He groaned as he put his paw on his head, a wave of dizziness crashing over him as he slowly woke up. His head felt like his brain wasn't of the correct size of his head, as he opened his eyes, his blurred vision slowly adjusted to his surroundings. The first thing he saw were walls of clean, polished stone, illuminated faintly by a lightbulb mounted near the arched doorway. It took him a moment to realize where he was, he had never seen one but he could pinpoint the similarities of the room he was to a dungeon, but not the filthy, decrepit, or dusty type he'd imagined like those he read in the books. This one was well-kept, its walls almost spotless, and the faint glimmer of metal bars shone in the dim light. The bed he had been lying on was little more than a wooden frame with a thin mattress, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as he expected.

He sat up with a groan, his paws reflexively rubbing his head further as he tried to shake off the pounding that he felt. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, paws hitting the cold stone floor. The chill shot up through his body, grounding him a little. He sat there for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to make sense of it all.

Then it hit him. He felt his heart almost stop as bits of memory began to piece themselves together. The night before, it came rushing back to him. 'Grover!' He had jumped into the fray to protect his friend, Grover VI, from the soldiers in the square trying to stop him from seeing his father. He remembered biting and trying to hurt the soldier, his cry of pain, and the surge of adrenaline as he fought to defend his lord.

He clenched his jaw, frustrated as the memory blurred at the edges. What had happened? One moment he had been standing his ground, fending off the attacker, and the next...

A sharp pain shot through his head, and he winced, rubbing the fur just above his brow. The effort to recall more was like someone trying to grab a glass cup as it was falling from their paws, it slipped away every time he tried to seize it. Groaning again, he let his paws drop, his breath coming in slow, deliberate pulls as he took in his surroundings more carefully.

The cell was spartan. A single wooden chair sat in the corner, accompanied by a small table with nothing on it. The bars of the door gleamed, likely polished steel. Beyond them, he could make out the faint echo of distant footsteps and the muted sound of voices, though they were too far away to discern clearly.

The situation was not becoming clear as day to the now horrified diamond dog. He was a prisoner, but why? And by whom? What happened to him and what happened to Grover??

He needed to find his friend! His lord! He had to protect him! It was his duty!

He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as another wave of dizziness hit him. He supported himself against the wall so as not to fall. Was this how being drunk felt? Like their legs were made of spaghetti? He slowly made his way to the metal bars as he observed the corridor.

Loudbark leaned against the bars of his cell, his eyes scanning the corridor outside. It was just as clean and tidy as his cell. Smooth stone walls, barely a chip or scratch on them, and dim lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. The place didn’t fit the image of a dungeon that he had in his head. He thought there’d be more grime, more filth, and intimidation.

He let out a frustrated sigh and leaned his forehead against the cold metal, trying to push through the ache in his head and make sense of everything. His eyes drifted further down the hall, where the light didn’t quite reach. That’s when he noticed movement.

At first, it was just a flicker in the shadows, but then a griffon stepped into the light from a neighboring cell in front of his. He was tall and wiry, his feathers scruffy and uneven. One side of his face was marred by a long scar that stretched from his beak up past his eye. He didn’t look like a guard, but he also didn’t look like a prisoner who had been locked up and forgotten. He stood there, leaning against the wall casually, staring right at Loudbark with a smug grin on his beak.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” the griffon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “How’s the beauty sleep, doggy?”

Loudbark’s jaw tightened, and his ears flattened against his head. He didn’t reply. He wasn’t in the mood for jabs, especially from someone who looked like trouble. If he was in a royal dungeon, he was bad business. He turned his head away, pretending not to pay attention or hear him.

The griffon snorted, clearly not about to let it go. “Oh, come on, don’t ignore me. I’m not one of those royalist fuckers you’ve got to worry about.”

That got Loudbark’s attention. His head snapped back toward the griffon, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

The griffon grinned wider, stepping closer to the bars of his cell. “What, you deaf too? I said I’m not with those imperialist fucks. Never was.”

Loudbark stared at him, trying to process what he was hearing. “Then who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Talon,” the griffon said, tapping a claw against the bars. “One of the Liberators."

"Liberators? Of what?" Loudbark asked with confusion.

He snickered with a smile but not showing outright offense at the ignorance. "Not surprised you don't know little pup. Used to fight under Kemerskai. You know, the Republic. The real deal before it all fell apart.” He smirked. “Not that I expect a mutt like you to know much about that, the emperor made sure we were forgotten.”

The diamond blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “You’re one of Kemerskai’s soldiers?” he asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Was,” Talon corrected, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Got caught when we pulled out of the capital. A whole lot of us didn’t make it, but lucky me, I got a nice, cozy cell here instead of a grave. Been rotting in this damn place ever since.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Loudbark asked cautiously. “You don’t even know who I am.”

The griffon chuckled, leaning closer to the bars. “I know enough,” he said, a glint in his scarred eye. “You’re not wearing any fancy uniforms, and you don’t have the look of a royalist lapdog. So, either you’re one of us who want to make a difference, or you’re some poor sap who got caught up at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He could barely wrap his head around the fact that Talon was a former soldier of Kemerskai, one of the revolutionaries who had fought against the holy imperial family. Kemerskai’s treacherous uprising had been years ago, before Grover VI and he were even born. If Talon was telling the truth, that meant this being had been stuck in this prison for almost two decades, and Loudbark... well, Loudbark still had no idea how long he’d been unconscious or what was even happening outside the walls of this place.

He pushed himself up straight, trying to shake off the dizziness, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Talon again. “You wouldn’t happen to know what’s going on out there, would you?” Loudbark asked with a tinge of curiosity. “I mean... anything about the outside world? The emperor, or... or your leader?”

Talon just tilted his head, his grin fading into a tired, almost bored expression. “Outside? Heh. Haven’t heard a damn thing for years. They don’t exactly let us in on the news besides glating about the last Republicans stuck in the Duchy of Cloudbury, a weak, pitiful, duchy in the North to starve and kill each other.” He scoffed. "I don't believe for a second they would stray from the republican path. The Republic falling to banditry, and warlordism? HAH! Kemerskai would never allow it! I am sure."

He was wrong, for those problems were a very real problem in the rebelling territories of what once was the Duchy of Cloudbury was now a wasteland of the officers under Kemerskai that ruled like warlords, the situation of bantitry and looting got so bad that the socialists secceded to form their own country in the north and now were in conflict with their once fellow republicans. But that didn't matter to the dog, for that answer hit Loudbark harder than he expected. Not paying attention to the propagandist / Zealotic answer but the part about not knowing anything. His ears drooped slightly, and he felt a knot form in his stomach. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “The emperor’s dead. The capital fell. It’s chaos out there... I don’t know who’s in charge anymore.”

Talon’s eyes flicked up, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Ah.... Viva la Revolucion” he declared, his voice dripping with a kind of grim low amusement. “It's inevitable when oppression reigns. When people are in chains... resisting is the only choice they’ve got left. Good to see the masses aren't taking it lying down”

Loudbark blinked, his mind grappling with the response. “You... you think it’s a republican uprising? Are you that delusional?” He growled.

Talon’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of defiance in his posture as he stepped closer to the bars. “Of course i believe. You think it’s any surprise that the people would rise up? They’ve been living in the shadows of the royals for years, treated like animals. Every boot on their neck just made the rebellion come quicker. Revolution isn’t some random occurrence, dog. It’s the natural response when those in power refuse to listen.” He let the bars go as he preached passionately to the bewildered young diamond dog. "This isn't just chaos, doggy, it's a reckoning. It's what happens when those at the top forget that the people below them aren’t just tools. You can only grind someone down so much before they break, and when they break, they bite back." Loudbark crossed his arms, leaning against the wall of his cell. His expression hardened as he took in Talon's words, but he refused to be swayed by the griffon's fiery rhetoric.

“And what did that rebellion get you, Talon?” he said, his voice quiet. “You’re here, locked away in some royal dungeon, rotting. Meanwhile, the Empire you wanted to destroy is still out there, alive and well.”

Talon snorted, his scarred face twisting into a grimace. “Alive and well? Really? The gunshots outside are just a fashion statement i assume?" He asked sarcastically with a scoff. "You think this is about me you little reactionary fuck?” He gestured broadly with one claw as if to encompass the entire prison. “I’m just one soldier in a war bigger than any of us. What we started didn’t end with Kemerskai’s retreat and exile to the north, and it sure as hell didn’t end when I got thrown in here. Revolutions don’t die in dungeons. They live on in every griffon, every dog, every creature out there who’s sick of being a pawn in someone else’s game.”

The diamond dog shook his head, his ears flicking in irritation, clearly not buying it, but refusing to amuse the griffon, his patience at the mad-griff reaching a breaking point. “You call me a reactionary like it’s some kind of insult,” Loudbark began almost barring his teeth at the revolutionary. “But I wear my loyalty proudly. The Empire isn’t just some political structure or a banner flapping in the wind. It’s centuries of order, prosperity, and unity under the divine right of Grover’s bloodline. Do you think your revolution is something noble, something greater than yourself? It’s not. It’s chaos dressed up in rhetoric, a vanity project for self-important fanatics like you who think they know better than the gods who favored the Von Greifenstein's in the first place.”

Talon stared back, his scarred face unreadable for a moment. Then, he smirked, but there was no humor in it. Only cold disdain. “Loyalty, huh? You keep telling yourself that while your ‘gods-chosen’ emperors sit in their palaces, sipping wine, and sending creatures like you to die for them.”

Loudbark’s grip tightened on the bars, but he refused to rise to the bait. “Better to die for the Empire and it's people than to live for yourself.”

Loudbark and Talon’s argument ended with a tense, hostile silence. Loudbark’s chest rose and fell, his anger barely contained as he glared at the griffon on the other side of the bars. Talon met his gaze, his scarred face calm but his eyes burning with the same intensity. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Then Talon snickered. It started as a low chuckle and grew into full-blown laughter, echoing off the clean stone walls of the corridor. Loudbark’s ears flattened against his head, his teeth bared as he snapped, “What’s so funny!?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Talon said, waving a claw dismissively as he fought to stifle his laughter. “It’s just... hilarious to me. The mighty Griffonian Empire, with all its pomp and glory, has more loyal subjects in Diamond Dogs than it does in its own kind and namesake. The irony’s almost poetic.” He leaned against the wall, shaking his head as his laughter subsided into a smug grin. “You dogs, bowing and scraping to the same empire that probably thought of you as nothing more than beasts not so long ago. It’s rich.”

Loudbark’s claws dug into his palms as his fists tightened. “You don’t know anything about us,” he growled. But he didn’t get a chance to say more as both their attentions turned once they heard a door opening at the end of the hall.

The sharp clanging of claws on stone broke through the tension, accompanied by the metallic clatter of armor. Both Loudbark and Talon turned toward the source of the noise, the argument forgotten in the appearance of possibly their captors. A group of griffon soldiers marched down the corridor. They bore the familiar imperial insignia, but there was something different about them, something that set them apart. Loudbark couldn’t tell if they were regular imperial troops or the mutineers, but the sight of them filled him with unease and he unoticing slowly backed away in worry.

The lead soldier, a stocky griffon with golden eyes, stopped in front of Loudbark’s cell. He looked at the dog with an expression that was hard to read. Half respectful, half impatient. “You’re Loudbark?” the griffon asked, his voice clipped and direct.

Loudbark straightened, caught off guard by the question. He felt he should lie and bullshit his way out of what could be trouble to him, but he also knew there was no point. “Yeah, that’s me,” he replied cautiously. “What’s this about?”

The soldier nodded once. “Dawnclaw’s orders. He’s freeing you. Wants to meet with you. Now, come on.” He gestured for the other soldiers to unlock the cell.

Loudbark blinked, his mind racing to process the information. Dawnclaw? Ferdinand Dawnclaw, the infamous General who rallied a rebellion and marched against the imperial throne? That Dawnclaw? Oh dear gods he was fucked. Why would he want to see him? Before he could ask any questions, the soldiers swung the cell door open and stepped aside, waiting for him to follow.

He hesitated momentarily, then stepped out into the corridor, glancing back at Talon one last time. The griffon was still leaning against the wall of his cell. As their eyes met, Talon raised a claw in a mock salute, a sly grin spreading across his beak.

“Good luck with your new master, little pup, it was nice debating with you.” Talon said with a smirk. “Hope he’s got a nice leash for you.”

Loudbark clenched his jaw, his ears twitching with irritation, but he didn’t reply. He turned away and followed the soldiers down the corridor.

Slowly they left the alley that had been the boy's temporary 'residence' (if one can even call it that) the night prior. The Changeling carried the royal child through the capital. Thranx remained in his griffon form, the feathers of his griffon disguise ruffled and stained from attempting to avoid the battles that had raged just hours earlier. The streets were a nightmare, but nothing compared to the one raging in his mind.

He had hesitated when it mattered most. He, a Major in the Changeling Army, who had faced the horrors of war and survived countless battles against the ponies in Canterlot, had faltered in the face of a child's desperate cries. Granted, the fight against those harmony-worshiping little marshmalows was absolutely nothing like the carnage at the capital, the ponies fought without any ill intent and casualties were absurdly rare, but here? The griffons fought to kill, and they wre experts at it. The difference was as clear as day, same as the shame upon him that was unbearable.

The child's life had been hanging by a thread that night, and Thranx had been too paralyzed by his own fear to act. It wasn't the fear of combat or the rebels who had swarmed the city. It was something deeper, a fear that cut through his military facade and exposed the cowardice he had never wanted to acknowledge. The fear of failure and reprisal at the hooves of the megalomaniacal Tyrant that Chrysalis was.

As he looked down at Grover, who was still clutching him tightly in his 'claws', Thranx could feel the boy's emotions from his changeling instincts. The panic that had seized the child in the alley still lingered, with heavy breaths and the occasional shudder that came through his adolescent body, the boy must be merely 14 barely reaching 16 by his size, the poor thing by griffon standards must still be a teen. Forced to take a life. What a horrible week.

Thranx's eyes took in the aftermath of the coup attempt as they walked. The streets were littered with the remnants of the conflict, barricades hastily erected by the loyalists now lay in ruin, they obviously failed in their tasks. Bodies of those who had fought and lost, griffons lay twisted and broken in the streets their sides and allegiances mattering little now that they weren't alive any longer, with many construction and cleanup crews coming and going by the streets. Some bodies were being carried away by solemn-faced soldiers and civilians who probably volunteered to help. In contrast, others still lay where they had fallen, their lifeless eyes staring up at a sky that had long since stopped caring. The smell of the dead hung thick in the air, mingling with the smell of gunpowder and the faint, sickly sweet odor of burning wood from the many houses caught by a missed artillery shell or something else the Changeling didn't want to ponder.

Grover's eyes were blank, darting from one horrific scene to another, silent in a stare he knew from only those who saw death for the first time. The stare was reserved for soldiers in their first battles. A stare that shouldn't ever be planted upon a child, whose life had been one of privilege, shielded from the brutal realities of the world outside the palace walls. Now, those walls had come crashing down, leaving him exposed to the raw, unfiltered brutality of life and death. Thranx could feel the boy's grip tighten slightly.

The walk was not long, less than a few minutes, yet for both it felt like hours as they walked by the wartorn city with the smell of ash and blood.

The palace loomed in the distance. Normally a symbol of Griffonian strength and splendor, it was now visibly scared by the violence that had taken over the capital. Thranx could see the damage from this distance, one of the outer towers had partially collapsed from probably artillery fire with the roof of the entrance having suffered the same fate. Smoke still drifted from the main structure, the black streaks staining the once-pristine walls.

The closer they got, the more apparent the devastation became. The streets leading to the palace were more intact than the outer districts, but the signs of battle were no less severe. Scorch marks from magical blasts and gunfire pockmarked the cobblestones and nearby walls. A cart lay overturned to one side, its contents spilled and abandoned. Banners of the Imperial crest were torn and fluttered limply in the breeze, some trampled into the dirt.

The changeling’s sharp instincts kept him scanning for threats, though his griffon disguise remained stoic. The path leading to the grand entrance was eerily quiet.

The moment they came into view of the palace guards, the sentries snapped to attention. Their polished armor gleamed, despite the soot and grime that marred the rest of the capital. The lead guard stepped forward, his eyes briefly assessing the pair before widening in recognition. Without hesitation, he bowed deeply, his comrades following suit.

“Your Majesty,” the lead guard said solemnly, his voice firm but reverent. “You are expected. Please, enter the palace.”

Grover stiffened at the display, his feathers puffing slightly in discomfort. For a moment, the boy clung tighter to Thranx’s arm, but then he stopped. Slowly, he released his grip and lowered himself to the ground. His claws trembled slightly as he adjusted his footing, but he squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

“I can walk,” Grover said, his voice soft but determined. “Thank you.”

Thranx blinked, startled by the sudden shift. “Kid.... Your highness... You’ve been through—”

“No,” Grover interrupted, shaking his head as he stepped forward. “It’s embarrassing. I... I shouldn’t be so fearful and pathetic, i am a Greifenstein.... I’m supposed to-” His voice faltered for a moment before he pressed on. “I’m supposed to be better than this.” The boy was clearly not convincing himself with the words.

Thranx opened his beak to protest, but one of the guards spoke before he could. “A noble sentiment, Your Majesty,” the guard said with a nod, his tone approving. “You honor your ancestors with such conviction.” The second guard nodded in agreement, his expression equally serious.

Thranx felt a twinge of frustration and dismay. What honor? He’s a child! There is no honor in this! He swallowed his protest, biting back the urge to argue. The guards’ approval was clear, but the changeling’s instincts screamed that this was wrong. Forcing the boy to act “dignified” under such dire circumstances felt more like a punishment than a example in leadership.

Still, what unnerved him most wasn’t Grover’s struggle or the guards’ words. It was the fact that they had been expected. The griffons here seemed unfazed at their arrival, as if they had known of their approach long before they even turned the street.

The silence as they approached the palace, the lack of anyone else on the streets, and the guards’ calm demeanor now clicked together in Thranx’s mind. We were being watched. His feathers ruffled instinctively, and he swallowed hard, his unease now showing in his disguise as his heart sank. If the situation had seemed precarious before, it was worse now. The fact that their arrival had been anticipated without any visible escort or signal meant that someone, likely someone in power and in control of the capital had eyes everywhere. Thranx didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified by the prospect.

As the grand doors of the palace swung open, Thranx’s unease deepened the more they entered the surprisingly well preserved palace, it seemed the rebelling troops went through an extra mile to keep the palace untouched. At the end of the hall stood a figure that made Thranx’s heart sink into his stomach, with a grin that could frighten a dragon stood Ferdinand Dawnclaw.

The griffon general stood tall, his powerful frame clad in a pristine uniform. His piercing crimson eyes sharp as a blade locked onto Grover, and for a split second, Thranx’s instincts screamed at him to act, to shield the boy, to grab Grover and bolt from this immediate threat.

The guards escorting them saluted sharply and stepped back. “Dawnclaw sir, as requested,” one of them said before excusing themselves with a bow.

“Dismissed,” Ferdinand replied curtly, not even sparing them a glance as his eyes remained fixed on Grover.

The heavy doors closed behind them with a resounding thud, leaving Thranx alone with the boy and the infamous general.

'This is bad. This is so much worse than I thought.' A sweat came from the forehead of the Changeling's disguise. His mind raced, recalling everything he’d heard and saw about Ferdinand. This was the griffon who had raised his banners in rebellion, the very one who had marched on the capital with an army at his back. If rumors were to be believed, this was the griffon responsible for the death of Emperor Grover V. And now he’s here. With the heir. Alone.

Every fiber of Thranx’s being screamed that this man couldn’t be allowed anywhere near the child, but before he could act, Ferdinand did something that froze him in place.

The feared general dropped to one knee before the boy, his expression softening into something... almost gentle.

“Your Majesty,” Ferdinand said, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber, but it carried no malice. “In my honor as a imperial soldier under the crown. I am relieved beyond words to see you safe.”

Grover blinked in surprise, his feathery brows furrowing as he stared at the kneeling griffon. The boy had been trying so hard to project a stoic front, but the sight of the formidable general bowing to him visibly disarmed him.

Ferdinand’s eyes briefly scanned the boy, noting the state of his tattered clothes and the grime clinging to his feathers. His beak curved into a faint frown. “Though I must say,” he continued, “you’ve been through more than any young griffon should ever endure. To see you like this... it is a failure on all of us who swore to protect the Empire. For that, i am sorry tour majesty.”

Thranx could hardly believe what he was seeing. 'This isn’t Ferdinand Dawnclaw. This can’t be the butcher of the capital, the rebel leader who now is the reason the Empire it's tearing itself apart.' He thought with a mix of fear and apprehention at the albino.

Yet there he was, speaking with an air of sincerity that made Grover’s cautious exterior begin to crack. The boy nodded, his expression softening, even showing a glimmer of gratitude. Ferdinand Dawnclaw rose from his kneeling position, his powerful form towering over the young heir. Gesturing for them to follow, he turned and began walking deeper into the palace.

"I will admit, Your Majesty," he began, his voice steady but tinged with a note of shame, "I tried. I tried to save your father. To protect him from the treachery of the nobles....." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

Grover hesitated, his small claws clenching at his sides as he tried to hold back the fear creeping into his voice. "My father... is he safe? Is he okay?"

Thranx felt a chill run through him as he watched Ferdinand’s eyes. Despite the general’s outward expression of remorse, the changeling could feel it, cold indifference buried beneath a carefully constructed facade. But he kept silent, he knew that he could not attract the gaze of that hungry predator.

Dawnclaw’s beak tightened briefly, his gaze forward as he continued walking. “I was too late, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice dropping in pitch.

Grover faltered, his smaller frame trembling as the weight of those words hit him. His breath hitched, and before he could collapse into despair, Dawnclaw stopped in front of a grand set of doors. The general’s talons pushed them open, revealing the throne room.

The sight inside was a nightmare.

At the center of the room, upon the Empire’s grand throne, sat Emperor Grover V. His once-proud form was now a ghastly shadow of its former self, his body slumped lifelessly in the massive seat. Hundreds of tubes and wires snaked from his body, connecting him to a monstrous contraption that enveloped the throne. It hissed and pulsed with a grotesque rhythm and beeps of medical equipment, the only sign of life in the otherwise silent room.

"Father!" The Grover junior cried out, rushing forward. He threw himself at the throne, clutching at his father’s legs in absolute dispair and worry. “Father, it’s me! Are you okay?"

There was no response, not even a rection to his touch, merely silence.

"What happened?? Are you hurt??"

His father did not answer.

"Please... Daddy, say something!”

But there was no response.

Grover V sat unmoving, his eye half-open and glassy while his red optic had no light in it, his chest rising extremely slow under the mess of tubes, barely properly breathing.

Thranx’s breath caught in his throat. His changeling instincts screamed at him to run. The grotesque mockery of life before him was beyond anything he’d ever encountered. His stomach churned as he thought of how they had desecrated the emperor’s body to fuse it with this infernal contraption.

“He is Alive your majesty,” Dawnclaw said matter-of-factly, stepping forward. “I managed to save him, but... it wasn’t enough to truly restore him. He’s in a deep slumber now, a kind of... suspended state. The Empire needs its symbol, after all.”

The general’s voice sounded proud, but his words struck Thranx like a physical blow. His eyes darted between the abomination on the throne and the grief-stricken child. The emperor wasn’t alive, not truly. This was a corpse on display, an insult to any dignity the griffon claimed to have.

Grover VI’s sobs echoed in the throne room, his small body trembling as he clung to his father. “Father, please... wake up. Please...” His cries were raw, a sound of pure heartbreak that pierced the changeling’s hardened military exterior. The poor kid, who had already been forced to sleep unto the streets on the middle of a war in the capital, who was forced to fight and kill to just keep himself alive, now was forced to see his father's body dead.

Thranx’s own horror deepened as he glanced at Dawnclaw, who stood silently, unfazed by the scene before him. This wasn’t salvation. It was madness.

Grover's small frame shook with each sob as he buried his face into his father’s lifeless legs. Between gasps for air, he choked out the question that hung heavily in the room. “H-how... h-how did this happen?”

Dawnclaw stood beside the changeling, his face a mask of solemnity. He gestured broadly toward the throne as though the grotesque machinery were some kind of justification. “When I arrived, Your Majesty, your father was already in this state. I found him in his medical ward, lifeless and abandoned.”

Thranx’s mind went into overdrive as he remembered very well the prelude for the Grover Senior to getting to the palace, his son charging headfirst into the chaos in between two squads of griffons of opossing factions in the chaos that was the first hours of conflict in the capital their weapons raised against each other in a desperate skirmish. And at the center of it all, the emperor’s body, being dragged through the crowd to be saved in some way.

Thranx remembered seeing at the distance and hearing Grover’s cries, his desperate attempts to be recognized, to claim his father’s body. But he was refused, by soldiers too lost in their own struggle to see the child for who he was. It was tragic. All of this was tragic.

The changeling's eyes darted where the young heir remained at his father’s feet, trembling as his sobs subsided. A dangerous silence came suddenly as the sobs stopped. “Who did this?” Grover whispered, his voice hoarse but laced with something darker. He lifted his head, his tear-streaked face with his eyes red from the tears. “Who hurt my daddy?”

Thranx’s heart sank. He could feel the raw, unbridled and uncontrolable emotion coming from the boy, and it wasn't grief and sadness. It was something else, it was hatred.

And then he saw it, the subtle, predatory curve of a smile forming on Dawnclaw’s beak. It was faint, fleeting, but unmistakable. Thranx froze as the general leaned forward slightly, his voice calm yet poisoned with intent.

“It was Eros, your majesty” Dawnclaw said simply his face showing sadness to the boy but inside, the changeling could feel.... Satisfaction... “He entered your father’s chambers... and when he left, the emperor was dead.” Thranx's face lit with realization of what the albino was doing at that exact moment, as he felt the burning hatred that was set ablaze in the heart of the boy.

For the capture of the capital wasn't Ferdinand's true goal, it was something far bigger. And the changeling could only watch in silent terror as he took complete advantage of the grieving and mentaly unstable boy.

The ultimate coup'deat.

Author's Note

Happy new year my friends! Love you all and thank for reading!