The Coup Begins

The guild hall had never been this silent.

Felix leaned against one of the towering marble pillars, his arms crossed, watching the room with the detached calm of a predator before a hunt. The usual hum of conversation, the clatter of weapons, the bark of orders—all of it was absent. In its place hung a thick, suffocating tension that weighed down on everyone present.

Even the air felt different, charged with something electric, as though the very walls of Ironstride were holding their breath. Felix's crimson eyes flicked to Victoria, standing at the head of the room. She hadn't spoken yet, but the way she held herself—spine straight, chin high, her spectral blades circling her like restless wolves—commanded attention.

She looked every bit the king she saw herself as.