With a crisp click, the prince set down the mana-amplified receiver, his final words echoing faintly within the command center of the North Wall. A sudden, deliberate silence settled over the room. Luccar and Balzac, flanking the prince like two monuments of past and present, remained frozen in place, and the weight of their silence was matched only by the tightly reined tension in the air.

The others, knights loyal to House Dvorzak, the vigilant Andre and Sol, the ever-attentive Alfred, and the Bluewing Knights, said nothing. No one dared speak.

Yet in that heavy quiet, thoughts stormed wildly. The room, though stilled in body, brimmed with a cacophony of inner monologues, tangled emotions, and unspoken fears.

The prince took his time surveying them. His eyes, like needles, pinned each person in turn, pricking through flesh and pride alike. Shoulders tensed and jaws tightened. Foreheads twitched in confusion. Emotions danced chaotically across their faces, fear, confusion, awe.

And over those flickering faces, the prince watched the strings of fate rise and shimmer.

Some were lost, caught adrift by the prince’s wildfire of madness. Some, shaken, began to reorient themselves, embracing this unpredictable present. Not just these few … no, the entire northern territory’s destiny now fluctuated violently, caught in the storm of his declarations. Even distant provinces, even the heart of the Empire, trembled at the ripples of his intent.

The corners of the prince’s lips curled ever so slightly.

For once, the Empire was not dragging him. He was dragging it.

In his past life, the world had crushed him under its heels, forced him to scurry and scrape through its collapsing foundations. But now? Now, the very world bent beneath his fingertips. Its pulse beat against his palm. Its breath heaved in sync with his.

This was not just survival. This was domination, if only for a moment.

The storm of madness simmered within him, riding his veins like flame along dry tinder. Satisfaction glowed warm in his chest, blooming into something dangerously close to joy.

He was no longer reacting to fate. He was writing it.

Still, he said nothing. Let them squirm.

Let them think.

And just as his presence began to smolder in the silence, the prince finally spoke, his voice low, languid, and glinting with amusement.

“By now, chaos must be spreading. I imagine it’s… rather fun to watch.”

A ripple passed through the room like a stone dropped into a still pond. “Fun” was hardly the word they would have used. Yet he smiled as if tasting wine, and the others flinched as though he had poured acid into their ears.

So the prince decided: if he was the only one having fun, he might as well share.

“Why so serious, everyone?” His voice slid like silk over razors. “What’s the problem? Smile. Unless you plan on going mad and sprinting into the snow, screaming.”

Faced with this ridiculous command, a few mustered thin, awkward smiles. Lips stretched taut, eyes haunted. They looked like hostages forced to play charades with a lunatic king.

The prince sighed in mock disappointment, then turned his attention to orders.

“Count Balzac, take the northern troops. Expand the search beyond the outer snowfields. There are more hidden strongholds out there, like the one we found. Find them. Burn them.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Balzac said quickly, snapping out of his paralysis.

“Lord Luccar, the old men under your wing, use them. Like that drunkard with the red nose. They’re useful.”

“We’ve already located several monster nests and abandoned Eskimo outposts. I’ll direct the veterans accordingly.”

“Excellent. Prioritize airborne threats. If there’s even a whisper of a winged beast, crush it. Don’t give them the skies.”

He issued the rest of his commands in swift succession, each one efficient and merciless. The goal was clear: before the full-scale invasion began, they would shred as many of the enemy’s forces as they could. Death by a thousand cuts.

“Andre,” the prince said, voice dropping like a stone into still water, “you’ll shadow that old soldier from the blizzard. Learn from him. Don’t die.”

“Understood, Your Highness.”

“Sol, shadow jump between the mages. Learn their casting routes. There’s much you still don’t know.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Alfred,” he said, eyeing the older man, “you’re going to tail that red-nosed drunk. Learn to vanish.”

“As the chamberlain, it’s my duty to remain.”

“Go. You’ve been lazy lately. I’ll need your full strength soon, and you’ll need more than ledgers for what’s coming.”

Alfred scowled but relented. “Fine. For the long game.”

Then came the real warning.

“None of you are to engage the Eskimo directly. You are not to fight. I’ll say it again: If you hear a voice in your head, if the wind whispers where it should not…run. Run like hell.”

“But, Your Highness, if we can damage them…” a knight began.

“Run,” the prince repeated, voice now molten.

Lord Luccar cut in firmly. “He’s right. You’ll die. Run first. Think later.”

They all nodded then. Some paled. But they understood.

“Now,” the prince said, flicking his wrist. “Those who’ve received orders, get out. This room’s getting cramped and it smells of sweat.”

The command center emptied swiftly.

Only a handful remained, Sofia, the steward, and the logistical heads of the north.

The prince turned to them.

“Sofia. You’ve finished investigating the illicit flow of hearthfire?”

“Yes. We’ve tracked all the siphoning routes, as well as the financial holdings of the culprits.”

“And your thoughts?”

“Well,” she said, tapping her chin, “there’s money to be made.”

“Excellent. Draft me a business proposal. Work with the steward.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He pivoted to the steward. “I heard you’ve already seized some of their property.”

“Yes, while the count was away. We detained the managers, searched their homes, and confiscated assets.”

“Good. Now steal it all.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Everything. And not just theirs. Every northern family. Log every coin. Every deed. Every land title. Put it in a vault. Digitize it. Make it portable.”

“Your Highness, we were going to use the assets to…”

“No,” the prince interrupted. “When the Eskimo hit us, everything will collapse. I won’t waste time settling petty inheritance disputes after. Prepare for that.”

The room froze. Then: “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Understood.”

They bowed and exited. Only then did the prince leave the command center … heading, alone, to the hearthfire control tower.

No guards. No aides.

It had been a long time since he walked unaccompanied.

Last time, it was the sewers… hunting demons.

He relished the solitude.

And when he entered the lavishly furnished director’s office, the same room where he had once caved in a traitor’s skull, he moved like he owned every breath in it.

Not long after, a familiar figure entered.

“Your Highness, I’ve come to discuss hearthfire operations.”

“Enter.”

She stepped through.

The air sweetened. Blood and wine.

“You’ve examined the flame. What did you see?” he asked casually.

“I came to discuss the hearth …”

“We are.”

A pause.

Then the illusion melted.

The woman’s face rippled like wax. Crimson hair spilled down her back. Eyes glinted mischief.

“How do you always know? Are you part elf? Or just an annoying freak?”

“Scarlet thief,” the prince replied. “Still trying to steal fire?”

“You … !”

She flinched, caught.

“How did you …?!”

“Please. You’ve been quiet for far too long. Of course you were here. The Flame of Founding? You couldn’t resist.”

“I didn’t steal anything!” she whined. “Just researched a little!”

“You’re a thief.”

She snarled.

“You crazy bastard. You’ve got no right to talk. I saw that stunt with the skull!”

“I’m a prince. You’re a thief. I win.”

“Ugh, you smug …”

He poured wine.

One glass he touched with blood.

“Want it?”

She hesitated.

“I’ll throw it out.”

“Wait! Pour it in my mouth.”

She gulped it down, face flushed. A shiver. A sigh.

“You’re such a freak,” he muttered.

“This time,” she said, “I’ll forgive you. Crazy prince.”

As she drank, he gave her instructions, what secrets to reveal, what traps to lay.

In exchange?

He offered her a vial of Eskimo blood.

Her eyes widened like a starving wolf’s.

“You serious?”

“As death.”

She disappeared … gone to set the trap.

He stayed behind, sipping wine.

And stared at Breaker.

“Who’d have thought… you were the key.”

The painting of the Empire’s future came more clearly into focus with every brushstroke.

And it was drenched in flame.