The discovery of Qar-Teth's true nature plunged the King's war council into a new, more profound level of dread. The immediate, bloody crisis of the First Purge was instantly dwarfed by a looming, existential threat. Ouen's escape was no longer the flight of a fugitive; it was the pilgrimage of a harbinger, on his way to unlock the gates of hell.
The council chamber, which had moments ago felt like the command center of a kingdom, now felt like a tiny, fragile raft in the middle of a storm-blackened sea.
"It was his prison," Praxus repeated, his voice barely a whisper, tracing the ancient symbol on the Progenitor map. "A weak point. A scar in the fabric of reality where the seal that holds Ghra'thul back is at its thinnest. He is not just going there to pray. He is going there to tear a hole."
General Kyrus slammed a gauntleted fist on the table, making the candles jump. "Then we march! We march south now, with the entire Royal Army! We will burn this Qar-Teth to the ground before he reaches it!"
"And how long would that take, General?" Lord Emmon countered, his voice thin with panic. "To provision and march an army of thousands across the entire continent, into the most inhospitable desert in the world? A year? More? We would lose half our men to thirst and sun before we ever saw the enemy. Meanwhile, Aethelburg would be left defenseless, a ripe fruit for the Covenanter rot that remains."
"To do nothing is to be complicit in our own annihilation!" Kyrus roared.
"ENOUGH!" King Valerius's voice cut through the argument like a blade.
The King stood before the map, his face a study in impossible choices. They were trapped. A full-scale invasion was a logistical nightmare doomed to fail. But to do nothing was to accept the end of the world. The silence in the room was absolute as the King weighed the fate of his people.
"We cannot send an army," he said finally, his voice heavy with the weight of his decision. "So we will not. An army is a hammer, and this calls for a surgeon's scalpel."
His gaze moved across the room, past his treasurer and his general, and settled on the two people who had been at the center of this from the beginning. He looked at the scholar who had uncovered the truth, and the soldier who had been the first to act on it.
"Commander Eva," the King said, his tone leaving no room for debate. "You will lead a small, hand-picked team south into Zahram. This is not a military invasion. It is a covert operation. Your mission is to intercept High Scrutator Ouen and his followers. You are to stop him from completing whatever ritual he intends to perform at Qar-Teth. By any means necessary."
He paused, his eyes locking with Eva's. "You will travel light and fast. You will have no official support from the Crown. If you are caught or killed in the lands of Zahram, I will deny your existence. You will be a ghost, a rumor. But you will be our kingdom's only hope."
Eva's face did not change. There was no fear, no hesitation. There was only the quiet acceptance of a soldier given an impossible duty. "I understand, Your Majesty. I will need to choose my team."
"Choose them," the King affirmed. "Choose who you need."
Eva's mind, a razor-sharp tactical instrument, began to work. This was not a mission for heavily armored soldiers. It required a unique blend of skills.
"I will need the Magister," she said, nodding to Praxus. "His knowledge of the Progenitors and this location is essential." Praxus looked up, a flicker of fear in his eyes at the thought of leaving his books, but he gave a slow, determined nod.
"I will need a guide," she continued. "Someone who can navigate without stars and survive in the wild. The navigator from the House of Defiance. Finnian. He has proven his courage, and he knows what it is to face the unnatural."
"I will need a healer," she added, her thoughts turning to the quiet, resilient woman from Greenhollow. "Hanna. A long journey through hostile territory will have its injuries, and her skill is undeniable."
"And I will need soldiers I trust," she finished, looking at her second-in-command. "Joric. And I want the old captain, Malik, and his remaining sailors. They have a score to settle, and they have a hardness that cannot be taught in a barracks."
The fellowship was chosen. The King gave his assent. A scholar, a sailor, a healer, and a handful of hardened soldiers, a tiny, desperate expedition to save the world.
Their departure took place in the dead of night, from a small, secret postern gate in the least-patrolled section of the city walls. They were not dressed as a military unit, but as a small merchant caravan, their weapons and armor hidden beneath rough-spun cloaks and packed away in the saddlebags of their mules.
King Valerius was there to see them off, a lone, cloaked figure in the shadows. He clasped Eva's forearm, his grip like iron. "The fate of every soul in this world now rests on your shoulders, Commander," he said, his voice a low whisper. "Do not fail."
"I will not, my King," Eva replied, her voice a promise.
Praxus, looking deeply uncomfortable on the back of a mule, adjusted his satchel of scrolls. Finnian moved with a quiet, confident energy, checking the harnesses and whispering to the animals. Hanna, her face serene, made a final check of her medical supplies. The few guards and sailors, including Malik, stood as a grim, silent knot of muscle and will.
With a final nod from Eva, the small gate was opened. One by one, they slipped out of the city, leaving the relative safety of Aethelburg's great walls behind. The gate closed behind them with a soft, final thud.
They were a tiny flicker of defiance in a vast, hostile world, a handful of broken people heading south into the land of their enemy, racing against time to stop a mad prophet from opening a gateway to a god of death.
---
The Chronicle of the Fallen
Time Period Covered: Approximately Days 81 through 85 of the Age of Fear
Victims of The Reaping: 1
Victims of the Covenant: 14 (The Covenanter ideology continues to spread in rural areas outside the King's immediate control)
Deaths from Civil Unrest: 2 (Lingering casualties and reprisals from the First Purge)
Total Lives Lost: 17
Of Note Among the Fallen:
— A master breeder of horses from the southern plains of Aethel, reaped.
— The entire family of a devout farmer in the north of Karak, who made a collective bargain to save their blighted crops.