The air in the great chamber trembled with the soft hum of candlelight. Wax dripped in slow amber rivers down tall holders, pooling like molten suns upon the oak table that stood at the center of the room.

Arina sat at one end, arms folded across her chest, her slayer's cloak still muddy from the mission. Drops fell from the edge of it, marking the floor with the rhythm of time itself. Her blade rested beside her, silent but restless, gleaming faintly in the flickering light.

Aiden stood at the head of the table. The others—the Countess with her green hair gleaming like an emerald serpent in the light, the elven mother, the quiet child, and Amber—watched him as though awaiting the first move of a god.

"So," Arina said at last, her voice a tempered steel. "You've spoken of vision, of uniting crown, church, and guild. But tell me—how do you intend to forge such a thing? Even the dreams of kings rot when gold runs thin."

Her tone carried no mockery, only the sharp curiosity of a warrior who had lived too long on the edge of impossible odds.

Aiden's lips curved. The air thickened as he reached beneath his cloak. The faint jingle of metal sounded like the whisper of destiny.

He tossed a pouch onto the table.

It landed with a weight that made the candles flicker. The leather split, and from within, gold spilled forth—not just any gold, but coins so bright, so pure, that they seemed to cast their own light.

The sound filled the chamber—chink, chink, chink—until silence fell again.

Not one person breathed.

Arina leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "That's not.... common mint."

The Countess was the first to truly see. Her pupils widened in horror and awe. She rose slightly from her seat, her voice trembling despite herself. "Those… those are imperial premiums."

She stepped closer, reaching out as if to touch one—but stopped, knowing better than to mar such sanctity.

The gold bore the seal of the emperor himself—a dragon crowned in flame. Each coin was a covenant of power, the kind reserved for the exchange of realms, not mere men.

Only the highest nobles of the empire ever glimpsed them. To possess one without decree was death. To hold a pouch of them… was treason wrapped in brilliance.

Aiden's voice broke the stunned silence. "Gold moves the world, Countess. But this—" He gestured to the coins, their glow painting his fingers with light. "—this is what moves the gods."

The Countess's throat tightened. Memory struck her like a blade: her husband's trial, his disgrace, the ruined sigil of Wessex burned from the city walls. She had believed it corruption, folly, the inevitable decay of her lineage. But now—

"You," she whispered, the realization dawning like dawn's cruel light. "It was you. You framed them."

Aiden did not flinch. "and, I liberated you."

Her breath hitched. "You destroyed my house."

"I remade it," he said evenly. "You wear your husband's crimes like a cloak, but beneath it stands you—and your son, untouched, elevated. You live in comfort because I chose to move the pieces. Do not mistake ruin for mercy denied."

The Countess faltered, torn between fury and awe. Her hand trembled as she pressed it to the table's surface, grounding herself in the grain of the wood.

She could not deny it. Every accusation she'd buried in her heart now inverted itself into gratitude poisoned by guilt.

Arina broke the silence with a low chuckle. "So this is how your new world begins—on a foundation of imperial crowns."

"Not imperial," Aiden said softly. "mine. Gold is the blood of empire, and I've only learned how to make it bleed."

The slayer tilted her head, considering him. Her silver hair caught the firelight, shimmering like tempered steel. "And you expect me to abandon my guild, my oath, for this vision of yours?"

"Yes," Aiden said simply.

His certainty hit her harder than any argument could have.

Arina leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "You make it sound easy."

"It won't be," he said. "But you're not made for easy things."

Her lips curved, but her eyes did not soften. "You think flattery will unchain me?"

"I think truth already has...snd you already know the truth about your guild.."

Silence followed—a silence filled with the unspoken weight of understanding.

Arina looked at the gold again. Not with greed, but with calculation. She'd seen empires rise and burn on promises thinner than paper. But this man—this impossible, dangerous man—spoke as though he'd already seen the ending and come back to write it better.

"How deep does your gold run, Aiden?" she asked finally.

"with this much gold, let's say, Deeper than time," he said, and she almost believed him.

The Countess found her voice again. "Even with such wealth, this… endeavor will require more than coins. The Church will not bend, and the nobles will not kneel."

Aiden's gaze turned toward Amber. "Then they'll be taught to pray....differently."

Amber stiffened, her green eyes catching the glow of gold as though weighing its reflection against her faith. She was the Church's nun, yes—but she was also his, Aiden, her every flesh, blood and soul belonged to him—and yet her silence was telling.

He reached across the table, sliding half the coins toward her. The sound of them scraping across the wood was almost sacramental.

"The corruption of the Church begins with its own altar," Aiden said. "Half of this will buy its silence. The other half will buy its soul."

Amber looked down at the coins, her fingers trembling above them. "You'd ask me to defile what little sanctity remains?"

"I'd ask you to rebuild it, Amber" he said. "In your image. Not theirs..cause I see purity in your hands, than the current pope, who is trying to get under the saintess's skirt..."

Something flickered behind her eyes—fear, perhaps, or longing.

She thought of the cathedral's cold marble halls, of priests fat on tithes, of orphans turned away from the gates for lack of coin.

She thought of the sermons she'd given about purity, knowing all the while the rot beneath the robes.

And for one heartbeat, she thought of Aiden—not as the serpent in the garden, but as the flame that could burn the weeds away.

Her lips parted. "And if I fail?"

Aiden's voice softened. "Then you'll have done what none before dared—you'll have tried...and believe me when I gurrenty your safety."

Amber lowered her gaze. One by one, her fingers closed over the coins.

The Countess exhaled slowly. "You'll make her an enemy of her own sanctuary."

"She already was, when we first met before the church.." Aiden murmured.

Amber stay silent, as she blushed, her ears and cheeks trolling red.

The elf mother, silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice carried that otherworldly timbre, as though it echoed through leaves and starlight. "You play with forces beyond mortal reach.

Gold, faith, and blood—these are rivers that do not merge without flooding...Flooding of the Dungeon...where you gather your resources."

Aiden turned to her. There was silence for a while, he couldn't say, he had made a deal, a deal with her destroyer, the one who demolished and murdered all her people and family.

"Every river floods before it carves a valley. You of all people should understand that, Ilyana, you lived longer than any of us here, you were a hasa of Nopieum, a role given to the smartest of your kind. So I ask you... ."

Her gaze lingered on him, unreadable. "....now I understand why you kept me safe, keumy daughter safe, cause I had use?"

For a moment, his composure fractured—just slightly, just enough for the shadow behind his eyes to flicker. "ilyana, this is no longer the elven world, this is humanity. You either use, or be used..."

The room held its breath.

It was Arina who broke it, rising slowly, the motion deliberate, commanding. "Very well," she said. "You want a new guild. One that bridges the noble, the devout, and the damned."

She stepped closer to him, until her breath brushed his cheek. "Then you'll have to earn your first follower."

Aiden didn't move. "And how would you have me do that?"

"Prove that your gold isn't your god."

He smiled faintly. "Gold is only the sword. Vision is the hand that wields it...."

For the first time, Arina smiled too—a dangerous, knowing thing. "Then may your hand never tremble."

She extended hers. Aiden took it.

The clasp was brief, electric—like lightning seeking ground.

Around them, the others watched the unspoken covenant being born. The beginning of something vast, treacherous, and necessary.

A guild not of adventurers, nor assassins, nor saints—but of ambition itself.

The Countess turned away, hiding her trembling. Amber bowed her head in silent prayer, though for whom she prayed, not even she knew. The elf mother watched, the words of Aiden drumming inside her.

And Aiden stood, his silhouette cut against the stained glass, gold and shadow entwined.

The meeting bled into the night. They spoke of logistics, of safehouses, of falsified ledgers and trade routes disguised as missionary work.

Aiden assigned the Countess her role—property acquisition through noble channels, her son Aethal the paper heir. She obeyed, though each command carved deeper into her conscience.

He did not choose Catherine or Sabrina, though their names lingered in his mind like half-healed wounds. Not yet. Their loyalty still flickered uncertain, feelings and emotions clouded their mind only because of his union with Flora.

Timing was the key to empire, and he was nothing if not patient.

As for Arina, she would serve as the face—the sword arm of their cause. Her defection from the Slayer Guild would send ripples across the realm. A symbol of power reborn.

And Amber… Amber would begin the rot from within the Church's gilded heart. And he knew she would do it, and she would do it with grace.

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