Robert did not immediately rise after his father's last words. His gaze lingered on the parchments strewn across the desk, the ink stains, the calculations of resources, and the lists of names—all testaments to how fragile their clan still was. After a breath, he finally asked, voice quiet but heavy:
"Father… How many are left of us?"
The question stilled the room. John leaned back in his chair, his face unreadable for a long moment. Then he exhaled, each word edged with both pride and sorrow.
"Ninety remain. We lost ten yesterday. Good men and women who stood for the clan in difficult times. Their children are now the clan's responsibility. This morning, I gave coins and resources to their families. It will not bring them back, but it will keep their sons and daughters fed, clothed, and trained. No one under my watch will fall into ruin for a sacrifice made in our name."
