198. Ravenna’s Faction

“From Cousin, Her Highness Ravenna Solarius,” Aria said calmly. “Word has reached even here: she not only defeated Imperial forces at Kim Island, but Prince Nolan himself is dead. She is… seems to be gaining power.”Kevin’s head snapped up, shock cutting through his weariness. “What? Nolan is dead?” His voice carried disbelief as he stood abruptly, nearly scattering papers from the desk.

“Yes,” Aria confirmed, her eyes sharp as she crossed to his desk. She unfurled a folded report and placed it before him. “Edward Jola started a war for his so-called honor when Her Highness renamed the island from Jola to Kim. Nolan chose to back him. The Imperial Navy sanctioned two whole battalions to Edward Jola’s cause.”

Kevin scanned the report quickly, his lips tightening. “Two battalions… and she still won?” The disbelief in his tone was mixed with something else, disbelief and admiration.

“That is exactly why I believe we should reach out to her,” Aria pressed, her voice brimming with conviction.

Kevin frowned, lowering the parchment. “Why bother someone on the opposite end of the Empire? At best, she can only help us politically right now. How would that solve our shortages?”

On the surface, his argument was reasonable. The Morgen family had always been one of the few to remain loyal to Ravenna even after her disgrace and exile. He had even aided her once, during the magical beast attack. That debt might still weigh on her conscience. But Kevin could not yet see what his daughter saw.

Aria, however, leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Father, think it through. If she was able to secure victory against two Imperial battalions, then she must have backing. And not just any backing, the Central Herptian Church from the Western Continent. It’s the only explanation.”

Kevin paused, memories flickering across his mind. He remembered clearly the day he had advised her to seek ties with the Herptian Church back in the capital. His jaw tightened as he muttered, “Yes… that would explain it. Only the Central Church could supply enough flowers to turn a remote island into a fortress.”

“Exactly.” Aria tapped the edge of the report meaningfully. “And if that’s true, then she has access to flower supplies at prices and quality the free cities could never match. Most of the Empire’s flowers for magic are shipped through the free cities, and with unrest there, prices are climbing higher every week. But Ravenna? She has direct Church channels. No middlemen. No inflated costs.”

Kevin’s eyes narrowed as the pieces fell into place. “That’s how she regained her strength so quickly. While the rest of us pay three times the price, she is stockpiling resources at half the cost.” He exhaled heavily, rubbing his chin. “No wonder the island is advancing so fast.”

“And you know what that means,” Aria continued, her voice taking on a razor edge. “The nobles who abandoned her during her exile, the same cowards who swore loyalty to her once, will come crawling back now. They’ll want a share of her favor before it’s too late.”

Kevin let out a low, grim chuckle. “Hah. Like rats to spilled grain.” He leaned forward, determination burning in his tired eyes. “If those fair-weather fools are coming back, then we will not let them steal the initiative. Aria, draft a letter to your cousin. Ask her for aid in securing flower supplies directly. I will gather every high-ranking noble I can in the Royal Palace of Estra. Together, we’ll form a new Ravenna faction before anyone else dares to move.”

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Aria smiled, her expression filled with both pride and satisfaction. “Yes, Father. If we lay the foundations for her faction before she even begins rebuilding it herself, she will owe us more than a debt, she will owe us her trust.”

She dipped her quill into ink, the first lines of the letter already taking shape in her mind. “Ravenna will appreciate this. A ready-made faction, rebuilt and loyal, placed at her disposal before she even asks for it. It will be her strongest weapon in the mainland she can ask for.”

Kevin leaned back, his exhaustion replaced by something far more dangerous: hope for his dukedom. “Good. Let the Empire see… Ravenna Solarius is no longer a fallen star. She is rising, and the Morgen Dukedom will rise with her.”

Sun Palace, Capital City, Ancorna Empire

The hidden courtyard of the Sun Palace was a sanctuary removed from the tides of time itself, locked in a perpetual spring by ancient wards of shimmering magic. Violet roses, their petals as soft and dark as crushed velvet, climbed the marble arches with regal defiance. Their perfume mingled with the citrus-sweet fragrance of golden lotuses drifting lazily across the still ornamental ponds. Silver-leafed vines coiled down carved pillars, each strand glittering faintly as if kissed by falling starlight.

At the courtyard’s heart stood a fountain depicting the Goddess Solious in mid-benediction, water spilling endlessly from her stone palms in liquid arcs of sunlight. The pool below reflected not only her image but the shimmering bodies of gem-scaled, their movements tracing languid sigils upon the surface.

Upon the edge of that pool sat Emperor Andrew, his embroidered robes spilling outward like a tide of liquid midnight. The stillness of the place, its beauty, its eternal serenity, was meant to invite peace. Yet the man who sat there was anything but at peace. His usual sharp-eyed composure, the piercing intelligence that had kept the Empire steady for decades, was nowhere in sight. Instead, his face bore the grief of a father.

A sealed parchment rested in his hands, its words already burned into his mind. His lips moved, breathless, as if the paper itself had struck him. “So… he died. On a battlefield.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Frank Eldric said quietly, his voice subdued as he bowed deeply. The seasoned minister, who had delivered both tidings of victories and defeats through the years, seemed almost weighed down by the sorrow of this one. He turned, ready to take his leave and give his Emperor space.

But Andrew’s voice stopped him. “Frank.”

The man froze mid-step and bowed once again, concern threading his words. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

The Emperor’s fingers clenched around the parchment. For a heartbeat, he seemed ready to speak with the steel of a ruler, but the words came softer, rawer. “Arrange a grand funeral. He may have died in a foolish battle of his making… but he was still loved. Dahlia and I… we loved him dearly.”

Frank inclined his head solemnly. “I will see to it, Your Majesty.” His voice lingered like a respectful echo before he withdrew from the courtyard, leaving Andrew alone in the blooming silence.

The Emperor tilted his head back, staring past the glass dome at the blazing sun beyond. His voice, stripped of imperial weight, rose in a near whisper. “Is this truly the right path?” His words trembled faintly. “Tell me, am I… losing my faith?”

He stood, his robes whispering against the marble, and faced the sun directly. Closing his eyes, he bowed low, lowering himself as though he were no emperor but only a frail man. His voice was a plea, carried on the still air.

“Then, at least… grant him peace. Let him find a better life in the next turn of the wheel, far from the choking games of politics, far from betrayal and blood.”

His body bent fully now, forehead almost touching the polished stone as his shadow fell long across the glowing pool. “This is but the simple request of one insignificant subject of yours, O Goddess. Please… let him be free.”