The Fool’s Ascension

The air was thick with the scent of blood and fire.

Jarek stood atop the grand staircase of Vale Manor, his sword still slick with the Duke's blood.

Around him, his forces secured the estate—Sylva barking orders, Tobias looting what he could, and the remnants of Orlan's once-loyal guards now kneeling in surrender.

Jarek exhaled, feeling the weight of what he'd just done.

The Duke was dead.

And Rookhaven was his.

But power was never freely given.

It had to be held.

And already, he could feel the next war brewing.

A City on Edge

The streets of Rookhaven were eerily silent.

Word had spread fast—Orlan Vale had fallen.

The nobility locked their doors, unsure if they would be next.

The merchants whispered in fear, unsure if Jarek's rule would bring chaos or order.

And the underground?

They were already planning who to betray next.

Jarek knew it.

Knew that the moment he left the Duke's body cooling on the floor, a dozen daggers would be sharpening behind his back.

He needed to act fast.

Claiming the Throne

The Duke's inner council had been gathered—powerful men who had once served Orlan.

Now, they faced Jarek.

Some with fear. Some with calculating eyes.

One of them—a thin man with graying hair—spoke first.

"You killed the Duke," he said plainly.

Jarek sat in Orlan's old chair, resting his elbow on the polished oak desk.

"Sharp observation," he muttered.

The man clenched his jaw. "And now you expect us to serve you?"

Jarek gave a slow smirk. "I expect you to stay alive."

A tense silence.

One of the younger men, dressed in rich silks, leaned forward. "And what if we don't?"

Jarek flicked his wrist.

A dagger whistled through the air—embedding itself into the wood an inch from the man's hand.

"You won't have to worry about that," Jarek said smoothly.

Tobias snickered from the corner. "Nice speech, boss."

Sylva shot him a glare.

Jarek leaned forward, his eyes sweeping across the room.

"I don't care what deals you had with Orlan. That man is rotting. I am not."

He gestured out the window, where the torches of his forces still burned.

"You have two choices," Jarek continued. "Work with me—or join Orlan in the dirt."

The men exchanged glances.

Slowly, the thin man nodded. "What… do you require of us?"

Jarek smiled.

Now they were talking.

A City to Rule

The meeting stretched long into the night.

Jarek made it clear—Rookhaven was his.

The nobles and merchants could either adapt or be replaced.

Trade? He controlled it now.

The underground? They would answer to him.

The city guard? Already taking new orders.

Sylva watched it all with cautious approval.

Tobias? He just enjoyed the sight of Jarek bending rich men to his will.

By dawn, the city was no longer in Orlan Vale's hands.

It belonged to Jarek Thorn.

But power had a cost.

And Jarek had just put a very large target on his back.

Enemies in the Dark

"How long do you think before someone tries to kill you?"

Sylva's voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp as she poured herself a drink.

Jarek leaned back in the Duke's chair. "Not long."

Tobias whistled. "Optimistic."

Jarek shrugged. "Someone always wants the throne."

Sylva nodded. "Then we make the first move."

Jarek tapped his fingers against the wooden desk.

His mind was already racing—who would move first?

Caden? He was still out there.

Orlan's remaining loyalists? A few were missing.

The underground? They were already plotting.

Jarek exhaled. "We hit them before they hit us."

Sylva grinned. "I thought you'd say that."

Tobias sighed. "Looks like we're not sleeping anytime soon."

Jarek smirked. "Welcome to ruling a city, Tobias."

Tobias groaned. "I already hate it."

Jarek laughed.

But outside the estate walls—in the alleys, in the noble houses, in the shadows of Rookhaven—

A storm was already forming.

And soon, it would come for him.