The Fae Lord of Mirrors was no stranger to deception.

  He did not command armies.

  He did not wield brute force.

  He did not bend others to his will with overwhelming presence as Sovereignty did, nor did he force them to submit like Oaths.

  No.

  Mirrors was not meant to be seen.

  He existed in the blurred lines of truth and falsehood, in the spaces between identities, masks, and reflections.

  And now, he had been given a task most suited to his nature.

  To undo a man without ever raising a blade.

  To become something else and unravel the foundations beneath him.

  ---

  The Verdant Nexus was silent as he knelt before his Queen.

  Selene did not pace. She did not fidget or shift impatiently like lesser rulers did when discussing matters of intrigue.

  She simply existed, poised, unreadable, as if the very act of being alive was a form of control.

  She met his gaze, and he felt the weight of command.

  Not dominance.

  Not fear.

  Something more absolute.

  “Ironveil’s strength is artificial,” she said.

  Mirrors nodded once. He had seen the battle unfold from the castle’s towers. The soldiers had not fought with unnatural skill. They had not resisted with unusual cunning.

  But their weapons had made the difference.

  Weapons that should not have been in their hands.

  Selene’s voice was soft.

  “They do not wield power. They have borrowed it.”

  Her golden eyes sharpened slightly.

  “And I do not tolerate borrowed kings.”

  Mirrors smiled.

  Because he knew what came next.

  ---

  The plan was simple.

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  He would not infiltrate Blackwell’s court.

  That would be wasted effort.

  Blackwell was a calculating man, cautious enough to keep his most trusted circle small. He had not even stepped onto the battlefield.

  Mirrors would not try to reach him.

  Not at first.

  Instead, he would infiltrate his soldiers.

  The men who stood in formation.

  The men who trusted their blades and armor to protect them.

  The men who could be made to question.

  Because soldiers, no matter how strong, were only as unshakable as the foundation beneath them.

  And Mirrors would shatter that foundation.

  ---

  He left the Verdant Nexus under the cover of night.

  The Fae Lord of Foxes went with him, but the two moved separately.

  Foxes would infiltrate the supply lines, the messaging channels, the movement of orders.

  Mirrors had only one goal.

  To become one of them.

  To break them from within.

  ---

  The first thing he needed was a body.

  Not his own.

  But one that would fit.

  One that would allow him to walk among Blackwell’s men, unnoticed.

  It did not take long.

  The night before he reached the city, he found a scout patrol along the outer perimeter.

  A group of three men, humans, armed but tired.

  They spoke in low voices, their attention slipping.

  Perfect.

  Mirrors did not need a fight.

  He only needed one of them.

  So he waited.

  ---

  The opportunity came when one of the scouts—a man named Cedric—strayed slightly from the others.

  It took less than a breath.

  A flicker of movement in the dark.

  A hand over his mouth.

  A knife against his throat.

  A shift in shape.

  And the man was gone.

  Not dead.

  Just replaced.

  ---

  Mirrors rolled his new shoulders, adjusting to the weight of the body.

  The memories came next.

  Not all at once.

  Not fully formed.

  But enough.

  Enough to be Cedric.

  Enough to walk back to the patrol without question.

  Enough to infiltrate Ironveil without resistance.

  And so, he did.

  ---

  By the next morning, he was in the city.

  Ironveil was not impressive.

  It was functional, built for survival rather than grandeur.

  But its soldiers were confident.

  They walked the streets knowing they were safe.

  Because they had weapons that made them untouchable.

  Mirrors smiled beneath his borrowed face.

  They did not yet know how fragile their safety was.

  ---

  He blended in easily.

  The first few days were spent listening.

  Not acting.

  Not disrupting.

  Just absorbing information.

  He learned where the weapons had come from.

  He learned who distributed them.

  He learned how they were controlled.

  And most importantly—he learned that Blackwell’s army was not as united as it seemed.

  There were doubts.

  There were whispers.

  The enchanted weapons were powerful, yes. But they came with restrictions.

  Each soldier was bound by strict orders.

  What they could do.

  What they could not do.

  And worst of all?

  Who was allowed to use them.

  Not all of Blackwell’s forces had been granted the enchantments.

  Some had been denied.

  Some had been deemed unworthy.

  Some resented it.

  And resentment was something Mirrors could use.

  ---

  By the end of the week, the first whispers had begun.

  It started as small complaints.

  Men grumbling over drinks.

  Discontent muted beneath casual conversation.

  But Mirrors fanned the embers.

  A single sentence here.

  A well-placed doubt there.

  No aggression.

  No open rebellion.

  Just uncertainty.

  Because doubt, once planted, grew on its own.

  And as it did, the foundation of Ironveil weakened.

  ---

  He sent a single message back to the Verdant Nexus.

  Not through paper.

  Not through magic.

  Just a simple phrase, spoken to the right person, carried back by the Fae Lord of Foxes.

  “They believe they are strong.”

  A pause.

  “But strength can be questioned.”

  And Selene’s reply was as cold as fate.

  “Then make them doubt.”

  ---

  The city did not yet know it.

  But it had already fallen.

  Not to swords.

  Not to fire.

  But to the weight of its own insecurity.

  And when the time came, the first betrayal would not be from Selene’s army.

  It would be from within Ironveil itself.