Four days had passed since the basin erupted into motion. The forest bore scars of trampling golems and restructured terrain. Temporary walls and earthen paths now wove through thickets like veins, each pointing toward the sleeping beast of stone and mortar that was the enemy fort.
The war table, a flattened slab of stone reinforced with wooden scaffolding, stood again at the center of the Ash Company's makeshift headquarters. Around it, every key figure gathered, lanterns casting flickering light across their faces. The air was thick with the scent of oil, chalk, and quiet anticipation.
Fornos sat at the head, gloved hands pressed together before him. His masked face swept across the assembled leaders.
"So," he began, tone crisp. "Are we ready yet?"
"Yes," Roa answered without hesitation. Her posture was straight, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion clinging to her shoulders.
Fornos tilted his head slightly. "Perfect."
He leaned back and tapped the side of his mask twice, a habitual gesture when pleased.
"Then we begin. We'll take what's there, and when we're done—we leave for the coast."
There was a short silence. Peter blinked and raised a brow.
"To the coast?" he asked. "Why?"
"To leave the continent. What else?" Fornos replied, as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world.
Martin blinked. "What???!!"
Fornos shrugged. "I didn't come to this continent just to fight other people's wars. I came to build an army. And there's more room to do that where the chains of old nobles don't reach."
Peter stared at the map. "That's... a significant shift in strategy."
"Yes. So let's talk about that after we've taken the fort," Fornos said, brushing it aside. "Now then—Park, who did you assign the Aegis units to?"
Park didn't speak, of course. He simply pointed with a leather-gloved hand toward two figures standing a little ways off, just outside the edge of the lantern light.
Fornos followed the gesture. "Rilo and... Klesh?"
Even the mask couldn't hide his disbelief.
Roa slammed her palm on the table. "Are you serious?! Klesh is barely taller than the Aegis golem's finger section!"
Park tilted his head. Mark reached over and gently, calmly corrected the direction of the pointing finger.
"Mary and Ross," Peter said, recognizing the pair now illuminated by torchlight. The two stood arm in arm, eyes alert despite their youth. Both wore reinforced handler jackets, with glyph sleeves still bearing drying chalk.
"They look like lovers," Fornos observed.
"You can tell?" Martin asked.
"I sat one up, for my benefit."
There was a pause. Roa squinted at him.
"Wait... what?"
"Stop," Fornos said, lifting his hand. "I can feel you are judging me."
"No judgment," Peter muttered. "Love is quite rare for us. The fact that you just sat one up is... fascinating."
"Anyway, that aside," Roa interrupted, dragging the topic back from the brink of absurdity. "When should we begin?"
"Early tomorrow morning," Fornos said. "First light. Let them still be half-asleep when we strike. But today... relax. Eat. Breathe."
Roa didn't argue. The tension was real. Everyone knew the next day would determine everything—survival, legacy, and direction. And while they had prepared like war machines, they were still human.
The commanders began to disperse, one by one. Martin stayed behind, poring over parchment inventory sheets, even as Fornos quietly gathered his own writing tools and began annotating newer maps by firelight.
Outside the war tent, the Ash Company came alive in a different way. Fires were stoked, small and cautious, casting warmth into an evening otherwise cold with mist. Laughs were rare but present—soldiers sharing dried fruit, engineers comparing bruises and old stories.
Children from Witch's Hollow sat in a quiet circle, watching Ross draw simple glyphs on smooth stones and make them hum with a soft blue light. Mary sat beside him, her head on his shoulder, clearly unbothered by the coming storm.
Nearby, Kindling stood motionless in a rest state, its limbs locked in a low-sitting crouch, eyes dim. A few handlers brushed its joints, not out of maintenance—but reverence.
Mark and Park watched the scene from atop a rocky slope. Neither spoke. They didn't need to. One glance, one nod—they knew tomorrow would be bloody.
Peter, ever the loner, sat on a half-assembled barricade and scribbled something into a leather-bound ledger. His tools were neatly arranged beside him, untouched.
Roa stood outside her tent, arms crossed, gaze locked on the stars. Her scouts had returned hours ago—none wounded, none dead. That alone was a small miracle. But what came next would not be stealth. It would be clash and scream and fire.
And at the very heart of the camp, Fornos Dag sat on a low bench with a mug of cold tea. His map was folded on his lap, unread. His eyes, however, were very much awake.
Klesh walked past and stopped, looking up.
"Are we going to win?" he asked.
Fornos looked down at the boy. The candlelight played across the smooth surface of his mask.
"I don't know," he said.
Klesh frowned. "You always sound sure."
Fornos tilted his head.
"I'm always right. Doesn't mean I'm sure."
Klesh thought about that, then nodded slowly and walked away.
Fornos watched him disappear into the shadows near the supply tents. The boy had grown sharper. Less afraid. Still innocent, but less naïve.
He tapped the map once more, then whispered to himself.
"Tomorrow... we make kings we don't have to kneel to."
And the fire cracked.