The Glitched Mage

The days that followed blurred together in a relentless rhythm of labor and command.

Construction crews worked through the nights, guided by glowing rune-lanterns and watched over by undead foremen who never tired. Stone shifted, scaffolding climbed higher, and new structures rose in the Lower District and the harbor alike. The Merchant Guild finalized permits for expanded stalls and imported cargo cranes. Mal supervised the harvest of a fresh wave of abyss-touched herbs, while Damon reinforced key trade roads with blackstone from the southern quarries.

Krux led combat drills near the eastern wall, the clang of weapons echoing well into the dusk. Aria's spies moved like ghosts, sweeping through the kingdom's outer lands and far beyond. And Nyx—when she wasn't beside Riven like a quiet shadow— joined the Shadow Knight drills, pushing the rookies to their limits with merciless precision and a sharp grin. More than a few learned that her mockery cut deeper than any blade.

Riven moved among it all.

Inspecting battlements, walking the growing trade corridors, speaking with local advisors, merchants, and even the occasional necromancer who'd found new purpose within the kingdom. He was seen. And more importantly—he was felt. His presence alone ensured progress didn't stall, that momentum did not die.

But by the fifth night, exhaustion finally demanded its due.

He returned to the Shadow Palace long after moonrise, the obsidian halls empty save for the soft flicker of violet torchlight. His footsteps echoed across the polished floors, his cloak streaked faintly with the dust of stone and sweat. He said nothing to the guards. They didn't speak to him. They only bowed—silent, still, reverent.

Inside his quarters, Riven slumped into the chair behind his desk.

For a long moment, he simply sat there in silence, head tilted back, eyes closed.

His scimitar rested across the mantle, its curved blade whispering faint pulses of heat into the air. A low hum throbbed beneath his ribcage, his Fourth Circle, still heavy with power, still adapting. And somewhere deeper, in the unseen gap between realms, the dragon egg slept—silent now, but never idle.

His gaze drifted toward the surface of the desk, where a single envelope sat in quiet defiance of the surrounding clutter. The parchment was a deep, inky black—smooth, untouched, almost regal in its stillness. Sealed with a thick crest of wax pressed beneath a raven sigil, the message bore the unmistakable mark of the Danu Empire.

Riven leaned forward slowly, retrieving the envelope with two fingers. The seal cracked open with a soft snap and the parchment inside unraveled in his hands. The paper carrier the soft scent of heavy perfume and exotic fruits.

He exhaled slowly, unfolding the parchment with measured fingers, already bracing himself for what he assumed lay within. No doubt it would be laced with veiled threats—layers of political maneuvering wrapped in diplomatic courtesy, demands dressed as invitations, and posturing thinly veiled as protocol. The sort of language that smiled while sharpening a blade behind its back.

Instead, it read:

To the Sovereign of the Shadow Throne—

The Danu Empire has watched your kingdom rise from silence with no small measure of interest. While others fear what they do not understand, we recognize potential in what others would rather see destroyed.

We do not actively seek war with Solis, nor are we ignorant of their crusade. But the tides shift. And in the shadows you've carved from ruin, we see the makings of something far greater.

Our Emperor would send emissaries—his most trusted advisors, and his eldest son, Crown Prince Kael Danu—to meet with you in the flesh. To speak of futures. Of cooperation.

Should you grant them safe passage, they will arrive within the week.

We await your reply.

—Signed in the name of the Danu Crown

Riven lowered the letter with deliberate care, the edges of the parchment whispering against his fingertips as his thoughts churned beneath the surface.

He had expected venom hidden behind velvet—veiled threats from a distant throne, sharpened words dipped in diplomacy. But instead… he found intrigue. Opportunity. A fracture in the old world order. The Danu Empire, long cloaked in aloof silence and self-assured superiority, had extended a hand not in dominance—but in interest.

He leaned back in his chair, the letter still balanced between his fingers, and let a rare, ghost-thin smile touch his lips.

"The crown prince himself," he murmured.

His gaze drifted toward the horizon beyond the window—beyond the outer walls of his rising city, past the ash-kissed hills and abyss-touched farmland, past the forests and the cold mountain pass that separated him from Solis.

There, somewhere beneath that distant sky, others moved.

And they were coming.

—x—

The war room of the Shadow Palace stood at the heart of the stronghold, buried beneath layers of reinforced blackstone and abyss-forged steel. It was no ordinary chamber—it pulsed faintly with warding runes, casting low violet light across the long table at its center. Maps sprawled across it, enchanted to update in real time. Miniature projections hovered just above the surface, marking trade routes, troop movements, and the flickering red glow of foreign scouts creeping too close to Shadow territory.

By the time Riven arrived, his generals were already assembling.

Damon was first, arms crossed and still dusted with earth from the construction. Aria arrived in silence, her dark cloak trailing shadow like an extension of her will. Krux entered next, leaning his sword against the wall with casual precision. Mal was quiet as always, scrolls tucked beneath his arm. Nyx, of course, was already there, leaning in her usual spot against the far wall.

Riven stepped to the head of the table, dragging the Danu letter free and placing it flat in the center.

"I received a message from the Danu Empire."

The war table fell still, the room shifting from quiet focus to sharp attention in an instant.

Mal's brows drew together. "Danu? After all this time? Why now?"

"I thought they prided themselves on staying neutral," Damon said, frowning. "Especially with the Solis border heating up."

"They're requesting an invitation," Riven said. "They're willing to send emissaries—and their crown prince."

That earned a ripple of reaction.

Krux gave a low whistle and pushed off from the map table. "That's not just diplomacy. That's a power move."

"They're watching Solis grow agitated," Nyx said, her voice cool and measured. "And wondering if it's time to put their bets on us instead."

"They wouldn't risk the prince unless they believed we were worth the risk," Mal added, thoughtful. "Or unless they're desperate for leverage against Solis."

Riven gave a nod, his expression unreadable. "The empire doesn't want open war. Not yet. But the old lines are cracking. They're testing the waters… and they're testing us."

Aria's gaze narrowed. "Are we granting them entry?"

"We are," Riven said. "But it will be on our terms. The prince and his advisors will be escorted from the edge of our territory to the palace gates by Shadowguard."

He turned toward Nyx. "You'll shadow the prince."

Nyx's smirk was razor-sharp. "I'll have him wrapped around my dagger by the time dessert hits the table."

Aria folded her arms, tone shifting. "That covers Danu. What of Solis?"

Riven's jaw tightened slightly.

"That's the other reason I called this meeting."

He reached toward the central projection rune embedded in the war table. With a pulse of his mana, the table flared to life. The image of the continent twisted and narrowed—centering on the eastern wastes. A cluster of red markers shimmered along the outer ridge.

"Paladins," Aria confirmed. "Scouting party. Five knights. One Seeker. They're traveling light, fast."

"If they catch a glimpse of the city—of the walls, the farmland, even a patrol—we lose the veil," Mal warned. "Solis will know we've rebuilt far beyond what the rumours are telling."

"They won't get that far," Riven said quietly. "We intercept. We lead them in circles, distort their senses, send them chasing illusions."

"Disrupt their path," Damon added. "False terrain, altered glyphs. I'll reroute the valley floor myself."

"And if they push through anyway?" Krux asked.

The room paused.

Riven's gaze didn't waver. "Then they disappear."

A long silence followed—no one questioned the call.

Damon exhaled, low and grim. "Understood."

Riven let the silence hang before shifting focus.

"The mana anchor," he said. "It's time to finish it."

Mal looked up. "You want the glamour operational?"

"Yes. By the time the patrol reaches the outer edge, I want the entire kingdom shielded. The city will appear as ruins again. Dead land. Nothing worth reporting."

"And the Danu Prince?" Aria asked.

Riven's eyes darkened with purpose. "We show him the truth."

He looked to each of them now—his five generals, forged by loyalty, fire, and shadow.

"We give him a tour of the market, the farmlands, the harbor. We show him strength. Prosperity. Order. Let him walk through a city that defied extinction and rose again stronger. Let him see what kind of power we've built."

"And if he offers an alliance?" Mal asked.

Riven's answer came without hesitation. "Then we listen. We consider. But we don't kneel."

Nyx's voice dropped to a murmur. "Even the Danu bend when the pressure's right."

"Then let them bend to us," Riven said. "Because Solis is watching. Danu is watching. And the world is beginning to remember what the Shadow Kingdom was."

He pressed a hand over the sigil in the center of the war table. Black flame curled beneath his fingers, pulsing softly like a living thing.

"And what it will be again."