Three months had passed since Logos' analysis spell evolved. The Barony's rhythm had stabilized, the soldiers trained under their new doctrines, and the farms yielded enough surplus to feed both bellies and ambition. Yet despite the calm, anticipation ran thick through the halls like the hum of an unseen engine.
Lucy carried a tray of food down the long corridor, the scent of roasted fowl and spiced greens trailing behind her. When she entered the sitting room, her brows arched. All four captains were gathered there already—Bal leaning lazily against the hearth, Masen seated with stiff-backed formality, Kleber sprawled in a chair like it was his throne, and Desax quietly flipping through a slim ledger.
"Is there an urgent matter?" Lucy asked, setting the tray down with a sharp clink of plates. "All four of you don't come together unless summoned."
Bal shrugged, but the faint smirk betrayed him. "Well, after I told them the Lord was building a new harness, they insisted on seeing."
Lucy folded her arms. "Why? It's still in the designing phase."
Masen leaned forward, his weathered face betraying both age and steel. "The Armatus has been our workhorse for decades. But all of us know the truth—it's obsolete. Trash that needs replacement. If he's creating something new, it concerns every one of us."
"I want to see what he's been cooking up," Kleber said with a grin, resting a hand on the saber at his hip. "It's been too long since he did something… crazy."
Desax raised a brow, his tone dry. "You sound excited."
"Why not?" Kleber countered. He drew his blade an inch from its scabbard, letting the torchlight glint off the diamond-tipped hilt Logos had personally reforged for him. "He delivered on his promise. My loyalty isn't for sale anymore—it's bought and paid for. The rest of you should stop overthinking."
Masen snorted. "You're way too easy."
Kleber's grin sharpened. "Less than your cannon-worshipping self."
The air crackled instantly, old rivalry sparking to life. Masen's gaze turned cold as steel, and Kleber's fingers tapped the hilt as though daring the elder soldier to test him. Neither spoke further, but the silence between them felt like the pause before blades clashed.
Bal muttered under his breath, "Children, the both of you."
Kleber barked a laugh. "Isn't Masen like twenty years older than me?"
"Stop escalating," Desax cut in, voice sharp enough to slice the tension. His ledger snapped shut with finality. "You too, Masen. Don't indulge him."
Masen exhaled slowly, loosening his jaw. Kleber leaned back, smug but satisfied. The atmosphere eased, though only slightly. Lucy rolled her eyes and shook her head. These men commanded thousands, yet sometimes they squabbled like stable boys.
The bickering was interrupted by a faint commotion outside the chamber. At first, it sounded like hurried boots in the hallway, then raised voices, then—
"HELP! HELP!"
The cry grew louder, ragged with panic. The door slammed open, and a knight stumbled in, pale and sweating. His armor clattered as though even his limbs had lost their discipline.
"THE LORD HAS BEEN POSSESSED!" he shouted, breath tearing from his throat.
The room froze.
For a single, disbelieving heartbeat, no one moved. Then Bal surged forward, seizing the knight by the collar. "What did you say?"
The knight's eyes rolled wildly, his voice breaking. "The Lord—our Lord—he—his eyes are blacker than midnight, and he speaks with a voice that isn't his own! The scribes saw him in the workshop—chanting words they couldn't understand! Runes carved themselves into the walls!"
Lucy's heart clenched so hard she thought it might burst. She shot forward, gripping the knight's wrist. "Where?"
"The lower workshop—"
He didn't finish. Lucy was already running, skirts whipping around her boots, food tray forgotten on the table. Behind her, the captains erupted into motion—Bal roaring orders, Kleber grinning with battle-hunger, Desax already strategizing routes in his head, Masen muttering curses under his breath as his hands checked the pistol at his belt.
The hallways blurred past Lucy in a haze. Possessed? The word rang in her skull like a bell. Logos was reckless, obsessive, brilliant—but possessed? No. Impossible. And yet… she remembered the way his spell had advanced, how it burned through him, how he dismissed the cost.
They reached the workshop doors. A faint hum thrummed through the wood, unnatural and alive, like a heartbeat that wasn't human. Wisps of blue light leaked from the cracks, shifting runes crawling over the surface.
Bal placed a massive hand on the door, testing it. His knuckles whitened. "It's… pulsing."
"Of course it's pulsing," Kleber said, though his voice was half awe. "That's magic so thick you can smell it."
Lucy pressed her ear against the wood, breath held. Faintly, like whispers in a storm, she heard Logos' voice—or what should have been his voice. But layered over it was something deeper, resonant, a second tone speaking in tandem with him.
She jerked back, eyes wide.
"Possession," Masen muttered grimly. "Or something close enough to it."
Desax's jaw tightened. "We don't act rashly. If he's channeling something through himself, breaking the ritual might kill him instantly."
"Or unleash whatever's inside," Masen countered.
Bal's fist slammed against the wall, the stones trembling. "Then what do you suggest, thinker? Sit here while he burns alive?"
"Quiet," Lucy snapped, surprising them all with her sharpness. Her hand pressed to the door again, steadying herself. "That's not possession. That's Logos. I don't know what he's doing, but it's him. I can feel it."
Her certainty wavered the others for a moment. Then the runes along the door flared brighter, searing white-blue, before fading again. The humming deepened into a rumble.
Kleber grinned, though his grip on his saber betrayed nerves. "If that's him, then he's either about to give us the greatest weapon the Barony's ever seen… or blow us all to hell."
Masen growled, "You call that reassurance?"
Lucy set her shoulders, stepping back. Her heart thundered, but her voice was clear. "We don't break in. Not yet. We wait. When Logos opens that door, we'll know if it's still him."
Bal stared at her, then cursed under his breath. He didn't like it, but he didn't move either.
So they waited—four captains and one girl standing guard at the threshold, as the heart of the Barony pulsed and whispered behind a door that seemed more alive than the stone it was built into.
The knight who had brought the warning stood trembling at the far wall, staring as though he expected the door to burst open with demons at any second.
And in that tense silence, a single thought settled over them all:
If Logos was truly possessed, then the fate of everything they had built hung by a thread—and if he wasn't… then the world was about to change again.