Garrick Steelborn had served under Lord Blackwell since the beginning.

  He had been among the first recruits, one of the men who had survived the chaos of the early days when Lords were still learning how to rule and soldiers were little more than desperate survivors with weapons.

  Ironveil had been built with discipline, steel, and blood.

  It was not the strongest domain.

  It was not the richest.

  But it had been stable.

  Until now.

  ---

  Garrick sat in the barracks, his helmet resting on the table before him. The room was quiet, save for the occasional sound of boots on the wooden floor or the distant clang of weapons being maintained.

  He was thinking.

  Thinking about how things had changed.

  It had started with Cedric.

  A fellow soldier. A friend.

  Cedric had always been sharp, but something had changed in him recently.

  At first, Garrick had thought it was the pressure of the war.

  The looming threat of Selene’s forces, the knowledge that Ironveil had become a target.

  But now, he wasn’t so sure.

  Because Cedric had begun speaking in whispers.

  And Garrick was starting to listen.

  ---

  “Do you ever wonder if Blackwell deserves to rule?”

  That was what Cedric had asked him two nights ago.

  At first, Garrick had scoffed.

  Blackwell was a strong Lord. A careful one.

  He had secured an Enchanter’s Hall, something most Lords could only dream of.

  His soldiers had enchanted weapons, armor that could turn aside magic, blades that could carve through the unnatural.

  They were stronger than the others.

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  But strength wasn’t enough anymore.

  Not with what was coming.

  ---

  Cedric sat across from him now, his voice low and deliberate.

  “Look around, Garrick,” he murmured. “You see the way things are shifting. The way Blackwell’s men are starting to question.”

  Garrick exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “It’s just nerves,” he muttered. “We all know the war is coming.”

  Cedric smiled slightly.

  “But do they know who they’re fighting for?”

  Garrick frowned. “What are you getting at?”

  Cedric leaned forward.

  “We have enchanted weapons, but we didn’t earn them.”

  “We didn’t forge them.”

  “We took them.”

  Garrick tensed.

  He didn’t like to think about it.

  Ironveil had conquered an already weakened native Lord to gain the Enchanter’s Hall.

  They had killed men who had built it with their own hands.

  Cedric’s voice was sharp.

  “And do you think the System is going to let that stand?”

  Garrick hesitated.

  ---

  The Trial of Kings had been announced.

  The Veil was weakening.

  If what Cedric was saying was true—if the System was trying to correct imbalances—then what did that mean for Ironveil?

  They were not a kingdom built from strength.

  They were a kingdom that had stolen power and built itself upon it.

  And now, that foundation was cracking.

  Cedric pressed forward.

  “You’ve seen it, Garrick,” he said, voice hushed. “The System is changing things. Loyalty is weakening across the continent.”

  Garrick clenched his jaw.

  That part was true.

  Something was happening to the Lords.

  Soldiers were growing restless.

  Even those who had served without question were starting to hesitate.

  Cedric’s voice dropped even lower.

  “Blackwell doesn’t know how to lead a kingdom. He knows how to hold power, but not how to keep it.”

  He smiled slightly.

  “But you do.”

  Garrick’s breath hitched.

  “What?”

  Cedric’s expression was carefully measured.

  “You have the respect of the men,” he murmured. “More than Blackwell ever did.”

  Garrick shook his head.

  “This is treason.

  Cedric’s smile didn’t fade.

  “Treason against what?”

  Garrick opened his mouth. Closed it.

  Cedric leaned forward.

  “We don’t have to lose, Garrick,” he whispered. “But if we keep following Blackwell, we will.”

  Garrick hesitated.

  And that hesitation was all Cedric needed.

  ---

  They began their work that night.

  Not by rallying men openly.

  Not by making grand speeches or stirring rebellion.

  By doing what Cedric did best.

  By planting doubt.

  They spoke carefully, testing the waters.

  First with a few trusted men.

  Then with a few more.

  They didn’t say Blackwell was weak.

  They didn’t say they should overthrow him.

  They only asked questions.

  And questions were enough.

  Because soldiers who began to question were no longer soldiers who followed orders.

  They became men looking for a leader.

  And Garrick, slowly, was becoming that leader.

  ---

  By the third night, they had over two dozen men listening.

  Not committing.

  Not declaring rebellion.

  But listening.

  And that was all they needed.

  Because loyalty, once fractured, was not so easily restored.

  Garrick still felt uneasy.

  Part of him whispered that this was wrong.

  That Blackwell had brought them this far.

  That they were only strong because of his decisions.

  But another part of him whispered something else.

  A simple question.

  Had they survived because of Blackwell?

  Or had they survived in spite of him?

  And if the System was truly watching…

  Would it not remove those unworthy of rule?

  ---

  Cedric stood beside him at the edge of the barracks, watching as the men slowly dispersed.

  Garrick turned toward him.

  “Are we really doing this?”

  Cedric smiled.

  “We already have.”

  Garrick exhaled.

  He wasn’t sure if he felt relief or dread.

  But either way, there was no turning back now.

  Ironveil was already breaking.

  And soon, Blackwell would see it.