The air within the Valenhold war chamber was thick with quiet tension.
A vast table of dark marble stretched from one end of the hall to the other, its surface veined with silver like lightning trapped in stone. Around it sat members of Valenhold's branch families—lords, military advisors, elder vassals—all clad in fine, martial garb unique to their lineage: obsidian trim on midnight-blue robes, polished belts, and the small sigils of their respective bloodlines resting over their hearts.
At the head of the table sat Lady Serina Valenhold, her platinum-silver hair tied back in a looped braid, expression composed but strained. Seated to her left, among the men and women of notable standing, was Fortis Lactresia, second prince of the kingdom, leaned back slightly in his seat, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. Ervian Halbrecht stood at attention behind him, still as a statue.
One of the nobles—Lord Virel Dorn, a seasoned tactician from Valenhold's mountain ward—spoke first. "Prince Fortis, forgive our forwardness, but what course would you advise in this situation?"
The others turned to look.
The prince didn't answer immediately. His gaze flicked across the detailed terrain map laid atop the table—valleys, routes, borders—and then toward the marked danger zone near the village of Belreth. A black mark indicated a newly-discovered 3-Finger black stone site.
Fortis finally spoke, his tone calm, but firm.
"Two days ago, you reported tremors near the southern farmlands. Four days ago, livestock began collapsing from unknown heat exposure. The scouts you dispatched lost all communication within the same radius."
He leaned slightly forward.
"This was not a natural drop."
Murmurs buzzed.
Serina nodded. "That's what I believe as well. The structure of the stone and the burn patterns around it suggest artificial placement. There are also no impact trenches or fragmentation points. It did not fall from the sky."
Fortis's fingers tapped against the marble. "That means someone placed it. That, in itself, changes the nature of the threat."
Lord Virel asked, "Could it be the work of rogue scholars? Or a blacksmithing experiment gone wrong?"
Serina shook her head. "No. This was not created. It was transferred. Placed here deliberately.
"And more importantly," she continued, "monsters from the zone are… abnormal."
Fortis's eyes sharpened.
"How so?"
"Controlled," Serina replied. "There are reports from our knights stationed near the perimeter—monsters that organize, that strike in groups. Coordinated flanks. Even a withdrawal pattern."
"That's impossible," said one of the older nobles, a white-bearded man named Yorran Thay. "Even stronger monsters, at best, fight with instinct. They don't think. They don't speak."
"Normally," Serina agreed. "But this is different. Some of them show restraint. Others—hesitation. We even had a case where a monster feigned death to lure knights."
Fortis narrowed his eyes. "There is a mind behind them."
"Possibly more than one," Serina added. "Some believe there's a creature—or force—capable of influencing monsters directly. The information isn't public, but word is spreading."
Fortis leaned back in his chair, brows furrowed.
"There's been speculation in REB that monsters might evolve beyond their containment zones," he said slowly. "That certain anomalies allow them to reject the black stone's tether. But none of those cases involved organization. Strategy.
"If someone—or something—is manipulating them…"
Serina finished for him. "Then we're not facing wild beasts. We're facing soldiers."
A long silence passed.
Then Fortis spoke. "If someone is targeting House Valenhold, it's not just personal—it's political. You are one of the kingdom's strongest pillars. Undermining you undermines Lactresia's center."
Everyone in the room sat straighter.
"I will join this expedition," Fortis said plainly.
Serina blinked. "You will?"
"I came here to observe. Now I'll do more than that."
Ervian looked toward him, surprised, but said nothing.
"I want the full brief on the black stone zone," Fortis continued. "Terrain, environment, combat logs."
Serina reached behind her and retrieved a scroll, handing it over. "We've named the leading monster type Scorchhounds. Quadruped-class. About eight feet long, muscular, highly aggressive. Their bodies emit intense thermal energy—enough to ignite dry terrain."
She tapped the map. "They emerged from the central heat pit. Initial reports suggested their core bodies are naturally molten—burns from contact alone. Strong jaws. Explosive sprint speed. They fight in packs."
"Heat-based, strong, pack behavior…" Fortis nodded. "A tough combination. But manageable."
He turned to Ervian. "Send a message to the Royal Expedition Bureau. Cancel my previous assignment. I'll be taking part in this instead."
Ervian bowed slightly. "Understood. Shall I also inform His Majesty?"
"Yes. And tell him not to worry," Fortis said. "I don't intend to fight."
Ervian looked puzzled but nodded. "As you command."
Serina, visibly relieved, gave a slight smile. "Thank you, Prince Fortis. Having you here, even as command support, changes our odds."
Fortis stood. "The meeting is over. I assume the others will begin tactical preparations."
Serina gestured with her hand. "Yes. I'll coordinate dispatch teams based on your recommendations. In the meantime…" she placed her hands together. "I do hope the prince will rest comfortably in our territory."
Fortis waved a hand. "That won't be necessary. I have a personal errand to run."
Ervian raised a brow. "Shall I prepare an escort, Your Highness?"
"No need. You'll be coming with me anyway."
Serina nodded. "Then I wish you a peaceful evening, Prince Fortis."
He gave a half-smile. "I doubt it'll be peaceful. But it will be productive."
He turned, cloak sweeping behind him.
And with that, the meeting chamber emptied, leaving behind nothing but the hum of strategy—and the quiet shifting of eyes now watching the prince with a new sense of recognition.