Robert could only grasp fragments of his memories—broken shards that shimmered just out of reach, each one a promise he had clung to deep in his chest. He sat alone, away from the laughter and clamor of the other knights, the medieval men who passed the hours with mirth and drink. They raised their hands in greeting; he smiled and waved in return but did not linger. Instead, he drifted toward the edge of the trees, where shadows gathered and the solitude of the forest wrapped around him like a familiar cloak...
From his vantage, he could see them in small clusters—some brandishing weapons taken from dead men, some idly playing with coins, some lost in quiet reflection. Every knight was unique, bound to their own thoughts and secret wishes. Money were made of rings, silver, copper an gold—these coins of the Ordered Kingdom were valuable, yet mass-produced enough to circulate easily among men like these. They were treasures, hard-won, yet here they were carelessly tossed, counted, and traded like tokens of fate.
Under the worn fabric of his bag, Robert glimpsed his own hoard. He did not trust anyone to touch it. His valuables had to remain with him, and him alone. Time had taught him the cost of misplaced trust; experience meet had live through a worth of survival, and with it... Betrayal... But never again.
As he was searching... Looking through it with his bag.
It fell...
Two rings lay beneath a fallen log, spinning slowly at the same time, their motion hypnotic. He hesitated, watching them twirl in unison, then the right ring spinning faster for a moment before settling alongside the left. Finally, he reached out, heart hammering, and seized them. He tucked them beneath his bag, pressing them close. I will survive. I always have. I always will. The war would end, someday.
Robert moved carefully, glancing back at the trees, scanning for any sign of a watcher or any people that notice him. None came. He drew his sword and sheathed it with measured caution, alert for snakes, toxins, or any hidden danger that could strike without warning.
Further on, a flash of movement caught his eye. Another soldier was crouched over a stash, buried deep beneath the earth. Robert froze, eyes widening. The other soldier, sensing him immediately but not seeing, froze as well. Their gazes did not meet, but both knew, instinctively, that another presence was here.
Neither spoke; words would betray them. Both swords remained sheathed, yet the tension was palpable, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in their chests. Sweat beaded, muscles tensed, minds racing with the fear that one false move could mean death.
Minutes passed in silence, the forest flowing through with the wind. Paranoia gnawed at the second soldier, doubts flickering—perhaps there was no one there after all. Robert remained hidden, pressing against the rough bark of his tree, unmoving.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, Robert emerged from the shadows. He brushed past the trees swiftly, deliberately, keeping low. The other soldier, wary of death and unprepared for combat, did not pursue. Robert continued, footsteps muffled by grass and fallen leaves, until the forest opened to a tree stump—the perfect hiding place.
Memories surged as he approached, guiding him, revealing the path that had brought him here before. He buried his stash: the two rings, the coins, every valuable item he had carried through the campaign. It was safer than leaving them in the tent, safer than exposing them to the carelessness or greed of others.
He surveyed the area with cautious, melancholic eyes before retreating, stepping away from the hiding place, leaving it to the silence...
A thought tightened in his chest as he remembered the promise. Guilt overflowed within him as he walked away.
Days passed. Adam lingered near the tent, urging Alexander to hurry making an exchange, because the mission was expansion, and it would be hard to get passed that man... To finish what had been set in motion. But Alexander refused. It was dishonorable to act hastily; the mission had its own rhythm, and breaking it could lead to war.
The Knight sat beside him, eating something as if he had never seen stale bread before.
He really doesnt... The Kaloterm kingdom had cattle that were a bit different then
"That's a potato," Adam smirked, as the Knight cut through it with a knife as though it were wood. But it cut easily—and with it, a piece of jerky, dried meat. He savored it, cutting it into pieces.
Adam watched, amused. "Hehh..."
The Knight wondered what would happen to that guy. He could see that no harm was done helping, but it would be a shame if all that effort amounted to nothing.
And he would be forgotten...
Alexander sat anxiously, unsure whether they would be enemies or allies next.
Then John, one of the royal scholars—and connected to the organization of mages—spoke.
Also the the magisteer who attack Adam... Being annoyed but holding it in
"It would be better for you to join the Order. Refusing it would cost you much."
Adam looked at him. "Why?"
The old coot just sighed, Griffin standing in the corner by the door. "Well… the benefits. Your own area to control... And connections done through the races with the order..."
As he pointed and holding through his cane...
"Also with the Order... Corruption would be impossible. You can do what you want and be able to do so... Just by following the Empire"
Adam shrugged. "Well… if you're powerful enough…" He gestured with his hands.
"Anything is possible," the coot said. "Everything will be within your control, limited only by the boundaries of your mind."
The Order's knights listened quietly. Alexander, and even the royal magisters, were baffled...