Dawn Walker

A few moments passed after Dickoff was told he would not return to his own mansion without Mihos’s order.

No one in the pavilion moved carelessly during that silence. The dawn outside had begun to grow, but it was still weak light, more gray than gold. It came through the opening of the command pavilion in long pale strips and touched the edges of the carpets, the broken mood in the room, and the face of a man who had just learned that his house still had his name but no longer truly belonged to his decisions.

Dickoff stood very still.

That was not dignity.

That was fear learning to hold its breath.

Mihos remained where he was near the long table. His temper had already burned through the first violent stage and entered something colder. Stephen knew that cold state well. It was always worse. When the young master shouted and broke things, the room suffered. When he became quiet, other people did.

At last, Mihos spoke again.

"You still have one use left."

That line hit Dickoff harder than any open insult would have. He looked up at once. Hope was an ugly thing for frightened men. It always came too quickly and showed too much.

"Young master?"

Mihos turned toward him fully now. "Do not misunderstand me. You are still worthless in the usual ways. But even worthless things can burn if enough fuel is thrown into them."

Dickoff swallowed.

Stephen kept his face calm.

That line meant a decision had already been made.

Mihos continued, "I can give you something that will make you strong enough to kill Sekhmet."

The whole room changed.

Dickoff forgot to breathe for a heartbeat. Stephen’s eyes lowered slightly, not because he was surprised that power existed, but because he had already begun guessing which power the young master might mean. The three private guards at the edge of the pavilion stayed still, but their attention sharpened in the way trained men’s attention always sharpened when forbidden things entered conversation.

Dickoff found his voice again. "Strong enough?"

Mihos’s expression did not soften. "For a short time."

That was the truth of it then.

Temporary.

Artificial.

Expensive.

Dickoff understood enough of power to know none of those words were comforting. Still, fear and greed were already working together inside him, and men caught between those two forces were easy to guide.

"What must I do?" he asked.

Mihos looked at him with open contempt now, which somehow made the answer land harder. "Use all the chaos stones you still have access to."

Dickoff stared.

Mihos went on. "The thing requires a great amount of pure chaos energy just to wake properly. By yourself, you are not worth the dust under that requirement. But if you pour enough low-grade chaos stones into it, then even you may force it to answer."

Stephen’s eyes moved slightly then. Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for Mihos to see.

Dickoff did not notice anything. He was already doing arithmetic in his head. One part of fear. One part longing. One part survival. He asked, "How much."

Mihos said the number cleanly.

"The one hundred million low-grade chaos stones you still have will give you almost ten minutes."

Dickoff’s throat moved.

That was not a small price.

That was ruin.

That was not throwing money into battle. That was taking the corpse of Iron House’s remaining lower wealth and setting fire to it for one final strike.

Ten minutes.

No more than that.

Stephen understood now.

"The young master had truly decided."

Dickoff still looked shaken, but not for long. A man who had already watched his business routes burn and his guards die could be made to agree to almost anything if the offer in front of him was wrapped in vengeance instead of dignity. Ten minutes of overwhelming strength was more than enough for a man like him to imagine his own recovery.

He asked the stupid question anyway. "With that... I can kill him?"

Mihos’s eyes hardened slightly. "If you fail with this, then your bloodline should be ashamed if you ever learned how to breed."

That was not reassurance.

It was enough.

Dickoff bowed his head. "I agree."

Stephen did not like hearing that agreement spoken so quickly. Not because he cared for Dickoff. Because decisions involving priceless things should never be accepted too eagerly by desperate fools. Desperate fools always treated wonders like hammers and then acted surprised when they broke more than their intended target.

Mihos turned his head slightly.

"Stephen."

The butler bowed. "Yes, young master."

"Bring it."

Stephen did not move immediately.

He rarely questioned direct orders. He also knew when silence still had one narrow moment left where a warning might matter.

"Young master," he said carefully, "are you sure?"

Mihos looked at him.

Stephen continued anyway. "That item is very precious. Your grandfather personally wanted it for Dawn house. We had to do far too much to get it. It was not meant to be used for a local house struggle."

That was as far as he could go without crossing into disobedience.

Dickoff heard those words and became even more alert than before. Good. Let him understand the scale of what he was being offered.

Mihos’s expression did not change.

"Do not lecture me," he said. "I know what I am doing. Bring it."

That ended the matter.

Stephen bowed once. "Yes, young master."

Then he left the pavilion.

The silence after that was worse than before, because now Dickoff had time to imagine what was coming. His fear had shifted shape again. Earlier, he had feared punishment. Now he feared the weight of whatever Mihos was actually willing to hand him. That made him more careful in posture, but no less greedy in the eyes.

Mihos noticed everything.

A man should understand when the thing placed in his hand was larger than his own importance.

Stephen returned not long after.

He carried a box in both hands.

Even before it was set down, Dickoff understood that this was no ordinary container. The wood was black, but not polished black. Not decorative. It was the black of something that had endured so long that age itself had stopped trying to change it. The grain looked wrong. Ancient in a way that ordinary trees could never become. The corners were bound in dark metal that had dulled long before kingdoms were born. No crest marked it. No writing decorated it. It did not need either. The weight of it entered the room before the box fully touched the table.

Stephen placed it down with more care than he had used for any object in the pavilion so far.

Dickoff stared.

Mihos rested one hand lightly on the lid. For the first time since the report of failure, something almost like respect touched his face. Not softness. Respect for the object, not for anyone else near it.

Then he opened the box.

Inside, on dark fabric that looked nearly rotten with age but somehow still whole, lay a single thing.

It was shaped like a seed.

At least, that was the easiest way for a mortal eye to understand it.

But it did not look like any seed that had ever come from honest soil. It was black, not in the flat way of burned wood or polished stone, but in the deep way empty space might look if it hardened into matter. Its surface was rough and layered like old rock, but wrong in the details. Veins or cracks or growth-lines ran across it in patterns too old and too strange for accident. It looked dead. It looked like it was sleeping. It looked as if, if left alone for another billion years, it still would not have changed at all.

Dickoff’s mouth went dry.

He asked quietly, "Is it an Origin Class artifact?"

Stephen did not answer.

That question belonged to Mihos.

Mihos looked down at the black seed and said, "No."

Dickoff blinked once.

Mihos lifted his gaze to him. "It is worth more than an Origin Class artifact."

That line settled over the whole pavilion like the shadow of something too large to name.

Dickoff stared at the seed again, but differently now. Not as a tool. As a danger. Real danger. The kind that did not belong in the lower domain at all.

Mihos closed the lid halfway, not fully, and kept one hand on the box.

"Be careful with it," he said. "You do not own it. You are only allowed to die holding it if necessary."

That was likely the closest thing to trust Dickoff would get from him now.

He bowed too quickly. "Yes, young master."

Mihos’s voice turned colder again. "You will go home. You will wait for Sekhmet."

Dickoff looked up at once.

"Wait?"

"Yes," Mihos said. "He will come. Men like him always come when they think the lower board is already theirs. They inspect the corpse. They count the surviving threats. They finish what they believe is unfinished." His eyes narrowed slightly. "When he comes, you will kill him with this."

The line was simple.

That made it heavier.

Dickoff stared at the black box. Ten minutes. One hundred million low-grade chaos stones. Something worth more than an Origin Class artifact. A chance to kill the bastard who had ruined the first round, broken the lower body of Iron House, and turned Mihos’s amusement into rage.

Fear and greed finished their work inside him.

He reached toward the box.

Not carelessly. Even in his shaking state, he had enough sense left to understand that this was not the sort of thing a man snatched. His hands received it the way hands received funeral fire or royal poison.

Stephen watched the transfer with complete silence.

Mihos said only one last thing.

"Do not fail."

Dickoff bowed with the black box held tightly against both palms. "I will not."

That was a lie.

Not because he intended betrayal.

Because men like Dickoff lied most beautifully when speaking to themselves.

Still, the order had been given. The object had changed hands. The next step had already begun forming itself in the dark.

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