TITLE:ASHES OF THE BLACKAN:

Episode 4:Title:FRACTURES IN THE MASK

Episode 4** of **"Ashes of the Blackan"**:

# Episode 4: **Fractures in the Mask**

The manor grew colder after the tournament. Not in temperature — in feeling.

Whispers stirred through the stone corridors. Secrets clung to every velvet curtain, every marble column. Somewhere in the bowels of the House of Maevryn, a storm was building.

And **Kalen Dravik** could feel it.

He walked the empty halls late into the night, his boots silent on the polished floors. Nobles slept uneasily in their grand chambers; servants scurried like shadows.

Kalen didn't sleep much. He hadn't in years. Sleep meant dreams. Dreams meant weakness.

He paused at a balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens, letting the cold night air cut through him.

Below, he saw movement.

**Silas Ventor** and **Cassian Vale** walked side by side under the pale light, deep in conversation. A third figure lingered near them — **Mira Lorne**, still bruised from the brutal fight, her posture wary but drawn to their kindness like a moth to flame.

Kalen's hands tightened on the stone railing.

Why should he care what happened to them? They were nothing to him. Distractions. Weaknesses.

And yet...

Somewhere deep inside, something cracked.

**Elsewhere**, hidden from all but the keenest eyes, **Vera Moonfall** sat in a shadowed chamber, speaking into a crystal orb humming with power.

"They are gathering," she said, voice low, sharp. "Three of them. Possibly four, if the Blackan does not interfere."

A voice answered, distant and oily: *"Continue your surveillance, Vera. Find the weakness. Exploit it."*

Vera smiled, though no one could see it. She loved games — but she loved winning even more.

She tucked the orb away, adjusted her blood-red gown, and slipped back into the manor's veins, ready to strike when the moment was ripe.

The next morning, the House of Maevryn hosted a feast in the Grand Hall — a calculated show of power, unity, and extravagance.

Kalen attended, masked and silent as always.

He took his seat at the far end of the long table, observing everything: the strained smiles of the nobles, the way certain lords avoided looking at others, the subtle gestures that betrayed shifting alliances.

He spotted Silas and Cassian sitting together among the younger nobles. Mira sat near them — but not among them — perched at the servant’s edge of the hall, her eyes darting nervously.

When the first toasts were made, Kalen noticed something else.

The wine.

Specifically, Mira's cup.

His instincts screamed a silent alarm — a whisper only killers heard. Poison.

Barely noticeable, a glint too dark, a swirl too slow.

Before he realized it, Kalen was on his feet.

In one swift, silent move, he crossed the hall.

Before Mira could raise the goblet to her lips, a black-gloved hand shot out and knocked it from her grasp. The cup shattered across the stone floor.

Gasps rang out.

Dozens of eyes turned toward them.

Mira stared up at him, wide-eyed, confused, terrified.

Kalen said nothing. He merely tilted his head, scanning the room, daring the would-be murderer to reveal themselves.

Vera watched from the shadows, smiling thinly.

Cassian was the first to move. He rushed over, placing himself protectively between Mira and Kalen.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his voice polite but edged with steel.

Silas stood too, hand drifting toward his belt where hidden daggers surely lay.

For a moment, the air crackled with potential violence.

Kalen could have crushed them both in an instant. But he didn't.

Instead, he turned and walked away without a word, vanishing into the swirling mass of nobles as the murmurs rose behind him.

Later, alone in the abandoned library, Kalen sat by an empty fireplace, his sword resting across his knees.

He stared into the darkness, brooding.

He hadn't *planned* to save her. It was... instinct. Or perhaps something older, something softer, something dangerously close to the boy he had been before Mavora twisted him into a weapon.

He hated himself for it.

He should have let Mira die. He should have stayed in the shadows.

But deep down, Kalen knew the truth.

The world Mavora had promised him — a world of pure, ruthless strength — was rotting from within. It always had been.

And somewhere inside, he had begun to **want something more**.

Not power. Not fear. Not obedience.

Something... else.

Something he dared not name yet.

Far away, in a chamber filled with candles and smoke, Vera Moonfall watched the scene unfold through her scrying glass.

Her smirk faltered slightly.

"Interesting," she murmured.

The Blackan agent — the one she had been warned about — was slipping.

And Vera Moonfall always knew how to use a c***k when she saw one.

She would be the one to break Kalen Dravik.

Or die trying.

**[End of Episode 4]**