselle’s eyes gleamed. “The truth I cannot uncover alone. You are at the heart of Ardellon, privy to the palace's inner workings, the movements of the nobles, and of course… their weaknesses. I can shake the structure, but I need a hand from within to bring it down.”

The dusk outside the window deepened. Shadows from the long curtains fell across Caelan’s face, obscuring half his expression. A thin, faint smile appeared—it was unclear whether it was a sign of interest or just a game.

“And what’s the reward?” Caelan asked flatly. “No alliance is forged without a promise of reciprocity. You want me to betray my blood, my kingdom, and stand by your side. What will I get?”

Lyselle looked down for a moment, then met his gaze without wavering. “Not just power… but the chance to destroy a system that has made you nothing more than a pawn. You know very well that the nobles of Ardellon don’t see you as the true heir. They are merely waiting for the right moment to cast you down.”

Her words made Caelan's thin smile widen. “You say that with enough conviction, as if you’ve peeked into my mind.”

“Not your mind, Prince Caelan,” Lyselle emphasized the word “prince” subtly, “but the wound in your heart. I'm only reading from the way you looked at that palace as we entered. Eyes filled with a hatred for your own throne.”

A long silence settled between them. Only the tick of an old wall clock could be heard, as if counting their breaths.

Finally, Caelan placed his elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of his face. “You’re a clever talker, Lady Lyselle. But I’m not interested in idealistic speeches. Tell me your plan—in concrete terms. How do you intend to bring down the four thrones without destroying the people beneath them?”

Lyselle took a deep breath. “We start by severing the weakest knot. Ardellon. The barons who hoard food are the key. If we remove them, the people will see you not as a silent prince, but as a savior. From there, their support will shift to you. When that happens... you will become a legitimate ally, not just a shadow in this secret room.”

Caelan tapped his finger on the table. “You want to make me the face of your rebellion.”

“Not a rebellion,” Lyselle quickly countered. “A reform. But I’m not blind—there will be bloodshed. The question is, are you willing to bear it?”

The fire in the hearth crackled louder, as if daring the silence. Caelan was quiet for a long time, his eyes reflecting the flames. There was a shadow of conflict within him: between a long-buried rage and the caution of a noble who knows the price of betrayal.

At last, he said softly, almost a whisper. “You speak as if you're placing your entire fate on my shoulders. Aren’t you afraid I’ll report everything to the royal council?”

Lyselle lifted her chin, a faint smile on her lips. “If you intended to betray me, you would have done so the moment I stepped inside. But you didn’t. That’s enough for me to trust you.”

That statement made Caelan stare at her intently, for the first time without his cold mask. There was something faint in his eyes—a mix of surprise, admiration, and a threat that hadn’t entirely faded.

“Trust, huh… you are a dangerous woman, Lyselle.”

The underground room sank back into a heavy silence. The torches on the walls flickered, as if in sync with the tension hanging in the air. Lyselle felt the room growing more constricted, not from a lack of oxygen, but from the suspicious glances crossing between the people at the negotiating table.

“...So, we’ve agreed that this change cannot be accomplished by one side alone,” Lyselle said at last, her voice soft but firm. “The four kingdoms each have their own wounds. And those wounds can only be healed if someone dares to challenge the rot that has taken root.”

An old nobleman from Ardellon nodded, though his face looked weary. “But what you're suggesting is almost impossible, Lady Lyselle. You speak as if the common people can change their fate. Yet—” he stopped, glancing right and left as if afraid his words would be overheard. “Yet all paths are controlled by the great nobles and religious leaders.”

Lyselle watched him for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “Precisely because they control everything, the people have no one left to trust... except us.”

The word “us” echoed in the room. Some seemed moved, but others’ faces tightened—afraid of the consequences.

Caelan, who had been leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, finally spoke. “I understand your fears. But listen carefully. Power doesn't crumble from an external attack. It collapses when the rot within can no longer be hidden. That’s what is happening in all four kingdoms.”

Caelan’s voice was heavy, but it was more than just a threat. He spoke like a man who had seen hundreds of wars and knew exactly how history repeats itself.

Lyselle gave him a quick glance, then turned back to everyone at the table. “The question is simple: do you want to be a part of that change? Or will you stand by and be destroyed along with a system you know is already fragile?”

A few people fell silent, looking down as if to avoid her gaze. But others exchanged glances, as if the silence itself was an answer.

Suddenly, the clang of metal sounded from the end of the room. All heads turned at once. A secret guard had dropped a small dagger from his hand, his face deathly pale.

“...M-my apologies, sir,” he said, trembling. “My hand slipped.”

Caelan sighed softly. Lyselle just watched with a cold expression. Not because of the dropped dagger—but because she felt something far bigger. A foreign presence. A faint whisper in the air, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her ears tingle.

Scrying magic.

Someone was eavesdropping on their negotiation from a distance.

Lyselle straightened up, her eyes narrowed. “...We are not alone here.”

Everyone tensed. Caelan immediately rose, snatching his sword. “Since when?” he asked quickly.

Lyselle closed her eyes for a moment, trying to sense the flow of mana around them. The aura was faint but clearly came from outside the walls. “Maybe since we started talking... or even before we arrived.”

The faces at the table turned pale. If that was true, then everything they had discussed had been leaked.

“This means...” one of the nobles whispered, his voice filled with panic. “The four kingdoms... already know.”

Caelan drew his sword with a sharp metallic rasp. “Then our time is almost up. They won’t stand by.”

Lyselle took a deep breath. Her gaze swept over everyone in the room, then settled on Caelan. “Then we must move... before they can trap us.”

Silence swallowed her words, broken only by the quickening pulse of each person's heart. And in that moment, Lyselle knew—this negotiation wasn’t just the start of a secret alliance. It was the first step toward open war.

The silence in the underground room grew heavier. The torches in the corners flickered as if in a nervous dance, mirroring the tension in the air. Lyselle sat upright, her face showing no fear, but her eyes were sharp, weighing every word that Baron Helbrecht had just spoken.

“So,” Lyselle said slowly, “you want to bind me to an agreement that you yourselves aren’t sure you can keep.”

Helbrecht took a long breath, his fingers tapping the stone table. “This world is on the brink of ruin because of our rulers' greed. You know that, Lady High Elf. If you truly want to bring about change, then this is the only way. Your power is great, but without allies, you will be—”

“—easily overthrown,” Lyselle cut him off. Her smile was faint, but it was cold. “Do you think I don’t know? The four kingdoms have been watching my every move since I set foot in Selvaria. The news of me toppling Baroness Lethia, then shaking Virelion, has spread far and wide. Do you want to be my ally, or just want to make sure I don’t become your enemy?”

Helbrecht froze for a moment. The question stabbed him right in the heart.

Another noble, a thin man in a faded brown robe, spoke up with a raspy voice, “Whatever the reason, it's clear we are all here and agree: you are a threat. But you are also the last hope we have if the kings continue to treat their people like slaves.”

The room fell silent again. Then, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the underground entrance. Everyone turned their heads at once.

Caelan emerged from the darkness, his shoulders broad, his face serious. He held a scroll of parchment with a black seal. “Lyselle.”

His tone was heavy, almost urgent. He handed the scroll to Lyselle. The black wax seal melted under her magical touch, revealing a page filled with hurried writing in dark ink.

‘A joint force from the four kingdoms is moving toward the borders. Main target: a High Elf named Lyselle Althariel. They will encircle her from four directions within three days.’

Everyone in the room went pale. Helbrecht’s eyes widened. “The four kingdoms... united? That’s... impossible...”

Caelan gave him a sharp look. “It’s not impossible, not when what they fear isn't just a war among themselves, but a single figure who is seen as capable of disrupting the balance. You.”

Lyselle reread the words on the parchment, then slowly gripped it tightly until the paper crumpled. Her smile was thin, more a trace of grief that had transformed into determination.

“So this is the answer.” She stood, her silver hair shimmering in the torchlight. “Secret negotiations, empty promises, the intrigues of nobles... none of it was enough. They don’t want to talk. They want to hunt me down.”

Her footsteps echoed as she walked away from the stone table, toward the winding stone stairs leading up. “In that case,” she said softly, but clearly audible to all present, “let the words end here. From now on, swords and magic will do the talking.”

Helbrecht stood, his face a mix of confusion and fear. “What will you do, Lyselle?”

Lyselle paused halfway up the stairs, glancing back. The torchlight illuminated her eyes, making them glint sharply, like stars in the darkness.

“I will go to the borders of the four kingdoms.” Her lips formed a bitter smile. “If they truly wish to end my life there, then let’s see who lasts longer.”

Caelan watched her retreating back, then turned to the nobles who were still silent. “You all heard her. From this point on, the path we're on is no longer diplomacy. Get ready. The war is about to begin.”

A long silence closed the meeting. And outside, the night wind blew, carrying with it the scent of iron and blood that seemed to have been waiting.