"The moon does not choose sides; it only watches — and it has seen empires burn under quieter nights than this."
The moon hung high over the kingdom of Asterion, casting silver light across the tiled roofs and silent courtyards. The air was still, heavy with mist that coiled through the valleys below the mountains, where the Silver Sky Sect hid in its remote fortress.
Inside that hidden fortress, Second Prince Noah Asterion sat beneath the open skylight of his chamber, a stack of reports spread before him. Each page shimmered faintly with sealing runes — letters carried through spiritual links by his spies scattered across the capital.
For the past two weeks, every report said the same thing.
"Lady Crystal Aserra — no suspicious movement. Purchased more herbs, tonics, and rare soul pills."
Nothing more.
At first, it had seemed meaningless. Yet the repetition began to itch at the back of his mind.
"Two weeks of silence," Noah muttered, tapping the edge of the report with a gloved hand. "And not a single misstep."
Across from him, Miralyn Valen — her silver hair cascading down her back like liquid moonlight — smiled faintly. "I don't really understand it either," she said softly, her tone carrying a playful lilt. "All she's done is waste money on herbs. I followed her from dawn till night — every market, every stall — only to watch her buy more roots and powders."
Her violet eyes gleamed in the dim light. "It's frustrating, my prince. Surely she's not still trying to heal that poisoned body of hers?"
Noah leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The moonlight carved his sharp features into something almost statuesque.
"It doesn't matter," he said finally. "Let her chase false cures. If she keeps wasting her coin, the Asura elders will see her as weak — unfit to lead when her grandfather dies."
He looked up at the moon and smiled faintly. "Besides, my dear Miralyn… we have other matters to prepare."
Miralyn's head tilted slightly, her gaze curious. "You mean the banquet?"
"Yes."
His silver eyes reflected the light, sharp and cold. "Third Brother Makhail is planning something big. His faction's been moving quietly for weeks. If we want to seize the throne, we'll have to shift our plans as well."
He reached for another scroll and unrolled it. A crimson seal marked with the royal insignia glimmered across the wax.
"Our window of opportunity will open during the banquet," he continued. "And by then… Crystal will be mine. The Asura clan's loyalty, their army, their wealth — all of it will follow."
He looked up from the scroll, his gaze cutting through the mist between them.
"What about the Aphrodisiac Poison I requested?"
Miralyn's lips curved, a dangerous kind of softness in her smile. "Already in progress, my prince. The formula is rare, but my contacts in the South Faction found a vial. It will take time to prepare, but don't worry — it will arrive before the banquet."
Noah's smirk widened. "Good."
He leaned forward, the faintest hum of chaos energy swirling around his fingertips. "Once I have her under my control, the General will have no choice but to acknowledge our bond. When she bears my mark, no one will question my claim."
Miralyn bowed her head slightly, her tone respectful but laced with hidden amusement. "Then congratulations in advance, Your Highness. The throne grows closer every day."
Noah stood, stepping closer to the window where moonlight spilled across the polished floor. "You may go now," he said, his voice calm, confident.
"As you command."
Miralyn's form shimmered. For a moment her silver hair turned to mist — her body dissolving like smoke into the moonlight. The air rippled once, and she was gone.
In the capital, inside the Valen Mansion, Miralyn's body stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open — violet irises flashing as her chest rose sharply with breath. A thin wisp of mist sank into her skin, merging seamlessly.
She looked around her darkened room, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed softly.
The technique she had just used — Mind Projection — was one she had stolen from her father's secret scrolls. It allowed her to project her consciousness across vast distances, inhabiting a vessel of mist to speak and move freely.
It was exhausting, dangerous even, but invaluable. It was how she could serve Noah's faction while still playing the obedient daughter of the King's Hand.
She stretched her fingers, feeling the faint tremor that came after such prolonged use of spiritual energy. "Annoying," she whispered to herself. "But effective."
Her gaze drifted toward the window, where moonlight danced across the floor. "Soon, dear sister Crystal," she murmured. "We'll see just how much you've really changed."
But while Miralyn rested, another storm was already gathering across the capital.
At the Aserra Mansion, the night was heavy — too quiet, too still. The guards moved in pairs, their armor glinting under torchlight. Yet beneath the surface, something far darker moved unseen.
Five figures slipped through the shadows like liquid night — faces masked, blades bound in black cloth to silence the sound of steel. They moved with purpose, their presence swallowed by the enchantments that shrouded them.
In the east corridor, a narrow passage opened — an old servants' route that led directly to the lady's wing.
A faint creak of hinges.
The passage door slid open.
And there stood Lady Crystal Aserra, her long hair tied back, dressed entirely in black. The moonlight kissed the edge of her cheek, revealing a faint, wicked smile.
She nodded once. "You're late."
The assassins bowed slightly, silent.
Crystal's eyes flicked over them — assessing, measuring. Satisfied, she turned and gestured for them to follow. The passage swallowed them again, footsteps muffled by thick dust and years of secrecy.
Minutes later, they arrived in her private quarters — but this time, the air was tense, charged with purpose.
Crystal adjusted the gloves on her hands, her expression unreadable. Her once regal presence now carried the sharp calm of a commander before battle.
"Tonight," she said softly, "we clean house."
The assassins nodded.
She gave a small signal — a flick of her wrist.
And with that, the mansion began to shift.
Outside, near the back courtyard, a group of fifteen guards stood assembled. The night air was cool, and confusion flickered across their faces.
They had been summoned by their lady herself — an unusual order, but one no one dared question.
Some whispered among themselves. Others stood at attention, hands resting on their blades.
Then the tension began to grow.
A few of them recognized faces among the group — but those faces didn't belong. There were strangers here. Some bore faint marks of sect tattoos, insignias from rival factions.
The realization struck too late.
One of the guards turned to warn the others — and then the world exploded into motion.
Five shadows dropped from the rooftops, blades flashing silver under the moonlight.
The first strike was silent — a clean slash through armor and flesh. Then another. And another.
The courtyard erupted in chaos.
Screams cut through the night as steel clashed against steel. The fifteen guards scattered, some drawing weapons, others trying to flee. But the assassins were faster — precise, disciplined, merciless.
In moments, the ground was painted red.
Bodies fell where they stood. The scent of iron filled the air.
High above, on the tiled roof overlooking the training grounds, Crystal sat silently, one knee drawn to her chest, the other hanging over the edge.
The moonlight bathed her face in silver, her green eyes reflecting the carnage below.
She watched as the assassins cut down the last of the traitors — spies from the royal faction, Noah's faction, even Makhail's.
Her lips curved faintly.
The Asura Mansion would sleep peacefully tonight — unaware that a quiet purge had just begun.
The screams echoed once more, then faded into silence.
No one came to investigate. No servant dared peek through their window.
Because the lady of the house had given a simple command hours earlier:
"No guard is to leave their quarters tonight. Anyone who disobeys — dies."
And so, the night obeyed.
The wind carried away the last whispers of life, and Crystal stood slowly, her hair swaying in the gentle breeze.
Her gaze lingered on the bloodstained courtyard for a long moment before she whispered,
"One less leash for him to pull."
Then she turned and vanished into the shadows — leaving the moon and the dead to keep each other company.
"Those who fear blood should not seek vengeance; the road to freedom is always paved in crimson."