Lucian Crow was having a spectacularly shitty day.

  The acrid stench of excrement clung to his robes despite his best cleaning efforts. Two separate projectiles had found their mark as he walked through Solkharos's markets—actual beast-kin shit hurled by his own people while they chanted support for that backwater Terran. The crowd's jeers still echoed in his skull, each word another layer of humiliation he couldn't scrub away.

  His Legionnaires had flanked him through the entire ordeal, their trained auras locked on actual threats. Throwing filth barely registered on their danger scale, which meant the projectiles struck true while dozens of voices rose in unified mockery. The chanting hadn't stopped until he reached the palace gates.

  It was supposed to be simple. Lucian had perfected the strategy over a dozen tournaments. Find the fan-favorite, offer to buy their special weapon or item for an absurd sum, and pay without blinking. Just money. The real payoff came later—once they crashed out of the tournament and lost the crowd's love, they'd come crawling to the Empire to collect. That meant service. That meant loyalty. That meant another powerful asset added to his collection.

  Some of his best Legionnaires had been recruited exactly this way. It was elegant—his influence expanded, his army grew stronger, and the recruit got to live in luxury at the Empire's heart. Everyone won.

  But Ben fucking Crawford had refused.

  Worse than refusing, he'd made Lucian look like a fool in front of millions. The sting of that public rejection burned hotter than any physical wound. He hadn't realized the true scope of the damage until he returned to Solkharos and discovered people hated him.

  Not just political rivals or malcontents. Everyone.

  Merchants who used to grovel for his business now offered him icy stares. Nobles who once bent the knee treated him like furniture. Walking through his own city felt like being a stranger in a foreign kingdom where nobody wanted him.

  Even the Rune Lords in the nearby Worldspire had sent a letter—unanimously signed—offering condolences to his father for Lucian's "fall from grace." The formal parchment had felt worse than a slap.

  Using a wash-kit from his mana sanctum, Lucian disintegrated the last traces of filth from his skin. The Imperial Palace loomed ahead, massive and bleached white under the desert sun. Not a tower—Amon didn't need some spirit to help him bend reality. His father managed that perfectly well on his own.

  The enormous pyramid glittered with thick gold set into sandstone brick everywhere you looked. Purely vulgar display of wealth that Lucian marvelled at daily. One day soon, he'd own wealth that would make the Rune Lords jealous. He thought about it frequently.

  The massive doors swung open without a sound. Lucian stepped inside, uncertainty gnawing at his gut. Why had he been summoned?

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  At least his father hadn't abandoned him yet. Despite the Rune Lords' letter and the public humiliation, resources still flowed to support Lucian's claim. He was the favorite son. That had to count for something.

  His Legionnaires remained outside—his father's power more than sufficient protection within these walls.

  Even here, walking familiar corridors, something felt wrong. Palace staff used to avert their eyes, speak only when spoken to, and melt into the background. Now they watched him with barely concealed contempt. Whispered conversations died just as he came within earshot, leaving only a loaded silence.

  "Prince Lucian."

  The voice came from directly behind him. Lucian whirled around, heart hammering against his ribs. He wasn't great with his aura, but he could usually sense when someone got this close. That he hadn't picked up anything made his skin crawl.

  Selena Carmintree stood there, her red metallic skin gleaming in the palace's bright illumination. She looked perfectly at ease, which only deepened his unease.

  "What do you want, ?" He practically spat out the title. This was the Empire, not some backwater island chain. An Archon was just a figurehead here—barely worth acknowledging.

  "Désolée, perhaps word had not reached you yet." Selena's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "It was I who summoned you on your father's behalf. You have a very important meeting in a few weeks."

  "What business does an Archon have summoning a Prince?" Lucian scoffed, trying to reassert some control.

  "Plenty, when one is facilitating an auction of Heaven's Tears, it seems."

  Lucian's mouth fell open. Words died in his throat. Aurum was one of his father's most prized possessions—the last time Amon had auctioned any was right before ascending to Titan of Law. That crystallized divinity wasn't something you just handed out.

  "I don't understand." His carefully cultivated demeanor cracked. "Has something happened?"

  "Indeed it has, Lucian."

  The name hit him hard—no title, no deference, just his name spoken with quiet satisfaction. He realized where this was going even before she continued.

  "You are to take the Aurum to Sylvarus and offer it to your new brother." Selena's words were precise, deliberate. Each one landing with surgical accuracy. "Should he find the means to secure it, he will become the new first heir to the North Shores."

  "There's no way my father commanded this." Desperation crept into his voice, and he couldn't stop it. "Ben Crawford did nothing but a parlor trick. What reason does he offer something like this to a disgusting Terran? Diana Aldertree doesn't hold that much influence here."

  "That disgusting Terran—" Selena's grin turned wicked, predatory. "—just ended the Cold War with the Sentarians. They have pledged to the Monster Hunters, Lucian. An actual Oath. And you and I both know those are at least good at killing monsters."

  Blood drained from Lucian's face. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. The implications crashed over him.

  "That..." His legs felt unsteady. "That fucking asshole is backed by the Sage of Joy?"

  "They call him Revered One," Selena said, clearly savoring every word now. "He nearly obliterated a Class-B Void Aberration on his own. As a Seeker, Lucian. Do you know the last recorded time a Seeker fought a Class-B anything and actually won? It was nearly a thousand years ago."

  Lucian whispered the answer. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to give voice to the comparison that made his achievements look pathetic.

  "What was that, Lucian? I didn't quite hear you."

  "G—Gaius Valerian." The name caught in his throat. "It was Gaius fucking Valerian, Selena. Everyone knows that. You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

  "Je tiendrai la chandelle, Lucian." Her satisfaction was almost palpable. "I am coming with you to Sylvarus, and I am bringing many snacks to enjoy while I watch. This is once-in-a-lifetime satisfaction, and I didn't even have to do anything." She paused, letting the next words sink in with deliberate weight. "I stand behind Ben Crawford. He is our prince."