A week had passed since Count Caeté declared war.
Long enough for the county to learn how to reorganize… but not enough to forget.
The temple remained silent.
Not empty — restrained.
Light passed through the stone arches and spread through the inner courtyard, touching the cold ground where Phoebe remained seated, hands resting calmly on her own lap.
The golden cloth over her eyes did not move.
The footsteps came before the presence.
"Heron… did something happen?"
There was a pause.
Short.
"Why did you lie about the culprits… days ago?"
Phoebe tilted her head slightly, as if the question had already been expected.
"I didn't lie."
A pause.
"I only said what was necessary."
The silence between them did not break.
"Don't hide this from me."
His voice was firm. Unraised.
Phoebe let out a brief sigh.
"We have a father worth fearing watching every step we take."
"Don't play with that."
She rose without hurry.
Turned toward him.
Her hand found Heron's face with precision, as if she had never stopped seeing.
"You saw what he became."
A pause.
"Kael did not return the same."
Her fingers slid down slowly, finding his hand… guiding it to her abdomen.
"When he asked me for help… I sent him knowing exactly what it would cost."
"Not out of compassion."
A brief pause.
"But because some paths… cannot be avoided."
Her tone did not falter.
"Now he has returned ready to fight for a future… where the Count does not exist."
The silence weighed.
"And we… have something that must survive this."
Heron lifted his chin slightly.
"Are you sure?"
His voice firm. Direct.
"You never followed a path without seeing the end."
Phoebe remained still for a moment.
"I saw… only as far as I was allowed."
Her face tilted slightly.
"I saw his path up to the massacre."
A brief pause.
"Every choice."
"Every deviation."
Her tone did not change.
"When I looked a week ago… there was nothing but darkness."
Silence.
"And even so… Kael chose to walk beside him."
A brief pause.
"Even without seeing what was ahead."
Her fingers closed softly over his hand.
"What he carries… carved a path where none existed before."
A brief pause.
"And that… cannot be ignored."
Heron kept his gaze firm.
"Even so… it's a risk."
Phoebe did not hesitate.
"Yes."
A brief pause.
"But, if the Count falls… you, as the only son, will inherit this county."
The silence did not last.
"You're forgetting the countess's daughter."
"He already named her as heir."
Phoebe tilted her head slightly.
"That will not come to pass."
Before he could respond—
hurried steps broke into the courtyard.
Heron moved on instinct, stepping half a pace aside and stopping behind her, his posture already set.
A templar knight crossed the entrance arch and stopped, kneeling without delay.
"Forgive the interruption, my lady… but news has arrived."
A short breath.
"The platoon that departed is approaching the western border."
The weight of the sentence settled.
"By all signs… the war has begun."
Phoebe made a slight gesture with her hand.
The knight did not hesitate.
He withdrew.
Silence returned — different.
Shorter.
More final.
Phoebe turned slightly.
"Now… there is no return."
She passed by Heron without touching him.
And, as she crossed him—
"May the end find us whole."
And, in the distance—
the first movement of the war had already begun.
When night fell over the west—
The forest closed around them before anyone could look back.
The group advanced toward the west, heavy steps crushing damp roots as the mercenaries' breathing mixed with the constant sound of the woods — distant owls, hidden insects, leaves that moved even without wind.
Among them, common travelers followed in silence, too close to one another, as if proximity still offered some kind of protection.
But nothing there was common.
The trees rose twisted, too tall, too ancient — trunks that resembled carved columns, as if they had not grown… but been shaped.
The canopies intertwined above, closing the sky in patterns that did not seem natural.
One of the men murmured, low:
"This is the work of the Transfiguration… the gods changed everything. Even the forest."
Another answered, bitter:
"They didn't change it. They took it."
He spat to the side before continuing.
"This isn't nature. It's territory."
The silence that followed was heavier than any sound.
No one disagreed.
Walking there was not crossing a forest.
It was crossing something that watched back.
Karna stretched his shoulders, letting the air out through his nose.
"Well… so this is it. It started."
A half-smile appeared, without humor.
"Shame we didn't end up in the same group. Kael and Brianna got left behind…"
Telvaris did not take his eyes off the path.
The answer came firm. Without hesitation.
"It wasn't chance."
A short pause.
"Kael foresaw this split."
Their steps did not slow.
"We set a plan at the inn."
Direct.
"Each group knows what to do."
Karna grimaced, running a hand over the back of his neck.
"Yeah… plan. Sure."
He huffed, low.
"Just thinking Brianna could've been thrown into that room with that guard already gives me a headache."
A quick sideways glance.
"If Éreon hadn't caused that mess… it would've gone bad."
Telvaris answered without looking.
Cold.
"Situation under control."
A pause.
"But not for long."
Silence returned.
Éreon remained silent, following the group with steady steps.
Then he murmured:
"We're about to reach the first village."
Karna clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
"Damn… you were already good before."
A half-smile appeared, incredulous.
"Now you just decide to feel things from miles away?"
Telvaris cast him a sideways glance, narrowing his eyes.
"Watch what you say, Karna."
His voice came low.
Controlled.
"Not everything should be said out loud."
Before any reply could come, a female voice cut through the space behind them — soft, precise.
"He's right."
A brief pause.
"There's always someone listening… even when we don't see."
The sound of her steps did not quicken.
"And, in territories like this…"
a slight interval
"ignorance is often the first mistake."
The three turned at the same time.
Instinct.
Hands already close to their weapons.
None of them had noticed her approach.
She was there.
A few steps away.
Her pale skin carried a warm, subtle glow — it didn't reflect the light… it seemed to contain it.Her black hair fell long and straight, like a mantle of night, unmoving even with the faint movement of the air.
And her eyes—
golden.
Fixed.
Her features were fine, precise, almost sculpted — a harmony that did not belong to the ordinary.
She did not look at the three.
She looked directly at Éreon.
And remained like that for a few seconds.
Without hurry.
Without hesitation.
As if the rest simply wasn't there.
Then—
a voice came from behind her.
"What are you doing there, Liora?"
The tone was restrained, but carried urgency.
"Come back. Before our group gets into trouble."
Liora did not answer immediately.
Her gaze still locked on Éreon.
Then, a slight smile appeared.
Subtle.
Almost curious.
"So… it's still not you."
She turned without hurry.
And began to walk away.
As if that encounter had already said everything it needed to.
Karna frowned slightly, still looking in the direction she disappeared.
"…Did you know her?"
Éreon did not answer.
His gaze still lingering between the trees.
A second longer.
Then—
"No."
The answer came low.
Without enough conviction to close the matter.
The guard at the front raised his hand.
The platoon stopped.
The sound almost died completely — leaving only the faint wind between the trees and the uneven breathing of those who still didn't know if they were ready.
Ahead, the village.
Too close.
The moon traced low roofs, crooked fences… silence.
No light.
No movement.
Even so—
no one relaxed.
The tension did not come from what they saw.
It came from what could be waiting.
The guard turned.
His gaze moved slowly across the group, measuring each face.
When he spoke, there was no effort to motivate.
No attempt to inspire.
"For many of you… this is your first campaign."
A step forward.
"So pay attention."
His voice did not rise.
But it hardened.
"After this village, only five remain until the marquisate."
A short pause.
"Don't complicate it."
His eyes stopped on a few.
"Everything in front of you… is the enemy."
The silence weighed.
"Don't stop."
"Don't question."
"Don't hesitate."
Another pause.
Lower.
"Kill."
The air seemed to tighten.
"And take whatever you want."
This time, there was no immediate reaction.
Some men exchanged glances.
Others tightened their grip on their weapons.
For some—
that lit something.
For others—
it was enough to understand they had already crossed a line.
Telvaris did not take his eyes off the village.
But his voice came more tense than before.
"This isn't an order to advance."
A second.
"It's extermination."
His jaw locked.
"He's ordering all of them killed."
No answer came immediately.
Karna let the air out slowly through his nose.
Without surprise.
"That's always been the game."
His eyes still on the guard.
"You destroy everything…"
A pause.
"and call it victory."
A slight tilt of the head.
"Theft, fear, blood."
His tone carried no indignation.
Only observation.
"That's how he keeps people like us."
Silence.
Heavier now.
"It wasn't different before."
The guard waited no longer. His hand dropped.
"Advance."
There was no war cry. The mercenaries moved like a loose tide — heavy steps, blades being drawn, breaths quickening.
And then came the first scream. Sharp. Short.
Then another. And another.
The village woke too late.
Éreon did not move.
He remained with his eyes fixed ahead, unmoving, as the sound grew — voices, running, wood breaking, something collapsing, someone begging. Even so, he did not advance.
The words came.
"Éreon… never forget…"
Nika's voice echoed, distant, firm.
"In times of war, it is not kings who fall — but villages that never knew their gaze, reduced to ash by the fire they did not light."
The sound returned all at once.
Louder.
Closer.
Karna did not move either.
His eyes fixed on the village, following what could no longer be called combat.
"It's already begun."
His voice came low, without any trace of humor.
Telvaris remained beside him, posture still firm — but his breathing no longer followed the same rhythm.
They did not advance immediately.
Time passed without measure. The screams gradually diminished, until only scattered echoes remained, bodies being dragged, wood giving way.
Then they walked.
Without hurry.
The village no longer resisted.
The houses were open, doors broken, marks of force where there had been no defense. Blood spread in places where no fight should have occurred.
Bodies.
Too small.
Too old.
Too common.
No weapons.
No resistance.
Only people.
Karna stopped first. His gaze moved across what remained, slower than usual, as if it lingered a second longer on each detail.
"There were no soldiers."
His voice came low.
Without irony.
Telvaris did not answer immediately. His eyes passed over everything — without turning away, without retreating — as if forcing himself to see it to the end.
When he spoke, it was lower than before.
"No."
A brief pause.
"There weren't."
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was heavy.
Far from the chaos of the village, in the inner halls of the marquisate's castle, tension accumulated like air before a storm.
"My lord… the count's attacks have begun." — said one of the servants, unable to hide the urgency in his voice.
Another stepped forward, firmer:
"But they are not regular troops. Our scouts confirmed… only mercenaries. Militias recruited from the poorest regions."
The marquis did not answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on the table, as if he already saw beyond it.
"He's not attacking."
His voice came controlled.
"He's measuring."
An uncomfortable silence settled.
"He will continue," he went on, "village by village… until he understands where we are vulnerable."
The first servant hesitated before speaking:
"And those outside the walls, my lord…?"
The question did not finish.
It didn't need to.
The marquis lifted his gaze.
Cold.
"Do you really believe I will open the gates… because of peasants?"
No one answered.
"As long as these walls remain standing…" he continued, "the marquisate remains intact."
A short pause.
"The rest… is noise."
The discomfort grew, but no one dared oppose him.
He turned to the assistant.
"And her?"
The man hesitated a second longer than he should have.
"She has not been located yet, my lord. She is avoiding any predictable point."
The marquis's jaw tightened.
"At a moment like this… she chooses to disappear."
His hand pressed against the table, not with excessive force — but enough.
"Find her."
His tone did not rise.
But it left no room for failure.
"Before the count decides to act with something beyond mercenaries."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
The war had already begun.
But the worst had not yet arrived.