The dispatches arrived at dawn.
Grog saw them from the window of his room—a second rider in royal colors, his horse as lathered as the first, his cloak as dusty, his face as grim. He had been watching the gate since first light, waiting for something he couldn't name. Now he knew.
He dressed quickly. His arm was better—not healed, not strong, but better. The apple was still working in his blood, knitting flesh, smoothing bone, pushing him toward something he hadn't been before. His side was still wrapped, his shoulder still ached, but he could move. He could fight. That was enough.
The corridor was empty when he left his room. Lira's door was closed. Aldric's door was closed. William's door was closed. But light was coming from under the Duke's study, and voices, low and urgent, were already filling the space beyond.
He walked toward them.
---
The study was crowded.
The Duke sat behind his desk, a fresh pile of dispatches before him, his face pale in the morning light. Commander Vance stood beside him, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. Edward was there, standing apart, his hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable. Lira was by the window, her bow across her back, her eyes on the courtyard below. Aldric was in a chair near the fire, his leg propped, his cane beside him, his face set. Mirena stood beside him, her staff in her hand, her arm still bandaged, her face tired. William was at the back of the room, his back straight, his hands steady, his eyes on his brother.
The room was silent when Grog entered. The Duke looked up, nodded once, and began to read.
---
"The north," he said. "Duke Marcellus's lands. Three villages in the last week. Livestock found dead, their bodies arranged in patterns that mean nothing to anyone who's seen them. Farmers who went out at night and didn't come back. A patrol that found something in the woods—they didn't describe it. They just ran."
He set the first dispatch aside.
"The east. Duke Helena's lands. A village on the edge of her territory—the same one I mentioned before. Empty. No bodies, no blood, no sign of struggle. The scouts searched every house, every barn, every field. They found nothing. The people are gone."
He picked up the next dispatch.
"The south. Duke Stefan's lands. A patrol encountered something in the hills near the border. Four men killed. The survivors described something that moved like smoke, that had no shape, that killed without touching." He paused. "They're not sure what they saw. They're not sure they saw anything. But the bodies—the bodies had marks. Burns. Like something had reached inside them and taken what it wanted."
He set the dispatch down. The room was silent.
---
Vance was the first to speak.
"These are not isolated incidents."
The Duke shook his head. "They're not."
"The reports from the north—the patterns in the livestock. The farmers who disappeared. That's not random. That's something learning."
Mirena nodded slowly. "The thing we killed—it was learning. The way it moved, the way it hunted, the way it adapted when we hurt it. It was learning." She looked at the dispatches. "If there are more—if they're spreading—"
"Then we're already behind." Vance's voice was flat.
The room was quiet again.
---
Edward spoke. His voice was steady, but his hands were clasped tight behind his back. "The King's advisors—what do they say?"
The Duke looked at him. "They say what advisors always say. They want more information. They want to wait, to study, to understand what we're facing before we act." He paused. "The King is not waiting."
Edward's jaw tightened. "The King is not waiting."
"No." The Duke met his eyes. "He's sending your brother into the hills. He's sending the heroes he's been told about. He's doing what he can with what he has." He looked at the dispatches. "He's afraid."
The word hung in the air.
William spoke. "He should be."
---
Lira turned from the window. "The village—the empty one. Did they send anyone back? To look again?"
The Duke shook his head. "Duke Helena sent scouts. They found nothing. She's not sending more. She's pulling her patrols back, consolidating her forces, waiting to see what happens next." His voice was dry. "She's a practical woman."
Lira looked at the dispatches. "And if something comes out of those hills? If whatever took that village decides to take another?"
The Duke didn't answer.
---
Aldric shifted in his chair. His leg was propped, his cane beside him, his face pale with pain. But his voice was steady. "We need to go back. To the hills. To the place where we killed the beast." He looked at the dispatches. "If these things are connected—if they're coming from the same place—we need to know now."
Grog nodded. "We leave in two days."
Vance looked at him. "You're not ready. Your arm isn't healed. Aldric can barely walk. The prince can barely hold a sword. The mage is still learning to fight." His voice was hard. "You're not ready."
Grog met his eyes. "We're as ready as we'll ever be."
Vance was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Then we leave in two days."
---
The Duke dismissed them.
They filed out slowly—Lira first, then Aldric, leaning on his cane, moving with the careful slowness of a man who was learning to walk again. Mirena followed, her staff in her hand, her face set. William went last, pausing at the door to look back at the dispatches on the Duke's desk.
The room was quiet. The fire crackled. The morning light was thin and cold.
Vance moved to the window. "The boy isn't ready," he said.
The Duke looked at him. "Which one?"
"All of them." Vance's voice was flat. "The second prince can barely hold a sword. The hero can barely walk. The mage is learning to fight, but she's not there yet. The scout is the only one who's ready for what's coming." He paused. "The barbarian is still wounded. He hides it, but I can see it. His arm isn't healing the way it should. His side is worse."
The Duke was quiet for a moment. "They have two days."
"Two days isn't enough."
"It will have to be."
---
Grog found William in the corridor outside the study.
The prince was standing against the wall, his hands at his sides, his eyes on the floor. He looked up when Grog approached.
"The villages," he said. "The people who disappeared." His voice was quiet. "Do you think they're dead?"
Grog was quiet for a moment. "I don't know."
William looked at his hands. The hands that had held the sword against the beast. The hands that had kept Aldric alive. "My father is afraid. The Duke said it. He's afraid, and he's sending us because he doesn't know what else to do."
Grog nodded. "He is."
William was quiet for a long moment. Then he straightened, stood up the way a prince was supposed to stand.
"Then we do what we can," he said. "We go back to the hills. We find what's there. We come back." He met Grog's eyes. "That's what soldiers do."
Grog watched him. The prince who had wanted to be a soldier. Who had learned to fall, to stand, to hold a sword. Who had put himself between Aldric and a thing that should have killed him.
"That's what soldiers do," Grog said.