2026-02-14 20:45:26
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THE FOUNDATION OF POWER
“This is not hoarding,” he said. “This is preparation.”Stacks of gold bars sat in neat rows like bricks. Crates were sealed with heavy locks and labels that read like inventory, not treasure. Transparent cases held diamonds and rubies that caught the light like trapped stars. Bundles of cash were packed in towers, wrapped, stamped, and organized like a private bank.Evans felt his throat close.For a second, his mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing.He turned slowly toward Patrick. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked with a rough voice. “What is this place?”Patrick rolled forward until the wheelchair crossed the threshold. “This,” he said calmly, “is Rovek.”Evans took a step in, then another. The air felt dead in here, protected from the world, preserved. “Rovek is starving,” he snapped. “Rovek is children with no shoes and clinics with peeling paint.”Patrick’s gaze stayed steady. “Yes,” he said. “And Rovek is also this.”Evans’ anger surged back. “So you lied,”
GOLD BENEATH THE KINGDOM
Patrick did not wait for Evans to agree.Arlen and the attendants moved with quiet speed, sliding Patrick into the wheelchair like they had done it a hundred times. The drip stand rolled beside him, and Patrick’s thin fingers closed around the armrest as if it was a throne.“Hold that,” Patrick said to Evans, nodding at the drip line.Evans caught the stand automatically. “You’re treating me like a nurse now.”Patrick’s eyes lifted. Even sick, they carried that same cold order. “No,” he said. “I’m treating you like someone I trust not to spill my blood on marble.”Arlen opened the door wide. “This way, sir,” he said, addressing Patrick first, then Evans with a lower bow.Evans followed, pushing the drip stand, his shoulders tight. The hallway outside the medical suite was bright and silent, the kind of silence money buys. A carpet swallowed every footstep. Wall lamps glowed soft, as if harsh light was not allowed inside this house.Evans looked down at Patrick’s pale hands. “Where a
BEFORE I DIE
Patrick stared at him for a long moment, and the drip line clicked softly like a clock. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and final. “I don’t wish to answer that,” he said.Evans took a step forward. “Patrick—”Patrick cut him off. “And don’t bother trying to get anything out of me,” he added, eyes steady. “It will be futile.”Evans’ fists clenched. “So you’ll die, refuse answers, and leave a ruined city behind you,” he said, with a tight voice. “That’s your legacy?”Patrick’s expression didn’t soften. “You don’t understand legacy,” he said. “You understand guilt.”Evans felt that line hit harder than any insult. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words tangled. Guilt? Was that what Patrick thought drove him? Was saving a child guilt? Was questioning leadership guilt? His jaw tightened, but beneath the anger was something uncomfortable — doubt.Patrick watched him closely, as if studying a reaction in a controlled experiment. Even weakened, he was observing, measuring, calcul
THE RIGHT TO DIE
Evans reached for Patrick’s wrist, careful, testing. He let his senses open, just a fraction, and the air around Patrick felt wrong. It was not just illness. It was corrosion, like a spiritual wound that did not heal. Evans’ own aura flickered without permission, answering the threat.Patrick felt it at once. His eyes locked on Evans. “Stop,” he said quietly.Evans held his gaze. “You’re dying,” he said, the words coming out like a verdict. “And you think I will just stand here and watch.”Patrick’s fingers tightened around the sheet. “You watched a chancellor kneel today,” he said. “You watched a city swallow cruelty. You think you understand watching.”Evans’ throat tightened. “Then let me do something,” he said.Patrick’s voice hardened, still controlled. “I have managed this before you,” he said. “I was managing it before I entered Drakarion.”Evans swallowed, and his anger shifted into dread. “So what changed?” he asked. “Why does it look worse now?”Patrick stared at him for a
CELESTRO BLOOD DECAY
Evans had walked into palaces before, but he had never walked into a sickroom that felt like a confession.Mr Patrick lay propped on pillows in a wide bed that looked too clean to hold pain. His skin was pale, his frame thinner, and the red patches across his body looked wrong in a way Evans could not explain. A drip line ran into Patrick’s arm, and the room carried a faint smell of medicine under expensive air freshener. The luxury did not hide the truth. It only made it sharper.Evans stayed at the doorway for a second too long. His mind reached for words and found none.Patrick turned his head slowly, eyes tired but focused. “Ah, Evans,” he said, voice weaker now. “You are here.”Evans stepped in, slow, as if the floor might change under him. “What is this?” he asked, keeping his voice level. “You were healthier in Drakarion. You were driving, talking, threatening people like you had endless strength.”Patrick’s mouth moved like he wanted to smile, but his face didn’t have the en
BREATH OF THE PRIMORDIUS
The warning did not pass.It deepened.The first ostrich lowered its head slightly, not in hunger but in tension. Its pupils tightened, black within black. The feathers along its back lifted in uneven ripples, and its breathing grew sharper—shorter pulls of air through a throat that vibrated with something older than instinct.Evans felt it then.Not around him.From him.A pressure beneath his ribs stirred, faint at first, like heat rising through stone. It was subtle, almost playful. The Primordius Dragon did not roar—it breathed. And animals felt breath long before men did.The second ostrich backed up two steps. The first shifted again, stamping harder now. Its body angled toward him fully, neck stiff, ready either to flee or to strike.The woman’s hand trembled slightly. “What is wrong with them?”Evans did not answer immediately.He let the pressure rise another inch, deliberately.The air thickened.A shimmer of unseen authority settled across the space like a weight laid ge
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