Page 51 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

He sighed, a sound of weary patience, as if explaining a simple truth to a slow-witted child.

"Because the Empire is bleeding, Tarshi. Not from a swift, clean wound, but from a thousand small cuts. It’s infected with the cancer of dissent, of misplaced sympathy for our enemies.

A cancer that, if left unchecked, will consume us all in the fires of civil war.

Sympathizers, dissenters, idealists who have forgotten that our peace was built on a foundation of iron and blood.

They weaken us from within, making us vulnerable.

This... this is a necessary amputation. We cut off the gangrenous limb to save the body.

The citizens who die today are a sacrifice—a tragic but essential sacrifice—to ensure the Empire's survival for another thousand years. "

He gave a small, sad shake of his head. "You see, that's what you and your kind will never understand. You think in terms of individuals. Of feelings. We think in terms of history. Of legacy. Today, we forge a new legacy of Imperial unity, consecrated in blood and fear."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“A surgeon must sometimes cut away healthy flesh to stop the spread of gangrene. Today, we perform that surgery. We remind them of the enemy at their gates. We remind them that their safety is not a right, but a privilege granted by a strong hand. By the time the sun sets on this city, they will be begging for the very chains they sought to cast off.”

He gave a final, almost gentle pat to my shoulder.

“Do not despair. Your death, and the deaths of hundreds more, will serve a noble purpose. It will save the Empire from itself. Today, you die. Tomorrow the Emperor will have the backing of every noble and peasant in the Empire to invade the Talfen homeland and wipe every one of you demons from the earth.”

His words hit me like physical blows, each one driving home the enormity of what was about to happen. I stared at him, this man I had trusted, had believed in, trying to reconcile the passionate resistance leader with the cold-eyed Imperial agent who stood before me now.

"You won't succeed," I said, my voice raw with desperation and rage. "There are good people in the Empire. They'll see through this. They'll know the truth."

Kalen smiled—a small, pitying expression that chilled my blood.

"Will they? The same good people who have stood by for generations while the Talfen were hunted and enslaved?

The same good people who cheer at executions and toast the Emperor's health?

" He shook his head. "No, Tarshi. They will see what we want them to see.

They will believe what is easier to believe—that monsters struck at the heart of their civilization, and only the Empire's firm hand can protect them. "

I lunged against my bonds again, feeling the ropes cut deeper into my wrists. Blood trickled down my forearms, hot and slick. "I won't let you do this," I snarled, abandoning reason for pure, animal fury. "I'll stop you. Somehow, I'll stop you."

"You already helped me do it," he reminded me, his voice infuriatingly calm. "Your anger, your pain, your desire for revenge—they made you the perfect tool. Just as the resistance itself was the perfect tool to justify what comes next."

The truth of his words pierced me like a blade.

I had been used—my grief over Septimus, my rage at the Empire, my desperation to strike back at a system that had made me feel less than human.

Kalen had seen it all, had manipulated those emotions with surgical precision, turning me into a weapon against the very people I wanted to protect.

"Listen to me," I said, changing tactics, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You don't have to do this. You can still stop it. Tell me where the other devices are. Let me help you disarm them."

For a moment—just a moment—I thought I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the same cold resolve.

"It's already in motion," he said. "The detonations are set. The witnesses are in place. The story is already being written." He glanced at his timepiece again. "The first device activates in forty-three minutes. By then, I need to be well clear of the square, establishing my alibi."

Panic surged through me, a tide of helplessness that threatened to drown rational thought. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to think. Forty-three minutes. If I could break free, I might still have time to warn people, to save some of them at least.

I reached for the power inside me again, that core of Talfen strength that Sirrax had helped me find. I felt it stir, a warmth spreading through my limbs, a tingling sensation in my fingertips as scales began to form beneath my skin.

Kalen noticed the change immediately, his eyes widening in alarm as blue scales rippled across my forearms. "What are you—" He broke off, understanding dawning in his expression. "You're one of them. A shifter."

I didn't waste breath confirming what he could see with his own eyes. I focused on the transformation, willing it to progress faster, to give me the strength to break these ropes before it was too late.

"Fascinating," Kalen murmured, watching the scales spread up my arms. "I'd heard rumours, of course, but to see it..." His hand went to his belt, drawing a long knife from a concealed sheath. "I'm afraid I can't allow this to continue."

I snarled at him, feeling my teeth sharpen, my jaw beginning to elongate. The ropes creaked as my muscles swelled, my body growing larger, stronger. Just a little more time, a little more change, and I could break free.

Kalen's expression hardened. He stepped forward, the knife glinting dully in the dim light. "A shame," he said, his voice clinical now, devoid of emotion. "You truly could have been valuable to the Empire. The things we could have learned from you..."

I lunged against the ropes with renewed desperation, feeling them strain against my transformed strength. One of the bindings snapped, my right arm coming partially free.

Kalen's eyes widened in alarm. He moved with unexpected speed for a man his age, the knife flashing as he slashed at my partially freed arm. I jerked back, but not quickly enough—the blade opened a long gash from elbow to wrist, blood welling dark against the blue scales.

I roared in pain and rage, the sound no longer fully human. The transformation accelerated, fuelled by adrenaline and fear. More ropes strained, threads beginning to snap one by one.

"No," Kalen hissed, realizing I might actually break free. He reversed his grip on the knife, raising it high.

I braced myself for the killing blow, but instead of plunging the blade into my heart, Kalen brought the heavy pommel crashing down against my temple.

White-hot pain exploded through my skull. The world tilted, shadows crawling in from the edges of my vision. I fought to stay conscious, to maintain the transformation, but the blow had been too precise, too powerful.

"I'm truly sorry it came to this," Kalen's voice seemed to come from very far away. "But I can't risk you interfering now. Not when we're so close."

I tried to speak, to curse him, to plead one last time, but my tongue felt thick and useless in my mouth. The transformation faltered, scales receding as unconsciousness pulled at me.

The last thing I saw was Kalen's face, gazing down at me with that same expression of detached regret. Then darkness swallowed me whole, and I fell into a void where the screams of the innocent waited like ghosts of a future I had helped create.