Solis had imagined this moment many times.
He had pictured the approach. The distance. The first word. The shape of the threat. He had imagined Kreg as a shadow over the water, as a blade descending from the sky with all the weight of old stories behind it. In his head, he had rehearsed what he would say, how he would move, how he would stall for time until Ada woke, until Vaidya woke, until someone, anyone, was ready to help.
None of the simulations had prepared him for the actual sight of Kreg standing there.
The Dark Knight looked less like a man and more like a verdict.
He stood where the surf had darkened the sand, bearded and broad-shouldered, his armor drinking the first edge of dawn before dawn could fully arrive. The Blacknight Dragon Sword rested at his side with an easy heaviness, as if it belonged there more than any ordinary weapon ever could. His face was not wild. It was calm. That calm was somehow worse. It suggested a man with no doubt left in him. Then Kreg's mouth curved, and the grin on his bearded face sent a cold spike through Solis's heart.
Not because it was cruel, though it was... because it was certain.
The kind of grin that made panic feel like a natural law.
"Hm," Kreg murmured, glancing around the coast as though he had stepped into an abandoned meeting rather than a battlefield. "Strange. As far as I was informed, this side would be unguarded." His eyes moved over the rocks, the sleeping rise of the camp behind Solis, the cliff line, the shoreline, and then returned to him. "So how did a Postknight like... you pop out of nowhere?"
Solis felt every muscle in his body tighten. His hand remained locked around the sword hilt, but he did not raise it. Not yet. If he moved too quickly, the wrong thing might happen. If Kreg felt challenged, he might strike before Vaidya, Ada, or Razille had even stirred.
Kreg stepped closer, slow enough to be insulting. His gaze dipped to Solis's chest, where the bronze sigil of his C-rank badge was pinned.
"Hm," Kreg said, his grin sharpening. "A C-ranker. What a shame. And here I was thinking they had outsmarted me. So tell me, little one, why are you here?"
The words landed like pebbles in deep water.
Solis had expected commands. Threats. The sudden slash of violence. He had not expected conversation. Yet there it was, the same thing the old stories had said. Kreg was terrifying, yes, but he was not the kind of beast that barked and attacked without a thought. He listened. He tested. He argued. He took the shape of a man who believed that words could be sharpened as much as steel.
That gave Solis a chance.
He had to use it.
Think. Warn them. Buy time. Make sure one of them wakes. Keep him calm. Do not look like a prey.
He lowered his gaze a fraction and then knelt.
The motion was deliberate and neat, a gesture of respect, almost ceremonial. The salt-sand pressed into his knee as he bowed his head enough to look humble without looking weak. Every instinct in his body screamed that this was dangerous. Every pulse said one mistake and he would become the sea's next stain.
Still, he spoke evenly. "It is an honor to receive you personally," Solis said.
The words were carefully chosen, a narrow bridge over a drop.
Kreg tilted his head. His eyebrows rose, not much, but enough to show he had noticed the act.
"Really?" Kreg said, the word soft and amused. "Never thought he would be so considerate."
Solis kept his face down just enough to hide the sweat that was beginning to form at his temples. "I was sent to guide you."
That made Kreg's grin widen a shade.
"Ah," he said. "So courteous. Then show me the path, little one. The oath we decided before."
The sentence struck Solis with such a strange force that for a fraction of a second his mind stopped entirely.
The oath?
What oath?
He had no idea what Kreg meant. None. It was obvious now that this was not a simple exchange. Kreg believed, or was pretending to believe, that Solis was part of some larger arrangement. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap. Maybe a lie he wanted Solis to confirm by accident.
Solis's mouth went dry.
He had to move the conversation away from that phrase. If Kreg asked again and Solis hesitated too long, the lie would collapse.
He rose only a little, enough to speak without seeming too eager, and pointed with the axe haft toward the stretch of coast behind the rocks, where the shoreline bent away and the sea spray rose in low mist.
"Yes," he said, trying to sound calm. "The path is this way. But before we move, perhaps there are other matters worth discussing. The coast. The routes. The weather has shifted, and the tide can be cruel this hour."
Kreg's eyes narrowed in mild curiosity, but not enough to alarm. Solis swallowed.
"It would be better," Solis continued, "to avoid the lower rocks until the light is steadier. The footing is poor."
Kreg listened, chin slightly raised, as if enjoying the shape of the lie.
"Interesting," he said. "And you think I came for footing?"
Solis kept talking, because silence would only make the lie look more obvious. "There are patrol patterns, too. A route here would be less visible than the open sand."
"Hm." Kreg's gaze slid over him. "You speak like a man who knows the coast."
Solis made himself nod once. "I have some idea. I have been working in a place like this for long time."
Kreg took another slow step closer, and now the air around him began to feel heavy. Not from magic, not yet, but from the sheer certainty of his presence. Solis could feel the weight of old fear gathering at the edges of his skin.
Kreg's voice softened.
"Your wording is careful," he said. "Too careful. Tell me, who taught you to speak like that?"
Solis's pulse thudded once, hard.
"I learned it myself." he said.
Kreg smiled again, though now the amusement was a little sharper, a little more personal. "You think I don't hear the tremor? You think I don't notice a child trying to bargain with a blade in human form?"
Solis's fingers tightened around the sword. His mind ran frantically through possibilities. Could he stall longer? Could he direct Kreg toward the wrong point on the coast? Could he make him think the warning had come from a false source? Could he keep him speaking until the others woke?
Then Kreg stopped.
He leaned in just slightly, close enough that Solis could smell the salt on his armor and the cold iron scent that clung to old battlefields. Kreg's hand rose, not to strike but to rest on Solis's shoulder.
The touch was light.
That somehow made it worse.
His eyes fixed on Solis with abrupt, almost tender scrutiny.
"Now," Kreg said, "tell me who sent you?"
There it was.
No more room to dance around the question. No more path. No more flowery nonsense to hide behind. Kreg had felt the change, the strain, the lie, and now he had cut straight to the center.
Solis knew immediately that he could not dodge the truth any longer. If he kept pretending, Kreg would know. If he lied badly, Kreg would know. If he stood too still, Kreg would know.
So Solis took a breath, one hard breath, and said the only honest thing that mattered.
"Someone who wants to stop this massacre."
The world seemed to recoil around the words.
The sea hissed against the shore. A gull screamed far above. Somewhere behind him, the camp remained still, and for a heartbeat it felt like every sleeping person on the coast was holding the same breath.
Kreg stared at him.
Then, to Solis's surprise, the Dark Knight smiled.
Not a nice smile. Not a forgiving one.
An amused one.
"Ah," Kreg said. "Courageous. That's excellent."
His hand pressed harder on Solis's shoulder. "Let's see if that remains after I decapitate you."
Solis's body went cold all at once.
The phrase was not a threat tossed casually. It was a promise from a man who had already decided what kind of mercy he preferred. Solis's instincts screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go. His knees stiffened. His fingers on the axe and the sword shifted uselessly.
And then the air changed.
A sharp whistle cut across the shoreline.
Wind.
Not ordinary wind either, but a dense, disciplined current, as though the air itself had been scooped up and forced into a shape with intent. The gust slammed into the ground between Solis and Kreg, then twisted upward in a spiraling column that coiled around Kreg's body and pinned him in place.
Kreg's grin vanished for a while. A sense of confusion taking place.
The wind surged again, tighter this time, like invisible arms bracing his shoulders and trapping his feet. The current roared low and bright, throwing grit off the sand. Solis stumbled back as the force expanded, and in that same instant a familiar voice rose from behind the ridge.
"Get away from him!"
Vaidya.
Solis nearly sagged with relief and terror at the same time. He whipped his head around.
Vaidya had arrived just in time, his satchel slung over one shoulder, hair blown wild by the strain of his own spell. His eyes were sharp behind the mess of his glasses, and both his hands were outstretched, fingers spread as if he were physically holding the wind in place.
The current around Kreg deepened, thickening into a spiraling trap that pinned the Dark Knight in a rough cylinder of air. Sand whipped around his boots. His cloak snapped. The Blacknight Dragon Sword at his side twitched against the force.
Kreg looked from Vaidya to Solis, and the amusement returned, though now it had teeth in it.
"Well," he said, voice half muffled by the pressure of the wind, "that answers one question."
Solis took a shaky breath and lowered his center, gripping the axe again. Vaidya's spell did not make the situation safe. It merely made it survivable for a moment longer.
And at that moment, with wind roaring around the sea's edge and Kreg finally contained, Solis realized something with a sudden clarity that made his skin prickle.
The fight had begun.
Not later. Not soon.
Now.