Lord of Deception

The prophecy had spread.

Now, Kael had to ensure that the cracks became fractures—and then make those fractures shatter the entire foundation.

Within the hallowed halls of the Grand Cathedral of Valmerith, High Priest Gregorin paced in frantic circles, his golden robes fluttering with each movement.

His hands shook. His breath was ragged.

This was a disaster.

The words of the elder priest had spread like wildfire. Within hours, whispers of the Archons' supposed betrayal had reached every corner of the city. Panic gripped the faithful. Merchants hesitated to trade. Warriors questioned their leaders.

And worst of all?

There were already those who believed it.

A handful of acolytes had refused to conduct prayers, fearing divine wrath. Some nobles had begun withdrawing their donations to the Church, waiting to see how things unfolded.

If this continued...

The faith that sustained their power would crumble.

Gregorin slammed his hand onto the marble table, rattling the sacred artifacts placed upon it.

"Who?" His voice was a whisper at first, then a growl. "Who started this?!"

The gathered priests and paladins remained silent.

The truth was worse than sabotage.

The elder priest who had delivered the prophecy?

He had been one of their own.

A man loyal to the Divine Church for over sixty years.

A man who had never once wavered in faith.

A man who had received a vision that should not have existed.

And yet, before the entire congregation, he had spoken with absolute conviction, his eyes wide with genuine fear.

Gregorin's breathing slowed. His mind turned.

"This is not the work of a lone heretic," he murmured. "This... this is something else."

A force outside their control.

A force shaping fate itself.

And that thought terrified him.

From the shadows of a distant building, Kael watched Gregorin's growing panic through a spyglass.

He allowed himself a small smile.

The Church was reacting exactly as he had predicted.

They weren't countering the rumors.

They were fighting amongst themselves.

Perfect.

Evelyne, standing beside him, exhaled softly. "They'll try to suppress the prophecy soon."

Kael lowered the spyglass. "Let them."

She frowned. "You don't care if they silence it?"

Kael turned to her, his smirk widening.

"If a lie is spread too aggressively, people doubt it." He tapped his temple. "But if the truth is suppressed, people begin to question. They begin to wonder—why?"

Evelyne's eyes widened slightly.

The truth didn't matter.

The perception of the truth did.

And nothing made people believe in a prophecy more than a Church desperately trying to erase it.

Kael turned to Varian, their armored general, who had just arrived with a few of their best spies.

"Status?" Kael asked.

Varian nodded. "The rumors have spread to three more cities. Our contacts in the merchants' guilds are ensuring the uncertainty continues. Trade has slowed. The Church is losing financial support."

Kael grinned.

But Varian hesitated. "There is... an issue."

Kael's smile faded. "Go on."

"The Royal Alliance has begun mobilizing."

A weight settled over the room.

The Royal Alliance.

The ruling faction of four kingdoms, united under a single cause—to maintain order.

If they involved themselves now, things could escalate into a war Kael wasn't yet ready to fight.

Evelyne crossed her arms. "They'll send envoys first. They won't act recklessly."

Kael nodded. "Then we prepare for them."

A pause.

Then his smirk returned.

"Actually..."

His voice was soft, contemplative.

"Maybe we don't avoid them."

Evelyne blinked. "What?"

Kael's eyes gleamed with something dark.

"We pull them in. We make them a part of this."

Varian frowned. "How?"

Kael turned back toward the window, watching the distant flickering torches of the panicked city.

"We plant the idea that the Royal Alliance itself has something to gain from the Church's downfall."

Varian narrowed his eyes. "That's dangerous."

Kael grinned.

"That's the point."

Two nights later, in the grand halls of the Royal Alliance's palace, a group of cloaked figures gathered in secret.

A hooded man—one of Kael's agents—spoke softly to a Royal Advisor.

"Consider this," he murmured, slipping a small, forged document across the table. "The Church hoards wealth. They claim divine right. But if the people were to lose faith..."

The Advisor's greedy eyes flickered with interest.

The agent leaned in. "Wouldn't it be better... if you controlled that power instead?"

The Advisor said nothing.

But Kael's agent knew the seed had been planted.

It was only a matter of time before the Royal Alliance began looking at the Church as an enemy, rather than an ally.

And once that happened?

The Church would have no one left to protect them.

Far from the palace, Kael sat within a candle-lit chamber, listening as his agents reported in.

The Church was weakening.

The Royal Alliance was hesitating.

Everything was going according to plan.

And yet...

Kael tapped his fingers against the table.

Something still bothered him.

A loose thread. A whisper at the edge of his mind.

Finally, he spoke.

"What of the Hero?"

Silence.

Then, one of the spies spoke cautiously.

"The Hero... has remained silent."

Kael exhaled.

That was the problem.

The Church's champion—**the one meant to uphold their justice—**had not made a move.

He was watching. Waiting.

And that meant one thing.

He knew something.

Kael's gaze darkened.

If the Hero was waiting for his moment...

Then Kael would have to ensure that when he finally acted—

It would already be too late.

To be continued...