Behind the Royal Mask

The Attack

Finn adjusted his hood, casting a glance back at his team. Each member carried small satchels of oil and fire-starting tools, their faces grim with resolve. The plan was simple: ignite chaos, draw the guards, and pave the way for Alaric's infiltration team.

"Remember, no civilian casualties," Finn whispered, his voice low and steady. The group nodded, and they fanned out like shadows, slipping into the depot area unnoticed.

The first few minutes were spent in careful preparation. Oil was poured onto the wooden crates and barrels, some containing provisions and others loaded with mundane supplies. Finn's team worked efficiently, every move precise and deliberate.

"Ready?" one of the members asked, holding a small spark stone.

Finn gave a sharp nod. "Do it."

With a quick strike, the first flame roared to life. It caught the oil-soaked wood instantly, crackling with ferocity as it spread to the nearest stack of supplies. The fire grew, licking up the sides of the depot like a ravenous beast. Within moments, the night sky was illuminated by an eerie orange glow.

The group didn't linger. They moved to the next depot, repeating the process. By the time the second fire was ablaze, shouting erupted from nearby. Guards, their swords drawn and armor gleaming in the firelight, rushed toward the scene.

"Fire! Sound the alarm!" one of them bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Finn smirked, his eyes narrowing as he observed the confusion spreading among the guards. "Perfect."

The Vigil members worked seamlessly to mislead the guards. One lit a fire further down the street, drawing a separate squad away, while another feigned retreat into an alley, leading two guards into a well-set trap. Finn, meanwhile, focused on ensuring the fires didn't grow out of control. The last thing they needed was to endanger innocent lives.

In the distance, the city bell began to toll, its deep chimes echoing through the streets. Civilians peeked cautiously from their windows, some venturing out to watch the commotion. A few even whispered in awe, recognizing the Vigil's emblem on the cloaks of the figures darting through the smoke.

The guards, overwhelmed and disorganized, struggled to contain the situation. The fires had grown into an inferno, their light casting long, flickering shadows against the stone walls. Finn's group regrouped at a prearranged spot, their task complete.

"Time to disappear," Finn said, signaling to his team.

They melted into the dark alleys, leaving behind a city in turmoil. The path to the palace was now lightly guarded, the bulk of the city's defenders preoccupied with the blaze.

Inside the grand hall, Caelon lounged on the ornate chair at the head of the table, his fingers drumming idly against the gilded armrest. The nobles seated around him wore their finest silks and jewels, their expressions painted with forced smiles and feigned interest. 

The unrest outside the palace walls was faintly audible—a distant cacophony of shouts and clashes—but within the hall, the nobles made a point of ignoring it, unwilling to provoke their volatile prince.

Caelon leaned forward, his voice calm yet brimming with arrogance. "The city's unrest is temporary. Peasants are like weeds; they grow wild and unruly when left unchecked. A little fire will clear them out, and we'll plant something stronger in their place."

One of the nobles nodded eagerly. "Your Highness speaks the truth. Discipline is what this kingdom needs."

Several others murmured their agreement, though their words rang hollow. Most avoided meeting each other's eyes, their unease veiled by nods of approval.