In the dim glow of lamps, Prince Halwin walked into his guest pavilion like a storm cloud gathering thunder.
His face was twisted in barely restrained fury, the aftermath of the interrupted wedding ceremony still burning in his veins.
Geoffrey trailed silently behind, shoulders slumped, the loyal shadow wearing an expression of deep chagrin.
He hesitated at the threshold before finally daring to speak.
"This humble one begs forgiveness, Prince Halwin. I truly believed…"
Halwin abruptly turned in anger.
"We failed!"
The words erupted as a low roar, raw with humiliation.
He forced several harsh breaths through clenched teeth, striving to regain the composure befitting his royal bloodline, then walked to the carved sandalwood chair behind the low table and sat heavily.
Geoffrey wisely held his tongue.
Halwin exhaled a long, trembling breath and his jaw muscles bunched so tightly the tendons stood out like steel cords beneath his skin.
"This day was meant to be the perfect crucible," he growled. "A public test of Alistair Rehn's so-called invincibility. An opportunity to spill his blood before the eyes of every major realm and noble clan, to prove to the Supreme Domain that their vaunted young lord is nothing more than a paper tiger propped up by borrowed might. Yet… those warriors of his…" His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "They are monstrously strong. Every single one of them shielded him without hesitation. It beggars belief. Where did that boy unearth such peerless cultivators? And all of them displaying abilities far beyond what should be possible for survivors of the Martial and Spiritual Trial. Even that sword youth I have never laid eyes upon before…"
Geoffrey nodded respectfully. "I made discreet inquiries. His name is Karis Storme. Another of the Supreme Domain's newly ascended rising stars. It truly defies reason. For one who endured the Martial and Spiritual Trial to awaken an innate ability ranked above C-grade is already a rarity once in a generation. Yet Alistair Rehn has gathered several such monsters. One cannot help but wonder… what hidden method, what forbidden inheritance or secret backer, has he acquired?"
Halwin's knuckles whitened as his hands curled into iron fists atop the polished table.
He possessed no Sigil of his own, no heaven-defying mark, no blessed constitution, no innate domain.
Watching those dazzling displays of abilities earlier had been like a thousand needles stabbing directly into his chest, reminding him cruelly of the chasm between him and those who walked the path of true supremacy.
The world was indeed unjust.
Geoffrey's voice lowered further. "If matters continue in this direction… in the next Dominion Trial, the Supreme Domain may very well challenge Golden Peak for the top position..."
Halwin's head snapped up and his glare could have scorched spirit grass to ash.
"We will not allow it."
He rose slowly, robes whispering like drawn steel.
"Inform Master Kafel at once. We depart tomorrow at dawn."
Geoffrey bowed. "Will he accompany us back to Star Haven?"
Halwin's lips curved into a cold, humorless smile.
"No. You and I… will be taking a slight detour."
Meanwhile, within the vast Throne Hall of the Supreme Domain, Alistair Rehn lounged upon his throne of polished midnight stone.
The grand chamber stretched endlessly in every direction, its towering pillars carved with coiling celestial serpents.
The court elders and high officials stood in orderly ranks before him, heads bowed in deference.
One by one they stepped forward to offer formal congratulations on the newly sealed marriage alliance.
Then the topic inevitably shifted to the brazen daylight assault.
Alistair's gaze swept over them, calm yet carrying an undercurrent of frost.
"Do any among you have suspicions? Speak freely."
The High Chancellor, an elder figure whose beard reached his chest stepped forward and performed a deep bow.
"As Young Lord Alistair wisely observed earlier in the hall," he intoned, "this venomous strike bears the stench of jealousy over our realm's recent ascension in the rankings. Among all the great realms, only Star Haven Palace harbors a deep and festering grudge, having been forcibly demoted from their former lofty seat."
Alistair tilted his head just a fraction. "You truly believe Star Haven dispatched those assassins? They would dare risk the life of their own princess in the crossfire, merely to settle an old score?"
The High Chancellor risked the briefest upward glance, reading the neutral mask upon Alistair's face, then lowered his eyes once more.
"…This humble servant concedes the possibility is slim."
Alistair released a soft, measured sigh.
"From the moment I claimed this throne and accepted the mantle of Sovereign Lord, every breath I have drawn has been dedicated to raising the Supreme Domain to heights no realm has ever touched. Believe me when I declare: whoever orchestrated this outrage will be dragged into the light. Their bones will answer for it."
His voice remained even, yet every syllable rang with the unshakable promise of death.
"You are all dismissed."
As one, the court bowed deeply before retreating in silence, leaving only the faint echo of their footsteps fading into the distance.
The moment the great doors sealed shut behind the last elder, space rippled like disturbed water as Regan Howser materialized directly before the throne, dropping to one knee with fist pressed to palm.
"Reporting to the Sovereign Lord," he said plainly and stood up. "The origin of those masked curs has been traced. They hail from the Shadow Veil Realm, a domain infamous for breeding generations of soul-reaping killers-for-hire. They accepted a contract. The target was unmistakably you."
Alistair turned his gaze aside, a faint frown creasing the space between his brows.
Regan hesitated only a heartbeat before continuing, voice lowered.
"…Do you suspect Prince Halwin Valehart's hand in this?"
Alistair let out a short, mirthless sound, half amusement, half disbelief.
"Halwin? So reckless? So utterly brainless as to launch such a crude, public assassination attempt right beneath my wedding canopy?" He shook his head slowly. "No. That man would never be so careless."
His eyes drifted downward, distant, as though peering through layers of memory and blood.
The boy who had once screamed in chains, four years old to ten, broken and bleeding under merciless hands and the tormentor who had finally discarded him like refuse in a forgotten ravine, leaving him for dead…
…was that same person truly capable of something so sloppy, so amateurish?
"He has no inkling who I have become," Alistair murmured. "He does not know the child he tortured was me. He does not know the shadow that has stalked his every step for more than a decade, waiting. So why…?"
Regan remained silent, allowing his lord to follow the thread of thought.
Alistair's gaze narrowed, dark and sharp.
"Or perhaps he simply stumbled upon a defenseless child one day… and decided it would be amusing to carve screams from innocent flesh for sport."
A low, chilling chuckle escaped his lips.
"So many questions," he whispered, almost to himself. "Yet one truth stands clear as day: Halwin Valehart still wants my death."