The First Crack

Arakos stood at the heart of his domain, yet for the first time in his rule, he felt like a man standing on shifting ground.

His command chamber was as it had always been—imposing, structured, absolute. The walls were sleek and seamless, the color of sand under a heavy sky. The attendants moved with practiced efficiency, their beige robes crisp, their hands steady. Everything was as it should be.

And yet… something was wrong.

Arakos adjusted the clasp of his mantle and looked out over the chamber. The advisors at their stations, the Regulators at their posts. The same as every day. But when his gaze swept across them, a strange sensation crawled up his spine.

A hesitation. A flicker of movement. One of his advisors, Luthen, stood at his usual position, hands clasped at his waist, face neutral. But when Arakos’ eyes landed on him, the man’s fingers twitched. A reflexive, nervous shift—so small it should have meant nothing.

But Arakos had seen it.

Had it been there yesterday?

He turned, addressing another of his officers. "Send an order to the southern district. I want a full report on—"

"Are you sure that is the right course of action, sir?"

The words were a hammer to his chest.

Regulator Tarn was one of his most steadfast commanders, a man who had never once questioned an order in all his years of service. He had spoken with respect, as if seeking clarity, but Arakos heard something else beneath it.

Hesitation. Doubt.

Arakos kept his face still, impassive. He studied Tarn carefully, searching for any sign that the man had spoken out of turn. But Tarn simply stood there, waiting, his expression unreadable.

Am I imagining this?

He was Supreme Regulator. There was no reason to question him. No reason to hesitate. And yet, he had noticed it all day—Regulators shifting their weight before answering, advisors exchanging glances when he passed, attendants holding their breath before responding to his simplest of questions.

It was like a crack forming in stone, too small to see but deep enough to feel.

Arakos dismissed Tarn with a curt nod and turned back toward the chamber’s center.

Find the problem. Remove it.

By the time he reached his private quarters, he had already issued orders to his intelligence sector. Reports were being gathered, security assessments reviewed. Something must have happened—some external ****, some unknown disruption. Perhaps a failed operation, a whisper of rebellion.

But nothing came.

No irregularities. No betrayals. No hidden threats.

Nothing.

Arakos’ fingers curled into a fist. He was a man of action. There was always a cause, always a reason. He did not deal in uncertainties.

But what did one do when the enemy was nothing?

A chime at his door. He exhaled sharply, reigning in his frustration.

"Enter."

His advisor, Luthen, stepped inside, offering a respectful bow.

"Supreme Regulator," Luthen said carefully, "you requested counsel."

Arakos studied the man. His posture was proper. His voice steady. And yet… the same as before, there was something off. A tension in the way he held himself. Like a man bracing for something.

Arakos folded his arms. "I have observed uncertainty among my people today. They hesitate where they should obey. They question what should be unquestioned."

Luthen did not immediately respond. He should have—he should have answered at once, with certainty, with deference.

Instead, the hesitation stretched a moment too long.

And then, instead of offering wisdom, Luthen tilted his head.

"Why would a man such as yourself need to ask?"

The words were quiet, but they were more damning than any open rebellion.

Arakos’ breath stilled.

Luthen had not meant it as an insult. He had spoken as if confused, as if it was unnatural for Arakos to seek counsel at all. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Luthen doubted that Arakos should even have to ask.

Which meant Luthen, too, doubted.

The realization pressed against Arakos' chest like a weight. It has already begun.

This was how it started. Not with war, not with shouts of defiance.

But with glances. With quiet hesitations. With a single seed taking root in the minds of his people.

By the time he found the source, it might already be too late.