Chapter 71: The Oaths of LoyaltyThe constant doubt that had tortured Queen Alys now dwindled into a horrific certainty. Her son's face was covered by a monster, a chameleon of lies, a personification of untruth. It was something she alone knew, a weight attached to her like an epitaph. Yet, her own pain was shortly to become the kingdom's terror for all to see. The pretender, with his uncannily mask-like mask, now advanced to secure his dominion, to get rid of any potential opposition, to enslave the entire kingdom to his fiendish will.The official court gazette, once a medium for mundane palace gossip, was now a blood-curdling chronicle of a tyrant's reign. The latest edict, personally signed by "Prince Kairo" himself, was the most ominous of all: a new, highly intrusive set of loyalty oaths for all who worked for the royal family, all the ministers, all the nobles, and even the leader of every significant guild in the kingdom. It was a fresh, highly obtrusive, and intensely terrif

Chapter 73: The Secret Sorrow of the QueenThe devastating revelation that Malrick was a usurper and a master builder of an entire new kingdom stunned Sheila and Tate. He was a god, a living curse, a master weaver who was not only tearing down, but was building up the entire political landscape of Caelwyn. The loyalty oaths, the blueprints, the dark philosophical manifesto of it all produced a mind so brilliant, so arrogant, so distorted that it had created a work of genius in deception and believed it to be a work of divine art.But even a master builder, a god in his own mind, could not foresee every unknown. He had not foreseen Queen Alys, queen at the heart of the royal house, a woman of vast compassion and of passionate devotion to her son. And he would not, could not, foresee the people she loved, living proofs of the real Kairo, the unsworn witnesses to his awful deceit.As they continued to read the journal, another fresh, more personal detail took Sheila's notice. A single en

Chapter 75: The Web of the WeaveThe chilling realization that the false trail was a trap, an expertly spun decoy designed to draw them out, caught Sheila and Tate off guard. The impersonator, the weaver of illusions and god of a new realm, had known all along. He knew their every move, every step, every secret. He was no man afraid. He was a man who was enjoying a hunt. They had just narrowly avoided the trap, a wild, heart-stopping run from the ancient royal gardens. But the near-death experience had given them all a new, profound sense of horror for their enemy. He was not just a genius. He was a monster. A monster who played games with his victims, a monster who enjoyed terror, desperation, agony of his victims.They sped through the city, their movements no longer wild but fierce with a cold, desperate fear. They were no longer the hunters; they were the hunted. Each shadow, each alley, each face in the crowd was part of his master plan, part of his web. He was all around them.

Chapter 77: The Weight of Unspoken TruthThe cruel, bitter reality of their plight had finally set in. They were not the hunters; they were the hunted. The pretender, a liar par excellence, a self-styled god, was playing games with them. He was the master of the hunt, a predator who luxuriated in his quarry's fear, its desperation, its torment. They had escaped his trap by the skin of their teeth, but the brush with death had given them a new, more terrifying realization of their adversary. He was no coward. He was a man enjoying a kill.And as they crouched in the dark, grimy corners of their hiding place, a forgotten corner of the city's underworld, something stirred in Tate. It was not fear of capture, but the burden of a memory.A memory of another place. A memory of another man. The remembrance of the man he used to be, before. Before the lies. Before the betrayal. Before the crushing guilt.It was a rainy, gloomy day, so many years ago, when he was Captain of the Royal Guard. He

Chapter 79: The Eyes of the SerpentThe bitter, cold truth of their situation had finally penetrated. The compass, a subtle clue left in Tate's old quarters, wasn't just a taunt; it was a confession. The pretender, a master weaver of lies and a god in his own right, knew all along of each of their movements. He was not just a man who had usurped a throne; he was a master of the hunt, a predator playing with his prey before the final, inevitable strike. The guilt that had overwhelmed Tate was now a newer, more terrifying resolve. He had to stop the monster. He had to uncover the lie. He needed to break his perfect reality, before he could re-shape the whole kingdom according to his own image.But how? How were they, two fugitives with nothing but a stolen diary, to fight a man who had the entire kingdom at his disposal? A man who was aware of their every step? The answer, they now knew with a chilling certainty, was to know the very net he had woven. They had to know the extent of hi