The battlefield stretched like a canvas of chaos—ashen skies above, smoldering plains below, and the clash of steel a constant chorus.
Lucian stood at the frontline, a tempest cloaked in human form. His sword shimmered with runic light, the Sancturm Blade responding only to his bloodline. Around him, enemy forces crumbled like straw in fire. Not because of numbers, but because of him. He moved with purpose—grace sharpened into brutality. A commander, a warrior, a weapon.
The ground beneath his boots cracked as he dashed forward, slicing through a giant stone-skinned warbeast. The creature fell with a thunderous groan. Lucian didn't even pause. He turned toward the next.
"Lucian!" a voice boomed in his earpiece—calm but laced with authority. High Commander Aedric.
Lucian frowned. "I'm in the middle of engagement."
"Stand down. This is a Council command. Retreat to quadrant delta and hold your position. Do not pursue beyond the western ridge."
Lucian's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. He glanced at the enemy forces regrouping. A kill would cripple their flank.
"Permission to engage and finish their commander. He's exposed."
"Denied," came the cold reply. "You are not to question Council orders again."
He ground his teeth but relented. With a sharp whistle, he commanded the Vanguard Squad to fall back. The air tasted of restraint, of unspent violence. He didn't like it.
---
Back at the base fortress, tension hummed in the war room. Lucian stood before the Council, still in his battle-worn armor, sweat and ash streaking his brow. Five hooded figures sat before him, their faces hidden, but their voices unimpeachable.
"You disobeyed protocol," one said.
"I followed my instinct. We could have won decisively," Lucian replied, voice controlled.
"Your instinct is not above the High Council," another growled.
A long silence followed.
"Let this be your final warning," the central figure said. "You are powerful, Lucian. Unmatched. But power without discipline is chaos. The next time you question our orders, you will not be given a second chance."
Lucian nodded stiffly, though his eyes simmered.
---
Later, in the barracks, his closest comrade Riven sat beside him, throwing a polished dagger up and catching it. "You're lucky they didn't strip your title."
"They wouldn't dare. They need me," Lucian said flatly.
"Maybe," Riven shrugged. "But there's a shift coming, Lucian. You feel it too, don't you?"
Lucian leaned back, his fingers tracing the edge of his sword. "Something's wrong. They're hiding things. I can feel it in their hesitation, their sudden leash around my throat. This isn't just about war protocol."
"Then be careful," Riven said, his voice suddenly serious. "Because when people in power feel threatened, they don't give warnings twice."
---
Elsewhere, in the northern sanctum of the capital, Councilor Veyra paced behind closed doors with High Commander Aedric.
"He's getting harder to control," Aedric said.
Veyra's gaze turned cold. "Then let him feel useful for now. Let him win our wars. We'll deal with Lucian when the time is right. For now... keep him pointed at the enemy."
Unaware of the storm brewing around him, Lucian sharpened his blade under moonlight. Unrest crept inside him like a slow poison.
He didn't know yet.
That this war wasn't the real battle.
That the betrayal was already set in motion.