The palace corridors were empty at that hour.
Mira moved slowly, deliberately, her thoughts louder than her footsteps. She found Keal in the observation hall, standing alone, watching the city's resonance grid pulse beneath the stone.
"You're still awake," he said without turning.
"So are you," she replied.
Keal glanced at her. "Something's wrong."
Mira hesitated.
"I don't know if it's wrong," she said. "But I need to say it before I lose my nerve."
Keal turned fully now.
Mira exhaled. "I think I'm pregnant."
The word hung between them.
Keal did not speak immediately.
"Think?" he asked carefully.
"I haven't confirmed it," she said. "But the signs are there. And the resonance—"
She stopped herself.
Keal raised a hand gently. "Not yet."
Mira nodded. "Not yet. I know."
Keal's expression softened, then hardened again—not with fear, but calculation.
"This stays between us," he said. "Until we know more."
"Yes," Mira said. "I didn't tell Arion. Or Theal."
Keal rested his hands on the railing. "Good."
Mira studied him. "You're not surprised."
Keal shook his head. "No. Just… aware of timing."
Mira swallowed. "If the Theal's assumptions are right—"
"We don't act on assumptions," Keal said firmly. "We verify."
He looked at her then—not as Emperor, not as guardian of the world, but as a man weighing futures.
"You will be protected," he said. "Regardless of what comes."
Mira nodded, though her expression remained troubled.
Far below them, the city pulsed steadily—unaware of the calculations being made above it.
Elsewhere, unseen and undetected, a foreign codex synchronized quietly with a beast's core.
Preparation continued.
Not loudly.
Not quickly.
But relentlessly.
Vayne was loyal.
That was the lie everyone agreed upon.
The banners still flew. Taxes still arrived. Military reports still bore the royal seal. On paper, Vayne was a model border house—old, respected, and distant enough to be useful but close enough to be trusted.
That distance was precisely why it had been chosen.
Knight stood within a stone chamber beneath Vayne's outer estate, his presence masked beneath layers of adapted resonance. The walls were thick, lined with trade records, grain tallies, and logistics maps. This was not a war room.
It was an accounting office.
Across from him sat Lord Halver Vayne, fingers interlaced, posture composed but tense. He was not young. Not foolish. And not unaware of the danger in this meeting.
"You are asking me to commit treason," Halver said quietly.
Knight inclined his head. "No. I am asking you to preserve your house."
Halver scoffed softly. "The Empire has preserved us for generations."
"Yes," Knight agreed. "By focusing inward."
Halver's jaw tightened.
"The capital grows," Knight continued. "The Academy expands. The Resonance array strengthens around Aurelin while border houses receive oversight without support. You are expected to maintain stability with diminishing resources."
Halver said nothing.
Knight gestured, and a projection formed—trade routes shifting, tariffs increasing, military deployments pulled closer to the capital.
"These are not accusations," Knight said. "They are trends."
Halver stared at the display. He recognized the numbers. He lived them.
"You think this justifies betrayal?" Halver asked.
Knight shook his head. "No. I think it explains inevitability."
He adjusted the codex at his side. A secondary interface pulsed faintly—different from the portal anchor. Older. More aggressive.
"The Empire is preparing for something larger," Knight said. "And when it comes, Vayne will be asked to bleed first."
Halver's voice was tight. "And your people won't?"
"Our people are already bleeding," Knight replied. "Our world is dying."
That word lingered.
"Dying how?" Halver asked despite himself.
Knight did not embellish. "Resonance decay. Structural collapse. Our World Spirit weakens. Entire regions are becoming uninhabitable."
"And you think merging worlds fixes that?"
"No," Knight said. "We know it doesn't."
Halver frowned. "Then why—"
"Because survival does not require fairness," Knight said calmly. "Only continuity."
He let the silence do the work.
"We are not here to rule openly," Knight continued. "Not yet. We require stability. Infrastructure. Access. Vayne provides all three."
Halver leaned back slowly. "And in return?"
Knight met his gaze. "Protection. Resources. Autonomy. When the Empire fractures under pressure, Vayne will already be reinforced."
Halver laughed once, humorless. "You speak as if fracture is certain."
Knight's eyes flicked briefly to the ceiling—toward the distant hum of Aurelin's array.
"Every structure fails where it is most rigid," he said. "Your Empire has chosen the capital."
Halver looked away.
Knight activated another projection—this one showing resonance beast movements along Vayne borders.
"These creatures will begin appearing more frequently," Knight said. "Not attacking indiscriminately. Testing responses. Your patrols will struggle."
Halver's knuckles whitened. "And you can stop that."
"Yes," Knight said. "Or redirect it."
He leaned forward slightly.
"All we ask is access. Quiet transport. A blind eye to anomalies. No banners lowered. No declarations made."
Halver swallowed. "And the portals?"
"Will be hidden," Knight said. "Stable. Small. Maintained by spires—volunteers."
Halver's eyes sharpened. "People."
"Yes," Knight said. "Those willing to endure discomfort for a future."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Halver spoke. "If I refuse?"
Knight did not threaten him.
"If you refuse," he said, "another house will be chosen. And Vayne will be caught between forces it does not understand."
Halver closed his eyes briefly.
"When?" he asked.
Knight straightened. "Preparations are already underway."
Halver exhaled slowly. "You understand that if this is discovered—"
"You will deny everything," Knight said. "And we will vanish."
Halver nodded once. "Then you will have your access."
Knight inclined his head again.
As he turned to leave, Halver spoke once more.
"This doesn't make us allies."
Knight paused at the doorway. "No. It makes us necessary to each other."
Far beneath Vayne stone foundations, a resonance beast shifted within containment—its core pulsing in sync with a foreign codex, obedient not by command, but by alignment.
The Empire remained whole.
For now.
But the cracks had been chosen.