"I've just accumulated significant power through clan absorption. I've proposed aggressive action against the Empire. I've received literal breeding propositions from three major matriarchs. Any of those situations creates enemies or rivals who'd want intelligence about my actual combat capabilities."

He climbed back into the carriage, gesturing for Sigora to join him.

"Regardless of who sent them, the message is clear. Someone wants me dead or wants to test if I can be killed. And they're willing to use sophisticated resources to make that attempt."

Kaleth lifted off again, more cautiously this time, gaining altitude while remaining alert for additional threats.

As they flew, Jorghan stared out at the desert passing below, his mind cataloging suspects and motives.

The attack had been well-planned, well-executed, and would have succeeded against most targets. The creatures had possessed capabilities that suggested significant resources backing their creation.

That narrowed the suspect list.

Only major clans or the Empire itself could afford to develop and deploy such weapons. And whoever had done so now knew that Jorghan could defeat them, had seen his blood manipulation capabilities in action, and had gathered intelligence even in failure.

"We need to accelerate the timeline," Jorghan said suddenly.

"Get to Brownhill Dunes quicker."

As the Swarafa banked toward their new heading, Jorghan settled back into his seat and closed his eyes, reviewing the attack in his mind, analyzing every detail, and looking for clues about who might have sent those creatures.

The battle for Sol'vur's survival had just escalated beyond political maneuvering into active attempts on his life.

And somewhere in the desert or in the Council chambers or in the Empire's halls of power, people were plotting to kill him.

The game had become decidedly more dangerous.

But Jorghan had survived assassination attempts before.

And he'd make certain whoever sent those creatures regretted making him a target.

***

The private medical facility of House Wynifreed was silent except for the soft hum of monitoring equipment and the occasional footsteps of nurses checking on patients.

Morning sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the sterile white walls and advanced medical technology that represented the Empire's best healing capabilities.

Caden sat in a wheelchair positioned near one of those windows, staring down at his body with an expression that cycled between disbelief and cold fury.

His right leg ended just above where his knee should have been. The limb simply wasn't there anymore. The Venomous Detri and the damage Jorghan had inflicted had destroyed tissue so completely that even advanced regeneration magic couldn't rebuild it. The stump was wrapped in clean bandages, the wound healed as much as it could be, but the leg itself was gone forever.

His torso was bare except for more bandages wrapping around his ribs. Beneath those bandages, a massive scar ran from his left shoulder down to his right hip. The scar tissue was raised, discolored, a permanent reminder of how close he'd come to being cut completely in half during that battle in the desert.

The doctors said he was lucky to be alive. That his enhanced physiology and immediate medical intervention were the only reasons he hadn't died on the journey back to the capital. That most people wouldn't have survived the injuries he'd sustained.

Caden didn't feel lucky.

He felt broken, incomplete, and humiliated.

Dr. Revin sat across from him, the middle-aged man with graying hair and the patient expression of someone who'd delivered bad news to soldiers many times before.

"The prosthetic we're designing will be state of the art," he was saying, his voice gentle but matter-of-fact.

"Neural interface technology that will let you control it almost as naturally as your original leg. You'll regain most mobility, probably eighty to ninety percent functionality, once you complete physical therapy."

Caden's eyes didn't move from the empty space where his leg should have been.

"We're also working on treatments for the scar tissue," Dr. Revin continued.

"It won't disappear completely, but we can reduce the visibility and improve flexibility in that area. You'll need to be careful with extreme movements for a while, but eventually you should regain full range of motion in your torso."

Still, Caden said nothing.

Yvonne stood near the door, her military uniform pressed and perfect as always, but her expression showed concern she didn't bother hiding.

She'd served under Hawkin for fifteen years, had watched Caden and Constance grow up, and had trained them personally in combat techniques. Seeing Caden like this, broken and silent, clearly affected her deeply.

"Young master, Caden," she said quietly.

"The doctors are saying you'll recover most function. That's better than we had any right to hope for given how bad things were when you came back."

Caden's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

Dr. Revin exchanged a glance with Yvonne, then tried again.

"I know this is difficult to process. Losing a limb is traumatic, both physically and psychologically. We have counselors who specialize in helping soldiers adjust to—"

"I don't need counselors," Caden said suddenly, his voice flat and cold.

"I need my leg back. Can you do that?"

Dr. Revin's expression became sympathetic.

"I'm sorry. The damage was too extensive. Regeneration magic can heal wounds, but it can't rebuild entire limbs from nothing. The biological foundation was destroyed by the drug you took. There's nothing left for the magic to work with."

"Then we're done here," Caden said, still not looking at anyone.

"Leave."

"Young master, you need to understand the rehabilitation process—"

"I said leave."

This time, Caden's voice carried an edge that made Dr. Revin stop talking.

The doctor stood slowly, gathering his charts.

"I'll come back this afternoon to discuss prosthetic options. Please think about what I've said."

He departed, leaving just Caden and Yvonne in the medical ward.

Yvonne moved closer, her footsteps careful, approaching like someone might approach a wounded animal.

"Young master, can you please talk to me? Tell me what you're thinking."

Caden's hands gripped the wheelchair's armrests so hard his knuckles went white.

"I'm thinking about him."

"Jorghan," Yvonne said.

Not a question.

"Jorghan Sol'vur," Caden confirmed, his voice carrying hatred so pure it was almost tangible. "The half-blood mongrel who did this to me. Who took my leg, scarred me, and left me broken while he walked away without consequences?"

"He nearly died from that battle too," Yvonne pointed out carefully.

"The reports said he collapsed from essence depletion and slept for two weeks recovering. He paid a price for what he did."

"Not enough."

Caden's eyes finally moved, fixing on Yvonne with intensity that made her take an involuntary step back.

"Not nearly enough. He should be dead. He should be the one missing limbs, sitting in a wheelchair, staring at what he's lost."

"Young master—"

"I'm going to kill him," Caden interrupted, his voice still flat but carrying absolute certainty.

"I don't care how long it takes. I don't care what it costs. I don't care if I have to learn to fight with one leg or crawl across the desert on my hands. I'm going to find Jorghan Sol'vur, and I'm going to make him pay for this."

Yvonne's expression became pained.

"That's grief and anger talking. You're not thinking clearly right now."

"I've never thought more clearly in my life," Caden replied.

"Every moment I sit here, every time I look down and see my leg missing, I'm thinking about how I'm going to kill him. I'm planning it.

Making it perfect so when the opportunity comes, I won't fail again."

The medical ward door opened before Yvonne could respond.

Yaelena Wynifreed entered first, moving with the controlled grace of a woman barely holding herself together. She was dressed simply, with none of her usual military formality, just comfortable clothing that suggested she'd been spending her days at her son's bedside rather than attending to duties.

Her face showed the strain of the past weeks. Dark circles under her eyes, lines of worry that hadn't been there before, and a tension in her jaw that spoke of too many sleepless nights and too much fear.

Behind her came Constance, also dressed casually, her hair pulled back in a simple style. She looked better than Caden, her own injuries having healed more completely, but she moved carefully, still feeling the effects of broken ribs and internal damage.

Yaelena's eyes went immediately to her son, and her expression crumbled slightly when she saw him staring at his missing leg with that cold, empty fury.

"Caden," she said softly, moving toward him.

"Dr. Revin said you were awake. That you're healing well, considering everything."

"Healing," Caden repeated, still not looking away from where his leg should have been.

"Is that what we're calling this?"

Yaelena knelt beside his wheelchair, her hands reaching for his but stopping short when she saw how tightly he was gripping the armrests.

"I know this is hard. I know you're angry and hurt, and nothing I say will make that better right now. But you're alive, sweetheart.

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