Once alone again, he sat on the edge of his bed. From the inner lining of his coat, he drew out the sealed commission of the Black Envoys.
He harbored no illusions about his situation, or the cost of bearing sins without backing in the clan. Death often followed. And for an orphan like him, rumoured to have murdered both his adoptive and actual parents, the task was all the simpler.
Parents, guardians, powerful mentors, those who had somehow survived in a clan where dying was far too common, formed a wall of advocates between a cub and the Council: voices that could ensure either the protection or quiet erasure of cubs chosen for the Black Envoy commission.
Being an orphan did not automatically guarantee hardship. But the ordeal became something else entirely when you were an orphan with the potential to rival someone else's prospective asset.
Life became difficult. The odds turned against you. Your quest was almost guaranteed to be a blade assignment, for you had no towering mentor to stand before the Halls of Roa and plead for a moon-based posting or a wing-bound commission.
That was the reality they sanitized.
They fed hopeful cadets the lie that assignments reflected one's specialized field of study, that merit alone dictated fate.
But that brutal truth was precisely what had driven an orphaned prospect like Violet to him. That was why he chose to trust her, not fully, but enough to draw her in. An orphaned tragedy, useful for the unraveling he intended to begin tomorrow.
For now, he was content to study how the Council had dressed his execution.
A bloodbath with just enough procedural pretense to hang a moon plaque over it? A retrieval exercise to the pits of hell, lined with daggers at every turn? Or worse — had their faith in their own laws made them confident enough not to bother hiding the hostility at all?
He broke the seal.
***
BLACK ENVOY COMMISSION
Issued Under Joint Authority
Envoy Decree
Division: Blade
Cadet Designation: Mantle XVIII
Name: Chion Nyxvalis
Assignment Codename: The Red Rising Incident
Operational Theatre
Region: Oravia — Southern Continent
Political Status: Allied State of Lecrocia
Province: Veldro Province, Central District
Operational Radius: 500 kilometres along the Southern Tide Coast
Time Allocation
Six (6) Moons.
No extensions shall be granted.
Situation Brief
The allied trade state of Lecrocia has entered a state of critical civil collapse.
Three confirmed Dragon-Blooded Warlords, self-styled as The Red Rising, have:
Executed a coordinated military coup within the capital.
Eliminated or displaced the ruling authority.
Razed surrounding farmlands and population centers.
Established maritime and terrestrial blockades rendering 30% of the Southern Coastline impassable.
Severely disrupted imperial trade routes and regional stability.
Imperial response through conventional means has been deemed politically nonviable at this time.
Mandate
Cadet Chion Nyxvalis is hereby tasked with the following objectives:
Locate and extract any surviving members of the Lecrocian Royal Line currently in concealment within state borders.
Mount and execute an independent campaign resulting in the total dissolution of the ongoing civil war.
Neutralize all three Dragon-Blooded Warlords of the Red Rising.
Deliver the severed heads of said warlords to the Imperial Capital of Meridia — The Knightage, God's Division, First Quanta — for formal assessment and record.
Failure to complete any listed objective shall constitute mission failure.
Rules of Engagement
Cadet is authorized unrestricted operational discretion.
Collateral damage is permissible where deemed necessary.
No reinforcements shall be provided.
No extraction shall be authorized prior to mandate completion.
Final Clause
This commission is issued in full accordance with the laws governing the Exodus Trial.
Return is permitted only upon fulfillment of mandate conditions.
By Seal of Authority
Primarch Seal I — Selerian Imperium
Primarch Seal II — Nyxvalis High Council
Seal of the Knightage, God's Division—
Sarian Lee Selerian VII
***
Chion let out a slow breath of resignation.
The cogs of thought turned quietly behind his eyes. What lay before him was becoming clearer now, the perfect play to vanish into the most forgettable death imaginable. Minimal intelligence. The furthest operational distance. Enemies on the scale of Highbloods.
A suicide assignment in everything but name.
Still… he had a net.
Not a perfect one.
But secure enough.
From what he vaguely understood of the upheaval simmering at the highest levels of the Vale since the Ascension, when only forty-seven of them had emerged, the Patriarch, despite his grand speech of doom, had ordered several quiet measures to preserve the young.
The signs had been evident enough. Most of the Primarch heads who had walked into the Vale to commission new Mantles had left displeased, the High Council forced to reject a number of damning assignments.
Though Chion was not entirely certain what protections had been set aside for his unfortunate lot of ten souls, those who, by law, were auctioned directly into the Emperor's hands.
Still, he was quite confident the all-wise and caring Patriarch must have arranged something.
And even the High Council would think twice before disregarding the orders of a man regarded as a god.
That was enough.
Which left the more pressing matter.
How he would cross beyond Imperial borders with his neck still attached. Or better yet, survive long enough to cross back into them, present the trophies to the Selerians, and avoid being quietly erased afterward.
His mind turned the problem over again.
And again.
Nothing concrete held.
Another quiet sigh escaped him.
How unnerving.
For a moment, he allowed himself the thought.
Perhaps the old man's runts had been right. Perhaps karma truly did follow evil.
He frowned and dismissed it immediately.
No. He was simply reaching beyond his grasp.
His focus shifted.
Tomorrow.
He rolled the scroll with care and slid it back into the folds of his cloak. Its weight pressed against him beneath practiced composure, set aside until the moment it truly mattered.
Then his gaze settled on Viren.
He had to die. His blood needed to soak the Vale's cold obsidian floors long before Chion ever departed for the Trial.
Risk was unavoidable.
But a Council-backed enemy was a risk he could not afford. At least not yet.
What he needed were the right conditions. Optimal ones.
His fingers tapped lightly against his chin as he began drafting the script in his mind, the argument he would use to rip those conditions from the Council itself.
An hour, maybe two, and it all came together.
Perfect.
He was ready to play their game.
To see how far precedent, law, and shallow schemes could stand against absolute certainty.
With nothing left but time to decide, he allowed the gears of his mind to settle.
And just as the righteous drifted into sleep believing the world would remain as it was —
so too did he.
Knowing full well that it would not.