The next morning, the group left the Torvares villa after breakfast, their carriage rolling down the cobblestone streets of the capital.

Even before they reached the Senate District, the attention found them. People stopped what they were doing to stare, merchants, clerks, even patrolling guards. The Torvares crest gleamed on the front of the carriage, and the Lionsguard emblem on the side only made the sight rarer. A northern warlord, a frontier noble, a wandering mage, a scandalous wind sorceress, and a child vice guildmaster, it was the kind of combination that screamed story material to every gossip in the city.

Ludger could feel the eyes, the whispers, the half-hidden smirks of nobles watching from shaded balconies. Maybe rumors about the negotiations had already spread.

Inside the carriage, Kaela crossed her arms and leaned closer, speaking under her breath.

“Alright, listen. When we’re in there, don’t say anything inappropriate.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow without looking at her. “Such as? Wait, isn’t that rich coming from you?”

She waved a hand vaguely. “You know. The usual. No sarcastic comments, no calling anyone a homewrecker, no implying someone’s dress looks like a tent. Basically, don’t be you.”

His brow twitched. “You’re giving me a lot of credit.”

Kaela leaned back, lips curving slightly. “I’m just making sure you don’t start a diplomatic incident before Torvares does.”

“I’ll behave,” Ludger said dryly. Then after a moment, added, “You seem awfully defensive about this. Guilty conscience?”

Kaela shot him a look. “I don’t fool around while I’m on the clock.”

Ludger shrugged. “You’re being very specific for someone who wasn’t accused of anything… yet.”

Kharnek snorted from the opposite seat. “You two sound like you’re married already.”

Kaela groaned. “Don’t make it worse.”

Torvares merely exhaled through his nose, a wry smile ghosting across his face. “Try to look dignified, all of you. The Senate has never seen our kind before, let’s not make them regret it.”

“Try to look dignified, Kharnek. Swing your axe with a single hand.”

“Will do.”

Outside, the capital’s marble towers came into view, the Senate rising like a white citadel above them, its banners fluttering in the early light. The chatter of the streets dimmed as the group’s carriage rolled up the broad avenue, the crowd parting in uneasy awe.

For the first time since the trip began, Ludger could feel the weight of the place settle on him,  not just stone and law, but expectation. And behind it all, the faint, deliberate hum of politics sharpening its knives.

Once the carriage rolled to a stop at the foot of the Senate’s grand steps, the group stepped out one by one. The morning light reflected off polished marble and gilded statues of long-dead emperors, their hollow gazes staring down at the newcomers.

Torvares adjusted the cuffs of his cloak, every inch the noble he once was; Maurien’s weather-worn coat looked painfully out of place beside him. Kharnek cracked his neck, muttering about how the air smelled too clean, and Kaela walked with her usual lazy confidence that somehow drew more eyes than any crest on display.

Ludger brought up the rear, his gaze drifting toward the Senate guards posted along the entrance. Their uniforms were crisp, light blue coats trimmed in silver, emblazoned with the imperial insignia. Ludger recognized the cut and design instantly. “Their uniforms,” he said quietly, “same type the Silver Talon Order uses.”

Kharnek raised a brow. “The commander’s lot? The one from the bridge?”

“Varik,” Ludger confirmed. “Yeah.”

Kharnek scratched his beard. “Think we’ll meet him in there?”

“Maybe.” Ludger’s tone was neutral, though his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the guards’ stances, the way they moved with mechanical precision. “We fought alongside him, but that doesn’t make him an ally. He works for the Senate and the Empire.”

Kaela gave him a sideways glance. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

Ludger shrugged. “Could be. Could not. Depends how deep the rot goes.”

Maurien gave a quiet grunt of agreement. “The Empire’s like a great beast, it doesn’t die from a single wound, but from the infection spreading inside.”

Ludger nodded slowly. “Right. Maybe it’s just a few rotten apples. Or maybe the whole tree’s gone bad. Hard to say until someone cuts it open.”

That earned a sharp look from Torvares, who had already reached the top of the steps. His voice came back, low but edged with authority. “Enough of that kind of talk. Not here. The walls have more ears than a Senate session.”

Ludger sighed, adjusting his collar. “Right.”

Torvares glanced over his shoulder, eyes stern but not unkind. “Save your theories for later, boy. For now, we play the part they expect.”

The group fell into line, and the Senate guards stepped aside with stiff salutes as they entered the vast marble hall, its vaulted ceilings echoing with the weight of politics, ambition, and quiet deceit.

The Senate of the Empire was less a building and more a cathedral to power. When the group stepped inside, a faint hum of noise washed over them, polished shoes on marble, whispers echoing under vaulted arches, the steady scratch of quills on parchment. The air itself carried the scent of ink, wax, and old paper. Every inch of the interior was built to remind visitors that this was where the Empire thought it ruled.

Rows of towering white pillars divided the grand hall into aisles, each lined with statues of lawmakers. Gold and blue banners draped from the upper balconies, swaying slightly with the draft of the open doors. The ceiling arched so high it vanished into painted frescoes of winged figures holding scrolls and scales.

To the right, clerks rushed between desks piled with documents, carrying leather-bound ledgers like they weighed more than shields. To the left, groups of finely dressed men and women walked in clusters, murmuring to one another. Rings gleamed on their fingers, and seals hung from their belts, symbols of authority, privilege, and political allegiance.

Kharnek frowned, his heavy boots echoing as he leaned closer to Ludger. “They don’t look like servants,” he muttered. “Who are all these whispering peacocks?”

Before Ludger could answer, Torvares turned slightly, his posture straight as a blade. “Those, my northern friend,” he said evenly, “are senators.”

Kharnek raised a brow. “These are the ones who make the rules?”

Torvares nodded once. “In theory, yes. The Senate oversee in the Emperor’s stead, drafting laws and overseeing the empire’s internal affairs. There are three hundred of them in total, divided into factions, each claiming to serve the public good while sharpening knives behind closed doors.”

Kaela glanced around, eyes flitting from one murmuring group to another. “They don’t look like soldiers or mages. More like merchants in fancy coats.”

“That’s not far off,” Torvares said. “Most senators are chosen from noble families, wealthy leaders, or landowners. A few earn their seats through military distinction or academic merit, but coin and name carry more weight than courage or wisdom here.”

Ludger let out a quiet grunt. “How long do they hold those seats?”

Torvares gave a faint, bitter smile. “Officially? Ten years. In practice? As long as they keep paying their dues and keeping their allies alive. When one steps down, or dies, his seat is filled by appointment or election within his province.”

He gestured subtly toward a group of sharply dressed men by the far stairway. “That one there, Senator Veran. He’s held his seat for thirty years. Bought half his province and convinced the other half to worship him. That’s the kind of man who never retires.”

Kharnek let out a low whistle. “So this is the kind of crowd that argues over what color to paint the walls while soldiers die in the mud.”

Torvares gave a small, humorless chuckle. “Precisely. The Senate is a battlefield of words and favors, and no sword cuts deeper than a promise broken at the right time.”

Ludger stayed silent, watching the way the senators’ eyes flicked toward their group, some curious, some wary, a few openly disdainful. He could already tell that in this place, words killed faster than weapons.

As they made their way deeper into the grand corridors, the whispers grew quieter, sharper, like blades being drawn behind the polite smiles.

They passed through a maze of corridors lined with murals and silver sconces until a sharp voice called from ahead.

A Silver Talon Order knight stood at attention near a set of double doors, armor polished to mirror brightness, his blue cloak trimmed in the same metallic sheen as his pauldrons. The sight of that uniform made Ludger’s jaw tighten slightly; it brought back memories of salt air, storm winds, and a bridge half-drowned in chaos.

The knight raised his hand in salute. “Lord Torvares. Vice Guildmaster Ludger. You’ve arrived on time.”

Torvares inclined his head politely. “We were told the meeting was set for this hour.”

“Indeed.” The knight stepped aside, gesturing toward the heavy oaken doors. “This is the chamber assigned for your negotiation. The envoys from the Velis League are expected to arrive shortly.”

Before anyone could ask anything further, names, numbers, or what the Senate’s role in all this truly was, the knight bowed once and turned on his heel, vanishing down the hall with mechanical precision.

Kaela’s eyes followed him until he turned a corner. “Friendly sort,” she muttered.

Ludger didn’t respond immediately. He stared after the retreating figure, his thoughts running fast. Not Varik.

The man had been courteous, but not familiar,  and that alone spoke volumes.

“If Commander Varik were still in the capital,” Ludger said quietly, “he’d have been the one greeting us. The Senate must’ve sent him somewhere else.”

Maurien gave a low hum. “Convenient timing.”

“Too convenient,” Ludger agreed.

Torvares’s voice broke the silence. “Enough speculation. We’ll know soon enough whether this was staged or not.” He pushed open the doors and gestured for the others to follow.

The room beyond was far simpler than the marble grandeur outside. Its walls were paneled in dark wood, lined with bookshelves filled with scrolls and maps. A single round table sat in the center, surrounded by six sturdy chairs. The smell of polished oak and sealing wax hung faintly in the air.

Torvares took a slow look around, then tapped his cane lightly against the floor. “Appropriate size,” he murmured. “Small table means fewer lies can fit on it.”

Kharnek gave a soft chuckle at that.

Torvares turned to Ludger, his tone shifting back to measured authority. “You sit as well,” he said, motioning toward one of the seats. “You represent the Lionsguard here.”

Ludger blinked. “Shouldn’t you—”

Torvares’s expression was firm. “You’re the vice guildmaster, and the League is here to discuss the trade of mana cores and labyrinth materials. That’s your territory, not mine. I’ll speak for House Torvares, but the guild is yours. They’ll need to see that.”

Ludger hesitated for a second, then nodded and took the seat, the weight of the moment pressing down like stone.

Kharnek and Maurien stood behind him, silent sentinels. Kaela leaned casually against the wall, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds.

Torvares took his own seat opposite Ludger, folding his hands on the table. “Now,” he said softly, “let’s see what kind of faces the League sends to smile at us.”

Ten minutes passed, long enough for Torvares to start drumming his fingers once against his cane and for Maurien to mutter something about nobles weaponizing punctuality.

Then the doors opened. Three figures stepped inside.

The first two wore long, soot-stained coats stitched with brass fittings, their belts heavy with pouches, gears, and small crystal vials. One was a woman with her silver hair tied into a tight braid, goggles resting on her forehead; the other, a thin man whose gloves were ink-black from runic dust. They moved like technicians, eyes sweeping the room not out of curiosity but calculation, measuring exits, airflow, sound resonance.

When their gazes finally landed on Ludger and Maurien, they paused.

Ludger felt it before he saw it, faint, almost imperceptible ripples of foreign mana coming from the metallic sigils stitched into their sleeves. Not from their bodies… from the devices they carried. They were powered by runic circuits, humming softly beneath their coats.

Engineers, Ludger thought, narrowing his eyes. Velis League style.

The two took seats opposite the Torvares delegation without a word, their every motion deliberate.

The third figure entered after them, dressed very differently, a fitted black coat lined with silver thread, his steps confident but unhurried. He looked young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with sharp blue eyes and hair the color of tarnished steel. His expression carried a blend of ease and arrogance that Ludger had seen before, but where?

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