The first of the Azure League's ships arrived at dawn, their sleek hulls cutting through the mist like knives through silk.
From the half-rebuilt ramparts of Solspire, Lee Sung watched them approach, his cloak snapping in the sharp wind.
Ten ships in all, their sails dyed the deep sapphire blue of the League, each bearing the silver dagger-and-coin emblem stitched proudly at their crests.
Dockworkers and soldiers alike crowded the battered piers, some cheering, some watching with wary, slitted eyes.
"They come bearing gifts," Ysrael muttered beside him, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, "but I smell the stink of conquest behind their smiles."
Lee Sung said nothing, though he shared the sentiment.
He had bought Solspire a fragile peace — bought it with clever words and sharpened threats — but he knew Cassian Vale's generosity was a blade pressed against his city's ribs. Sooner or later, it would either be sheathed in blood... or turned aside by force.
Below, the ships docked with precision. Gangplanks were lowered. Men in fine cloaks strode ashore, followed by laborers rolling crates of grain, chests of weapons, bundles of shipwrights' tools wrapped in oiled canvas.
Leading them was a tall woman with braided black hair and a coat stitched from silver-threaded velvet — a herald of the League, no doubt, come to see the terms fulfilled and to sink invisible hooks into Solspire's heart.
Ysrael leaned in.
"Shall I ready the Blackguard in case they bring more than what was agreed?"
Lee Sung shook his head slowly.
"Not yet. We play their game... for now."
He descended the crumbling steps of the ramparts, Ysrael and Commander Dalia close behind.
---
The Docks — Later That Morning
The harbor was a cacophony of voices, hammering, and the salt-sting of the sea.
The League's envoy — who introduced herself with a curt bow as Magistrix Elayne Corrin — handed Lee Sung a heavy scroll bearing the League's sigils and Cassian Vale's personal seal.
"A gift," she said, voice clipped and businesslike. "Grain enough for two seasons. Arms sufficient to equip three regiments. Ten master shipwrights trained in Saphir itself. And five engineers to aid in the reconstruction of your docks."
She smiled — a professional, predatory smile.
"In return, we trust you will honor your end of the accord. The Ember Hills copper mines. Artifacts from your lower vaults, delivered biannually. And, of course..." Her eyes sharpened slightly. "No commerce with the Crimson Blades, the Free Cities, or any power opposed to the League."
Lee Sung accepted the scroll without ceremony.
"You will find Solspire honors its oaths," he said coolly.
"But should your shipmasters or merchants think to take more than was bargained, know this — Solspire also honors its knives."
Elayne Corrin inclined her head, neither smiling nor offended.
"Then we shall have no trouble, your majesty."
Behind her, crates of grain and barrels of salted meat were being unloaded under the watchful eyes of Solspire's guards.
Ten shipwrights, clad in leather aprons and steel-banded boots, filed down the gangplanks — rough men with scarred hands and keen eyes, already surveying the wreckage of the docks with professional interest.
A small, grim victory.
The city would survive the winter.
The fleets could be reborn.
But as Lee Sung turned back toward the keep, he felt the first icy prickling of unease down his spine.
Victory bought with debt was no victory at all.
---
That Night — The Tower of the Silent Court
The Silent Court was what remained of Solspire's ancient council hall — a half-ruined tower where once, in the days before the cataclysm, kings and scholars had debated the fates of empires.
Now, it served a darker purpose.
Lee Sung gathered there with Ysrael, Dalia, and a few of his most trusted lieutenants — men and women who had sworn the Oath of Iron, a binding spell etched into their very bones, ensuring loyalty unto death.
A map of Solspire and its outer territories was spread across the table, marked with colored stones.
Minister Varin, pale and sweating, pointed a trembling finger at several districts near the outer walls.
"There's unrest," he said. "Merchants and craftsmen grumble that Solspire is being sold piece by piece. Some nobles whisper that your rule is too harsh, too bloodstained. And..." He hesitated.
Lee Sung's gaze sharpened.
"Speak."
Varin licked his lips.
"There are rumors that a faction within the old noble houses seeks to... depose you. To offer Solspire's allegiance to the Crimson Blades instead, in hopes of securing more favorable terms."
The room went still.
Commander Dalia's mouth twisted into a sneer.
"Traitors. Let me hang them by their entrails from the city gates."
Ysrael's voice was colder, more measured.
"Let them talk," he said. "Find their names. Find their meeting places. When the time is right, we strike — not in anger, but in silence. No public executions. No martyrs. Just... disappearances."
Lee Sung nodded slowly.
"No second chances," he said.
"No warnings."
He traced a line across the map with one gloved finger.
"The hearts of Solspire must be cut clean before they can rot the whole body."
There were nods of grim agreement.
And so, without fanfare, the quiet war for Solspire's soul began.
---
Visions and Shadows — Deep Night
That night, as storms battered the coast and the moons hung pale in the sky, Lee Sung slept restlessly.
And dreamed.
He stood alone atop a tower that touched the stars.
Below him, Solspire burned — not with fire, but with golden light. Streets flooded with molten gold; towers crumbled into coins; men and women drowned, weeping, in tides of wealth that suffocated as surely as any noose.
From the burning horizon, a shadow advanced — a figure in a cloak of silver and blue, face hidden behind a mask of smiling gold.
Cassian Vale.
In his dream, Lee Sung tried to draw his sword, but it was melted into his hand — a useless weight.
The shadow drew closer, and the burning city moaned in agony.
Then, a voice — Akane's voice — whispered from the darkness:
> "A kingdom bought is a kingdom sold.
A crown borrowed is a crown broken."
Lee Sung woke with a start, the taste of ash in his mouth.
Outside his chamber window, thunder rolled over Solspire like the growl of some ancient, sleeping beast.
He rose, went to the balcony, and looked out over his fragile kingdom.
The League's banners fluttered among Solspire's towers.
Grain stores and weapon crates lined the docks.
Shipwrights' hammers rang like bells in the harbor.
Solspire lived.
But somewhere in the shadows, the price was already being written in blood.
And Lee Sung, for all his cunning, knew the gods of this new world would accept nothing less than everything he had to give.