Chapter 155: NEXT PHASE BEGINS II
The grand hall thrummed with a restless energy, every noble and powerhouse riveted by Aaron’s voice. Their faces glowed with raw excitement, eyes wide, pulses quickening at the rare promise of world domination. Aaron’s presence dominated, a storm contained in human form, his every word a spark that set their ambitions ablaze. They leaned forward, hanging on his words, savoring the weight of his vision.
"From here on out, we conquer worlds," Aaron declared, voice cutting sharp through the hall’s charged silence. He sat on his throne, a massive slab of obsidian etched with silver runes that pulsed with a faint, eerie glow, like stars trapped in stone. "No armies. No swarms of soldiers. I want elites. Lone warriors who shatter worlds to their knees. House Caelvorn runs point with me, coordinating every move. Only the strongest make the cut. Your job’s dead simple. Hit the world, crush it, break its people. Prep it for me to devour, for me to turn them." His words landed like hammer blows, each one heavy with the promise of power, his calm exterior masking a fire that burned for dominion. The nobles stirred, their breaths shallow, minds racing with the glory of what lay ahead.
"Start prepping now," Aaron said, rising slow, his black cloak swirling like liquid shadow around him. The throne’s runes dimmed as he stepped away, as if the stone itself bowed to his will, the air humming with faint arcane energy. "I pick who goes tomorrow." His orders were final, his thoughts already shifting to Alice, to the heavy truth of her father’s fate. He’d killed Jay, the Frost Master, and now he had to face her. No dodging it. The council hung on his words a moment longer, then stirred, ready to scatter and prepare.
"Pardon, my Lord," Leonardo broke in, his voice sharp with excitement, eyes blazing like a forge. He stepped forward, robes brushing the stone floor, a craftsman’s pride radiating from him. "We got a breakthrough in engineering. Could change the game for this conquest."
Aaron paused, one brow lifting, interest sparking in his dark eyes. "What you got?" he asked, voice low, a edge of curiosity cutting through.
"Portable spaceship," Leonardo said, chest puffing out, hands gesturing as if shaping the idea in the air. "Built for two, max. All about speed, nothing else. Stripped down since we got the sanctuary—rift back from anywhere, no hassle." His voice carried a craftsman’s fervor, each word polished with pride.
He went on, eager. "Gives conquerors top speed, comfort for long hauls through the void. Sleek as hell, woven with camouflage tech to melt into the stars. Won’t be spotted in the black of night." The hall buzzed softly, nobles exchanging glances, impressed by the ingenuity. The idea of sleek, hidden ships slicing through space stirred their blood, a tool fit for Aaron’s elite.
Aaron’s lips twitched, a faint smirk forming. "How many you made? Easy to run?" he asked, voice sharp, cutting through the murmurs like a blade.
"Control’s so simple a kid could learn it in hours," Leonardo replied, confidence unshaken. "Built fifty so far, each one ready to go." His hands clasped together, a spark of triumph in his eyes, knowing his house had delivered.
"Perfect. Enough," Aaron said, nodding once, his approval clear as day. Leonardo’s work proved him a true arch duke, his house’s craft a cornerstone for the empire’s plans. The air lightened, the promise of conquest now backed by tools to make it real, the nobles’ excitement palpable as they envisioned worlds falling under their boots.
Aaron lingered after, the hall alive with voices. He spoke with nobles, their words a tangle of strategy, ambition, and eager planning. Torches flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls, the air thick with the scent of wax and determination. Hours passed, plans solidifying, alliances tightening under Aaron’s watchful eye. Finally, he called it, ending the council. The nobles dispersed, their steps echoing as they left to prepare, the hall falling quiet save for the crackle of dying flames.
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Aaron led Alice through the castle’s winding halls, their steps soft on the polished stone floors, the air cool and laced with the faint scent of ancient wood and candle wax. The corridors stretched long, lined with tapestries depicting battles of old, their colors muted but vivid in the dim light of enchanted sconces. They walked close, shoulders brushing, her presence a quiet anchor in the storm of his empire. Her laughter, soft and fleeting, warmed the moment, but the truth about her father sat heavy in his chest, a blade he couldn’t avoid. He’d killed Jay, and now he had to tell her. No hiding, no cowering. Truth was the only way.
"Alice..." Aaron started, voice low, breaking the warmth like a crack in ice. "Your father picked the red ribbon." He didn’t soften it. Truth cut cleaner, even if it bled. Hiding it would only fester, make the wound deeper.
Alice froze, her face a mask, a forced smile flickering like a dying flame. "I see," she said, voice barely a whisper, trembling on the edge of breaking. "Guess my advice didn’t reach him." The smile cracked, pain seeping through, her eyes glistening with unshed tears in the soft light, reflecting the sconces’ glow.
"Sorry," Aaron said, voice steady but not cold, his gaze holding hers. "Couldn’t let him walk. Bias would crack the empire. It’s a home for immortals, needs to stay solid. Showing him mercy? History wouldn’t let that slide." He owed her the raw truth, no matter how it stung, his words heavy with the weight of his choice.
"It’s fine," Alice said, voice soft, barely holding together as she fought back tears. "I get it. Really. But he was my father." Her words broke, a quiet sob slipping out, and Aaron pulled her close, arms wrapping tight around her. She sank into his chest, her warmth pressing against him, her pain raw and open in the quiet hall.
He stayed silent, letting her cry, her tears soaking the fabric of his tunic. The castle’s stillness wrapped around them, the only sound her soft, shuddering sobs. He stood like stone, unmoving, giving her space to grieve, his own thoughts heavy with the cost of his actions. Her father’s betrayal had forced his hand, but the fallout cut deeper than he’d expected.