Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 24: Castle Ravenstone

The carriage rumbles beneath me as we ascend the final stretch of cobbled road leading to Castle Ravenstone. The structure looms ahead, a massive fortress of carved stone, each tower and battlement a testament to the wealth and influence of the Empire. The walls are impossibly smooth, crafted with an artistry that speaks of masterful hands. The afternoon sun casts long shadows over its façade. Ornate windows glint with colored glass, casting shimmering patterns across the manicured gardens. Fountains gurgle lazily, spilling crystal-clear water into marble basins. The whole place reeks of opulence.

I can't help but scowl in disgust. How many meals could that glass alone buy for the outskirts? How many lives could be saved if just one of those fountains was rerouted to the poor? Yet the same man who sits comfortably behind these walls—Count Ashland—willingly lets the outskirts rot. I bet he's never even set foot past the richer districts. Probably wouldn't even recognize the stench of the place if it slapped him in the face.

As we draw closer, my eyes flick toward the tallest battlement, where the Imperial sigil, a serpent coiled around the stone like it owns the place, gleams in the sunlight. I scoff under my breath. The symbolism is almost laughable; they loved carving that damn thing into everything they could. A snake, winding its way around everything it touches, squeezing, waiting for the moment to strike. It's fitting, really. The Empire slithers into every corner of the world, digging its fangs in deep and calling it civilization.

At the highest point of the castle, the proud green and white flag of the Empire of Elarion flutters in the breeze, its emblem—a serpent coiling tightly around a struggling bird of prey etched perfectly into the fabric. The sight of it gets on my damn nerves. That same flag is flown over every country King Malik and his predecessor have conquered, a mark of ownership seared into the lands and the people forced under his rule. A constant reminder of their subjugation.

Beyond the towering iron gates, the castle grounds stretch wide, manicured gardens lining the path up to the entrance. Ornate statues stand vigil along the way, their cold stone expressions eternal and unyielding. Two soldiers in polished armor stand at attention at the front of the gate, their corinthian helms with black plumes marking them as Imperial soldiers assigned as Count Ashland's guard. They don't move as our carriage approaches, but I can feel their eyes tracking us, weighing and measuring.

The horses slow, hooves clattering against the stone as we come to a halt before the grand entrance. A loud yawn snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance over to see Cain stretching lazily, his bright blue eyes flicking open as if he'd just woken from the best nap of his life. He blinks a few times, taking in the castle's walls as the carriage slows to a stop.

"Are we here already?" He mutters, voice still thick with sleep.

"Unfortunately," I sigh, driving through a city as big as Lont is a massive pain in the ass.

The carriage door swings open, and one of the guards steps forward ignoring the Doran the driver entirely as if the man wasn't even worth addressing. His eyes settle on us with practiced detachment, one hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. How comedic, does this little man think he could actually stop Cain if it came down to it?

"Step out," he says flatly.

Cain sighs, stretching again before stepping down from the carriage, his movements unhurried. I follow, grunting slightly as I crack my back once I'm on the ground. The guard's gaze flicks between us, lingering a second longer on me. Probably trying to figure out if I'm worth acknowledging.

"Identification," he demands.

I blink in confusion. Right. Because I definitely carry papers everywhere like some law-abiding citizen. I glance at Cain, who reaches beneath his shirt and pulls out a silver chain bearing an engraved seal of the imperial family. He holds it up between two fingers, the sun catching on the polished surface.

The guard's eyes narrow slightly as he examines the seal, lips pressing into a thin line. After a few seconds, he hands it back without a word.

"You" the guard demands looking at me.

Cain interjects "He does not have any currently but I can vouch for him"

The guard pauses for a second eyes flicking back and forth clearly not impressed.

"Awakened" "You'll have to surrender your weapons," the guard says, monotone. "Procedure."

Cain doesn't argue, just unbuckles the belt from his waist and passes his sword over without blinking. I roll my eyes but follow suit pulling my saber free and handing it over.

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The guard nods, clearly satisfied, then steps aside.

"You're clear. Proceed."

We climb back into the carriage, and Doran snaps the reins, guiding us forward through the castle gates. My eyes linger on the guards as they shrink into the distance.

The carriage rolls forward, the wheels clattering softly against the smooth stone path leading up to the castle's main entrance. The sheer scale of the place becomes more evident with every passing second—the towering walls, the intricate carvings etched into the stone

I cross my arms and glance at Cain. "That guard treated you like you were just some random traveler. I've never seen someone act like that toward an Elite." Also, that seal you showed the guard, what was that exactly?"

Cain exhales through his nose, amused. "So many questions."

Cain leans back against the cushioned seat, his fingers idly tapping against his knee. "The Imperial Seal," he says simply. "Only blood relatives of the Imperial Family and Elites are allowed to present it as identification. It's one of the privileges the King grants his elite champions.'" "It allows us to carry out our duties across the Empire without being bottlenecked by certain regulations."

I nod. "That makes sense, I guess."

Cain chuckles. "And for your other question, like I said, politics aren't as black and white as you think." He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the windowsill. "Yes, elites are powerful. Yes, we carry the stigma of being 'the Divine's Chosen.' But that doesn't mean everyone, especially people who are more accustomed to the upper echelon of the world, are just going to fall at our feet. There are tiers to these things."

I frown. "So what? The title means nothing; why does everyone fear and respect Elites then?"

Cain smirks, shaking his head. "Oh, it means plenty. Just not in the way you're assuming." He leans back slightly, stretching out his legs. "Us elites aren't nobles or high-ranking government officials; we're warriors. We're typically sent to the front lines, placed in specialized strike groups, and are expected to handle whatever the enemies of the Empire throw at us. We don't hold much political sway in the traditional sense because our role isn't to govern; it's to fight so people fear and respect us as one fears and respects a weapon. He waves a hand dismissively. "But that aside, the guard wasn't being disrespectful. He was just following orders—stopping us, checking identification, collecting weapons. It wasn't personal, just standard procedure."

I grin. "And what's the point of disarming us? If someone like you wanted to start a fight, taking your sword wont stop you from blasting this castle apart."

Cain laughs, the sound deep and knowing. "Of course not. But that's not the point. It's about making sure we acknowledge that we're in their house, playing by their rules. It's all about respecting the power structure." He stretches his arms, rolling his shoulders lazily. "And even if I did ignore all that and start throwing people through walls, the other two Elites stationed in Lont would have my head before the day's end for treason." "The Crown makes sure no single force, noble, Inquisitor, or elite has too much power. They give each faction just enough power to function in their assigned roles, but not enough to ignore the others. It's all about maintaining a delicate balance."

I jolt upright, my eyes narrowing at that comment. "Other elites? What do you mean, other Elites? Since when were there more here?"

Cain tilts his head back and lets out a laugh, clearly entertained by my shock. "Of course there are. Lont's too important to leave protected by just one. It's a major western coastal city and a vital trade hub. Did you really think the Empire would leave its security in my hands alone?"

"And when exactly were you going to tell me this?"

Cain smirks, "When it became relevant. Which, I guess, is now." He gives me a sideways glance, bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "You never noticed them because they are my seniors so they actually work handling most of the garrison affairs, overseeing security and patrols, dealing with the real headaches the come with military operations. Because of that, I have enough free time to babysit you."

I glare at him. "Blonde hair prick."