The morning training grounds were quiet, used only by a handful of early risers when Aridel arrived to check on a piece of equipment he'd left the day before. The cold air bit at his skin, and his breath came in small clouds as he moved across the frost-covered stone.
He nearly collided with Emma as she turned a corner, carrying what appeared to be administrative documents.
"Aridel," she said, steadying herself with a small laugh. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," he replied honestly. "Training grounds felt empty."
Emma's expression softened. "That happens sometimes. When your mind is busy with something." She paused, studying him with those bright eyes. "You're leaving today, aren't you? The scouting mission."
Aridel was surprised she knew. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone but Ethan and Faris. "How did you—"
"My father tells me things," Emma said simply. "Not strategy, usually, but logistics. He mentioned assigning four squires to map the border." She shifted her documents to one side. "I won't pretend to understand the weight of that responsibility, but I recognize it when I see it." She tilted her head slightly. "Be careful out there. And come back."
It was such a simple thing to say, but the way she said it—with genuine care rather than formality—made it feel like more. "I will," Aridel said.
Emma nodded, and for a moment their eyes held. Then she continued past him, leaving him standing alone in the cold morning air.
The briefing came an hour later in a war room adjacent to Carlton's command center. Maps of the northern border covered one wall, marked with notations and strategic observations. Commander Seraphine stood at the head of a wooden table, with Brennan beside her, Duke Carlton opposite.
"Your mission is straightforward," Seraphine said, addressing Aridel, Ethan, Faris, and Kess directly. "We need to map the border, understand the terrain, and assess the scale of Kaltyr's presence. No engagements unless necessary. Your job is observation."
"How long?" Aridel asked.
"One week," Carlton replied. "Scout a fifty-mile stretch of the border, from the eastern ridge to the western pass. Return with detailed observations."
Brennan's eyes found Aridel's. There was no doubt who was expected to lead.
"You'll be on horseback," Seraphine continued. "Light equipment, speed over comfort. Kess will take point—he's our best scout. Faris will handle logistics. Ethan will manage communications." She paused. "Aridel, you observe everything and make decisions."
It was a command wrapped in respect. Mission preparations began shortly.
The first three days were uneventful. The squires rode north from Sentinel's Rest, moving through increasingly rough terrain as the landscape became more hostile. Snow fell intermittently, covering their tracks almost as quickly as they made them. They camped in sheltered areas, took shifts watching, and maintained discipline.
By the fourth day, they began seeing signs.
Disturbed earth. Ash from old campfires. Hoof prints too fresh to ignore. The evidence was subtle but unmistakable—Kaltyr forces were moving through the region with alarming frequency.
They were eating a cold supper near a ridge overlooking a wide valley when Ethan voiced what they were all thinking.
"We're going to see them, aren't we?" His voice was steady, but Aridel could hear the undercurrent of anxiety. "Actual Kaltyr."
"Probably," Kess said matter-of-factly. He was cleaning his blade with methodical precision. "Question is whether we see them before they see us."
"If we're smart, we won't see them at all, close-up atleast," Faris said. He was sitting with his leg extended, one boot off as he checked for blisters. "We observe from distance, take notes, move on."
"But we will see them," Ethan said. It wasn't a question. He was working through something internally, his fingers clenching and unclenching. "And if we do, what happens?"
Aridel understood what Ethan was really asking: Are we ready to die?
"We trust each other," Aridel said quietly. "We trust our training. And if it comes to that..." He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "We'd rather fight together than run alone."
Kess looked up from his blade and nodded slightly—acknowledgment of the reality they all knew was coming.
"I'm terrified," Ethan said abruptly. The admission seemed to cost him something. "I know that's not what a warrior should say, but I am. I've trained for this, and I still feel like I'm going to fail you all."
Faris laughed—not mockingly, but with genuine warmth. "Ethan, if you weren't terrified, I'd be more worried. Fear keeps you sharp. It's the ones who aren't afraid that die stupid."
"Agreed," Kess said. "Besides, you're the best communicator here. When things get chaotic, you keep us connected. That's not nothing."
Ethan's shoulders loosened slightly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Aridel confirmed. "We need you scared. Scared and alert is the best version of you."
They sat in companionable silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts about what was coming.
They found the patrol on the morning of the sixth day.
Kess spotted them first—a group of maybe twelve Kaltyr warriors moving through a narrow pass, clearly conducting their own reconnaissance. The squires were above them on a ridge, hidden behind rocky outcroppings, and for a moment they had a choice.
Run. Or fight.
Aridel assessed the situation in seconds. Twelve enemies. Four squires. The Kaltyr hadn't seen them yet. Every rational calculation said retreat, observe from distance, report back.
But Aridel's genius mind also calculated something else: if they didn't engage, this patrol would continue moving south, discovering signs of Caldrithian activity. Better to neutralize the threat now. There wasn't much of a choice.
"We engage," he said quietly. "Kess, you take the right flank. Faris left. Ethan, keep their movements disrupted—make noise, movement, don't let them coordinate. I'll go center."
None of them questioned him.
They descended from the ridge with controlled speed, and by the time the Kaltyr realized they were under attack, the engagement had already begun.
Aridel moved with devastating precision, his peerless sword talent on full display. He didn't seek to kill indiscriminately, he fought with purpose, creating openings for his companions while shutting down threats. The killing was simply a byproduct. His first opponent was a seasoned warrior, probably a decade older, but the gap in skill was immeasurable—along with the gap in mana.
Beside him, Kess moved like a ghost, using his speed to harass the Kaltyr on their right, forcing them into positions where they couldn't coordinate. He took a sword slash across his ribs—nothing deep, but blood bloomed across his tunic.
Faris was the revelation. Despite his noble background, he adapted to combat faster than anyone. He fought with economy of motion, no wasted effort, relying on technique rather than strength. He took a wound to his shoulder but kept fighting, kept adapting. He wasn't the Commander's squire for no reason.
Ethan was the heart of it. Yes, he was terrified—Aridel could see it in the slight tremor of his movements—but his fear drove him to be unpredictable. He didn't have the raw skill of the others, but he fought with desperation that made him dangerous.
The skirmish lasted maybe five minutes. When it ended, all twelve Kaltyr lay dead or mortally wounded. Kess had a gash across his ribs. Ethan had taken a sword stroke across his thigh that bled freely. Faris's shoulder wound was serious but manageable. Aridel was untouched.
"Check them," Aridel ordered, his breathing controlled despite the exertion. "Make sure. No survivors."
They moved systematically through the bodies. Aridel himself checked the final warrior—a scarred man with cold eyes, now staring blankly at the sky. Dead.
"All clear," Aridel confirmed.
"How badly?" Faris asked, assessing Ethan's leg.
"Bad enough," Ethan said through gritted teeth. "But I can ride."
"We need to stop the bleeding," Kess said, already tearing fabric from a dead Kaltyr's cloak. His own wound was concerning—the blade had penetrated deep enough to worry about organ damage which could really affect mana circulation. "That patrol was organized. They were looking for something. Or someone."
Aridel understood the implications immediately. "It means there are more. Many more."
They bound the worst wounds and mounted their horses, moving deeper toward the border to complete their observation mission. What they found in the valley beyond the pass took their breath away.
The entire landscape was dotted with Kaltyr forces. Not a massive army in one location, but a distributed network of camps and patrols. Thousands of warriors spread across a wide region, organized and moving with clear purpose. Supply lines. Command structures. Forward scouts. Everything needed for an imminent invasion.
"Full scale," Kess whispered, staring at the sight. "They're preparing for a full-scale invasion."
"Much sooner than predicted," Faris agreed. His face was pale from blood loss, but his expression was grim determination.
Ethan said nothing. He was staring at the Kaltyr encampment with the look of someone who had just understood what mortality truly meant.
Aridel's genius mind catalogued everything. The positions of camps. The movement patterns. The supply routes. The defensive positions. Everything. His photographic memory absorbed it all, creating a perfect mental map.
"We need to return," Aridel said. "Now. Before anyone realizes that patrol didn't report in."
They rode through the night, pushing the horses hard despite their injuries. Kess's breathing was labored—the wound deeper than they'd initially thought. Ethan could barely sit upright, though he refused to fall back. Faris remained steady, his noble blood showing brightly in his refusal to yield despite his own wound.
By the time Sentinel's Rest appeared before them in the grey dawn light, all three injured squires were running on fumes and determination alone.
They arrived at the gates as the sun crested the horizon. Guards recognized them immediately and began shouting for medical assistance. Aridel dismounted and helped Ethan down, supporting his full weight as servants rushed to assist the injured squires.
"Get them to the infirmary," Aridel ordered with an authority that made the servants jump to obey. Then he turned and headed directly for the war room.
Commander Seraphine was already there, reviewing reports with Brennan and Duke Carlton. The moment they saw Aridel enter—mud-covered, blood-splattered, but unharmed—all three looked up.
"Report," Seraphine commanded.
"We engaged a Kaltyr patrol of twelve," Aridel said without preamble. "All eliminated. Kess and Ethan were wounded—Faris as well, but less severely. All three are being treated by medical staff."
Carlton's expression hardened. "You were ordered to observe, not engage."
"The patrol presented a threat to our mission's success," Aridel replied calmly. "Eliminating them prevented discovery of our reconnaissance."
"What did you find?" Brennan asked, his eyes locked on Aridel's.
"Everything," Aridel said. He closed his eyes for a moment, accessing the perfect memory his genius mind had created. "The entire northern border is full of Kaltyr forces. Not concentrated in one place, but distributed. Organized. Ready." He opened his eyes. "They're not preparing for a skirmish. They're preparing for invasion."
Seraphine and Carlton exchanged a look. Brennan's expression remained unreadable, but Aridel saw something shift in his eyes—a recognition of what this meant.
"How certain?" Carlton asked.
"Completely," Aridel replied. "I can map their positions, their supply lines, their movement patterns. Everything."
"You have a map?" Seraphine asked sharply.
"In my mind," Aridel said. "My memory is... perfect. I can recreate everything I saw with complete accuracy."
There was a moment of silence. Then Brennan smiled—a small expression that carried no surprise, only acknowledgment.
"Of course you can," Brennan said quietly.