The Glitched Mage

The glamour held long after the scouts vanished beyond the valley's ridge. For hours, the kingdom lay still—hidden beneath the veil, its heartbeat muffled, its strength disguised behind the illusion of rot and ruin.

Riven didn't move from the anchor platform until night fell. Even then, it wasn't exhaustion that kept him rooted, but calculation. Quiet. Watching. Waiting.

He stood with Ember at his side, the slow thrum of the anchor pulsing beneath their boots like a second pulse.

Only once he was certain the scouts had fully retreated—and that no stray divine mana lingered in the dust—did he finally exhale.

"It's done," he murmured.

Ember glanced at him. "You mean they're gone?"

He nodded once. "They're gone. And they won't be back. Not soon. Not with what they think they saw."

A grin crept onto her face. "Then we fooled them."

"We did."

She tilted her head, eyes glinting in the fading light. "So what now?"

Riven turned from the anchor, his cloak trailing behind him as he descended the obsidian steps. "Now we move onto the next task."

He sent a pulse through the bond, calling the generals back from the perimeter. One by one, their responses flared in his mind: confirmation from Aria, her voice quiet and clipped; an immediate chirp from Krux; Damon's familiar, steady tone; and Mal, already muttering calculations about leyline draw and anchor stabilization. And Nyx—her presence already behind him as if she never left.

"We did it," she said with a relieved sigh.

"Yes," Riven replied. "Now we prepare for the Danu."

—x—

The palace war room buzzed with silent energy as the generals gathered again.

Maps were rolled across the table—no longer of terrain and enemy formations, but of internal infrastructure. Trade routes. Agricultural growth zones. Market district expansions. Everything that the Danu emissaries—and their crown prince—would see when they arrived.

"This is no longer a defensive play," Riven said, arms folded. "We're not hiding. We're presenting."

Krux leaned over the table, his golden hair matted from patrols. "Then what exactly are we presenting?"

Riven's gaze swept across the room. "Power. Stability. Potential. We don't just want the Danu Empire to take us seriously—we want them to view us as a rising power they can't afford to ignore."

Mal nodded slowly, fingers tapping against a fresh scroll of mana flow charts. "Then we show them more than blacksteel walls and hidden farms. We show them culture. Order. Ambition."

"They'll come looking for weakness," Aria said. "Test us. Measure us against Solis."

Nyx leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. "Then we give them nothing to exploit. No cracks. No chaos."

Riven walked to the edge of the table, placing a hand over the city projection. "We give them the truth. Not the ruined kind Solis expects to find—but the kind we've been building."

"And if they come with strings?" Damon asked. "If their prince smiles, but his advisors come to pull threads?"

"Then we pull first," Riven said. "But only if we must."

He looked at them now—each of them veterans of shadow, each bound to him by something deeper than title or trust.

"The glamour worked. The scouts saw only ash. Let that be our last illusion. From now on—no more hiding."

—x—

Preparations began before dawn.

Not with celebration. Not with banners or horns or the stuff that other kingdoms might unfurl in welcome. The Shadow Kingdom had no need for such theater.

Within hours of the war room's dismissal, the city awoke to the silent rhythm of change.

Builders were redirected to reinforce key corridors in the merchant district. Blackstone masons etched new runes into the pillars of the central atrium. Undead laborers scrubbed stone, replaced signage, sharpened the outer aesthetics without sacrificing strength. Living merchants were instructed—discreetly—to display the kingdom's prosperity, but not its excess. Measured success. Calculated elegance.

Mal oversaw the refiners near the harbor, ensuring the herb shipments were organized, labeled, and sealed. Even the crates themselves were examined—brands etched perfectly, lined with velvet-fiber cloth instead of rough burlap. No detail overlooked.

Krux and Aria took to the far roads again, this time not for concealment, but for control. Their Shadowguard patrols spread outward like a net—not to catch, but to ensure nothing approached without their knowing. Routes were cleared. Supply chains rehearsed. A thousand invisible threads drawn tight around the kingdom's borders.

Damon, with his ever-practical eye, worked with the quartermasters and engineers to recheck defenses. He ordered hidden ballista mechanisms tested and reloaded. Not as a show of force, but as insurance. Just in case.

And Nyx? She slipped through the city like dusk through an open window, quiet and everywhere at once. She moved from the palace corridors to the market stalls, from artisan quarters to farmlands, her voice low and measured. Every citizen she spoke to—merchant, necromancer, craftsman, farmer—was made aware of what was coming. Not through orders, but through conversation. Explanation. Warning. The Danu were arriving, and the kingdom would receive them together. No surprises. No missteps. By the time she returned to the palace, the people knew what to say, how to act, and where to be. And more importantly—they agreed. This was their home. Their kingdom. And they would show it for what it was: united, proud, and stronger than the world remembered.

Riven watched it all unfold from the palace balcony.

The city was breathing—alive and expanding, its heartbeat strong beneath the surface. This was no longer just survival. It was something more.

He turned as footsteps approached. Ember emerged from the stairwell, hair pulled back, eyes sharp.

"They're two days out," she said. "Spotted at the pass. A retinue of nine. Carriages and riders. The prince among them."

Riven nodded slowly. "No delays?"

"None," she said. "And they're not hiding, either. Gold banners. Marked armor. They want to be seen."

"Good." he murmured.

He turned from the railing, shadows flickering along the curve of his robes as he moved back towards inner palace. The sun had begun to rise beyond the far peaks, casting faint orange light across the blackstone floors.

"They'll expect ceremony," Ember said behind him. "Guards. Greetings. A show of welcome."

"They'll get one," Riven replied. "But on our terms."

—x—

The Shadow Kingdom was a city with no fanfare, but its preparations were thorough, deliberate, and utterly controlled. Every citizen had a place. Every corridor had a purpose. The city pulsed beneath its obsidian skin like a living thing, responding to its King's will even if most didn't know his face yet.

And when the sun rose on the day of the Danu delegation's arrival, the kingdom was ready.

The southern approach had been cleared of debris and reinforced with stone markers, etched in quiet elegance. A newly paved path led from the outer ridge toward the southern gate, flanked by towering blacksteel lanterns. They were unlit for now, but Riven had instructed they flare only once the Danu crest crossed the threshold to signal their welcome.

He stood on the inner wall with his generals at his side, all of them clad in matching Shadow General armor—blacksteel layered with abyssal thread, marked subtly with the sigil of the kingdom. Ember stood to his right, hood drawn low, her cloak whispering softly in the breeze. Nyx leaned casually along the stone ledge beside her, blade hidden but always near. Damon's arms were crossed, gaze steady. Aria stood with her usual stillness, sharp-eyed and silent. And Krux, ever alert, watched the southern road with quiet intensity.

Only Mal was absent, stationed near the harbor, ready to receive any late shipments or backup arrivals.

Even Riven had dressed for the occasion. Gone were his usual robes—in their place, he wore the armor of Velmorian, the original Shadow King. Matte black and forged from a metal that seemed to drink the light, the plates moved like layered smoke, as if shadows themselves obeyed its shape. Elegant runes traced every curve and edge, pulsing faintly with stored mana, whispering of ancient power and forgotten oaths. Ember had insisted on brushing and tying back half his hair, the rest left loose to catch the wind. He looked regal—lethal and composed.

"They're close," Aria said, her voice steady but low. "Three carriages, six riders. Crest banners high. Their vanguard's about five minutes from the gate."

Krux scoffed under his breath. "They're trying to impress us."

"No," Riven murmured. "They're trying to measure us."

Aria nodded, gaze still fixed ahead. "They want to see what we are before deciding how to treat us."

"Then we give them just enough," Riven said. "And no more."

The first glint of gold caught the light beyond the trees. Then hooves. Armor. A flash of silk banners—deep blue, trimmed with gold.

Riven gave a small nod.

The blacksteel lanterns lining the southern approach flared to life, casting tall shadows across the road in perfect synchrony. It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. But it was controlled. Precise.

As the carriages neared the gates, the first line of Shadowguard stepped forward—not undead, not monsters, but living soldiers dressed in crisp black and steel, faces calm and postures flawless. They didn't salute. They didn't kneel.

They simply stood. Waiting.

One of the riders peeled ahead—a herald in Danu blue. His voice rang out, practiced and clear.

"In the name of the Crown, the Danu Empire presents Crown Prince Kael Danu, heir to the throne, and emissary of the Emperor."

Riven stepped forward, flanked on either side by his generals. The wind stirred faintly around them, catching the edge of cloaks and banners but never quite breaking the stillness. There was power in silence—real power—and the Shadow Kingdom wielded it without apology.

The prince's carriage rolled to a slow halt just beyond the threshold, its polished black frame trimmed with gold filigree, pulled by dusk-colored horses bred for war and diplomacy alike. The moment it stopped, a single figure descended—young, but not boyish. Kael Danu moved with the quiet control of someone raised in expectation. His armor was ceremonial but serviceable, the deep blue of Danu's royal house complemented by silver bracers etched with arcane script. A short cloak draped his shoulders, clasped at the throat with a raven sigil that marked his bloodline.

He took in the scene without speaking at first. His gaze moved from the Shadowguard lined at the gates to the city behind them, then to the figures standing atop the wall—Riven among them, cloaked in armor that all but whispered of lineage and legacy.

Then the prince lifted his chin.

"We were told this land was dust," Kael said, his voice carrying cleanly across the distance. His words were shaped by a faint Danuan accent—refined, clipped, with just enough edge to suggest nobility trained in diplomacy and command. "That the dead ruled here."

Riven stepped to the edge of the wall, his voice calm. "There's truth in that."

Kael arched a brow. "And yet here stands a kingdom."

Riven's gaze didn't waver. "Then you were told only part of the story."

The prince smiled at that—thin, intrigued, not yet warm. "Then perhaps you'll tell me the rest."

Riven inclined his head slightly, a gesture that neither invited nor bowed. "Step inside. And see for yourself."

At that, the massive gates of the Shadow Kingdom began to open—not with grinding chains or groaning hinges, but with a smooth, measured pull of stone on stone. Behind them lay the kingdom: roads paved in dark stone, lined with luminous runes; buildings that blended strength and elegance; fields stretching beyond with crops that shimmered faintly with residual mana.

Kael Danu did not hesitate, he walked forward. And behind him, his retinue followed—quiet, sharp-eyed, and wary.

The first steps into the kingdom echoed softly beneath them, swallowed not by silence, but by something deeper.

Expectation.