The Baron's castle was not at rest.
Footsteps crossed the corridors.
Fast.
Armor brushed at short intervals — metal on metal, without lapse, without unnecessary noise.
Orders were passed in low voices.
Never repeated.
The hall doors were open.
Guards positioned.
Still.
But attentive.
The flow did not cease.
It was only controlled.
A table occupied the center of the hall.
Long.
Made for decision, not comfort.
Maps stretched over the wood — held down by metal weights, marked with lines, symbols, recent notes.
The light came from above.
Cold.
Enough for reading.
No excess.
The men around it did not argue.
They waited.
The sound of footsteps crossed the hall.
Fast.
The knight did not slow as he entered.
He stopped only upon reaching the table.
Fist closed against his chest.
"My lord."
The voice came out firm.
Carrying contained urgency.
The gaze did not wander.
It fixed on Doros.
"Reports from the northern exit."
A brief pause.
Control.
"Soldiers sighted movement in the forest."
He breathed once.
Short.
"No sign of advance."
His finger indicated the map.
Without touching.
"But there is no disorder in the pattern."
His gaze lifted again.
He continued.
"There are also reports from the south entrance—"
Now faster.
"There was contact..."
A minimal pause.
"Sir Kael intercepted an unknown presence."
His jaw tightened.
"The clash was brief.
But not common."
The hall remained still.
He did not wait for a reaction.
"During the engagement… a second presence emerged."
A second.
Only one.
"And then they stopped fighting each other."
Now direct:
"Everything points to them having acted together."
The air changed.
Subtle.
But present.
"There is more."
The voice dropped slightly.
"A woman crossed the south gate."
No movement around the table.
But the attention tightened.
"The same one who accompanied the figure Sir Kael engaged."
The silence did not break.It shifted.
The gazes at the table crossed — brief, calculated.
No one spoke before him.
Doros held his posture.
Eyes still on the messenger.
The voice came without haste.
"Maintain positions."
His gaze dropped to the map.
A quick reading.
The decision made before the words.
"I want the woman brought to the castle."
No reaction around.
But the order settled.
"No one acts on their own initiative."
The tone did not rise.
But it shut everything down.
"Until we know who this force belongs to… there will be no movement."
The knight nodded.
Fist to chest again.
"Yes, my lord."
There was no formal dismissal.
He was already moving.
Fast steps.
Direct.
Other footsteps came right after.
Slower.
Echoing through the hall.
Unhurried.
No need for announcement.
"Perhaps I can spare you that work."
The voice did not ask for space.
It took it.
Doros's eyes rose.
The man had already crossed half the hall.
The steps ceased.
Near the table.
Too close… for someone who had not been called.
The broad body did not adjust.
It remained as it was.
Comfortable… without needing support.
The noble clothing strained slightly over the belly, dark fabrics marked by details too discreet to hide the weight of the man himself.
The face was heavy — broad features shaped by a life of excess.
Pale skin contrasted with black eyes.
The silence around the table changed.
It did not break.
It gave way.
Doros did not look away.
"Lord Silvanis."
The voice firm.
Controlled.
Without deference beyond what was necessary.
"I did not expect your visit."
The gaze held.
"The baroness was clear regarding your stay in your chamber."
Silvanis laughed.
Low.
Effortless.
There was no hurry to respond.
"Curious."
His gaze moved across the table.
Without asking permission.
"I thought my presence here held more weight… than the word of a knight."
The smile did not grow.
"Even more so a commoner."
The silence did not react.
Doros did not move.
"I see."
Simple.
Without rise.
His gaze did not leave him.
"The baroness is absent for less than a day…"
A minimal interval.
"and there are already those who forget to whom they swore their sword."
The air changed.
Not in volume.
In direction.
Doros turned his head.
His gaze found the man beside the table.
Pale skin, marked by time and war.
Rough.
Visible scars — not hidden.
Kept.
Thick hair, unkempt, divided between burnt blond and deep black.
The strands raised, untamable.
A full beard, short, irregular.
Functional.
Blue eyes.
Heavy.
A scar crossed the face, passing through the eye — it did not blind it.
It marked it.
The dark armor bore golden details.
Not ornamental.
Each piece carried real use.
The red cloak fell without movement.
Doros did not hesitate.
"Aldric Varnholt."
"Can you explain this to me?"
The knight did not answer immediately.
He took a step forward.
Knelt.
Fist to chest.
The voice came out firm.
Without variation.
"My lord."
A brief pause.
"I take responsibility."
His gaze remained lowered.
"As soon as I identify the one responsible… I will carry out the punishment myself."
The silence held.
Doros did not prolong it.
He turned his gaze.
Back to Silvanis.
"Take him."
No rise in tone.
No announcement.
"Lord Silvanis will be kept in custody."
"Locked."
His gaze moved across the men around.
"I do not have men for constant watch."
Now harder:
"Anyone who frees him… will answer with their life."
No doubt remained in the room.
The knights moved.
Fast.
Without exchanging looks.
Two firm hands took Silvanis by the arms.
He did not resist.
The smile still present.
As if nothing there reached him.
Or concerned him.
He was led out.
The doors closed.
The sound was dry.
The hall returned to control.
Doros turned to Aldric.
"I thank you."
Simple.
Direct.
Aldric lifted his gaze.
Still on his knees.
"I have served House Eryndra long enough not to confuse duty with choice."
"I do what is mine to do."
Doros nodded.
"Then there is no reason for you to remain in this hall."
A steady gaze.
"I need you at the north gate."
A brief pause.
"Take command."
Aldric did not hesitate.
"It will be done."
He rose.
A single movement.
Turned.
And left.
Without looking back.
The sound of the hall did not follow.
Outside—
dusk already weighed over the forest.
The light diminished between the canopies, and the air grew denser, slower.
Near the forest's edge, the soldiers were already aligned.
Shields firm, spears in position.
No one spoke.
But all knew—
something had already begun.
Further ahead—
the ground, however, was not in silence.
Gaia felt it.
The vibrations came continuous… but controlled.
There was no disordered advance.
There was sustained presence.
"He did not move."
The voice came low, precise.
"That means he does not underestimate us."
Éreon remained still, blade low, gaze set forward.
"It is the worst scenario."
The voice came calm.
"If he were arrogant… he would have already advanced."
A slight shift of weight.
"And would already be dead."
The air did not change.
But the weight… did.
"If we could remove him from the board—"
Now lower.
More precise.
"it would be favorable."
"But he did not offer us that mistake."
Gaia remained still.
"Then… what will be your move?"
Éreon turned his head just enough to answer.
"The same as always… advance."
No rise in tone.
"In my way."
The silence between them did not break.
It adjusted.
"And you should act in yours."
Now colder.
More direct.
"We are not allies."
The gaze held a moment longer.
"But, in this war… we fight on the same side."
The wind crossed the space.
Weak.
But enough to move the surface of the scene.
The soldiers held position.
But now—
the waiting was no longer static.
It was tension ready.
Éreon took the first step.
Unhurried.
The blade remained low as he advanced.
The movement did not alter the air—
but changed its direction.
Gaia felt it at the same instant.
The weight on the ground shifting.
Controlled.
"Wait."
The voice came firm.
Without rise.
Éreon did not stop.
But did not accelerate either.
"I can tell you what you want to know."
"There will be no reason for the boy to die."
The next step came the same as the previous.
Then he stopped.
The silence between them closed.
Éreon turned his head.
Slowly.
Eyes on her.
"Sixteen centuries…"
The voice did not change.
But memory passed through.
"and you still choose to protect whatever appears before you…"
A brief silence.
"as if you did not know what that costs."
The air did not move.
"Then choose well what you will offer me."
Now more direct.
Without deviation.
"because, if it has no value—"
A short pause.
"I will not hesitate."
The silence fell.
Not as absence.
As impact.
"And this time…"
Almost a whisper.
"there will be nothing left for you to protect."
Éreon said nothing more.
Turned his gaze forward again.
And moved on.
The blade low.
The presence advancing before the body.
"μύγα." (fly)
The word was not spoken loudly.
But it crossed the space.
The shadow beneath his feet stretched.
At first discreet.
Then… distorted.
As if it refused the form it should have.
Dark fragments detached from it.
Rose.
Unstable.
Until they took the shape of crows.
One.
Then several.
Wings cutting the air in dry beats, too dense to be natural.
They rose over the field.
Circling.
Observing.
As an extension of his will.
Further ahead—
in the line of soldiers—
a knight halted his step.
His gaze lifted.
Locked on the movement above.
His chest expanded once.
Control.
He turned.
Hastened, but without disorder.
Stopped beside the viscount.
Fist to chest.
"My lord."
The viscount did not answer immediately.
Eyes still on the crows.
Rising.
Multiplying.
The reading came before the reaction.
"The preparations are not finished."
The voice came low.
Firm.
He raised his hand.
A simple gesture.
But enough.
"We do not know the enemy's capabilities."
His gaze lowered.
Now straight ahead.
"But that does not change what must be done."
"Shield wall."
The order spread.
Fast.
Clean.
Shields rose in sequence.
Wood and metal meeting.
Locking.
A continuous line.
Closed.
Without flaw.
The hand dropped.
"Advance."
The soldiers answered.
A collective step.
Heavy.
Synchronized.
The field moved with them.
Éreon smiled.
There was no sound.
No change in the body.
But the intent… came.
He stepped out of axis.
And vanished from their sight.
It was not an advance.It was absence.
The first impact came before they understood.
A knight in the front line lost alignment—
the shield still raised—
but the body no longer responded.
A clean cut crossed the neck.
The blood did not burst.
It flowed.
The body gave way.
Too late to matter.
The formation hesitated half an instant.
It was enough.
Éreon was already inside.
Between the first and second line.
The blade rose—
short.
Direct.
Found the opening between two shields.
Went in.
Came out.
The second man dropped to his knees.
Tried to hold.
Failed.
Behind—
a third advanced to close the gap.
Late.
Éreon turned his body.
The strike came horizontal—
low.
Fast.
The blade met the knee.
Took his leg out.
The man fell.
And was finished before touching the ground.
"Close!"
The order came from the rear.
The shields moved.
Trying to reform.
But now there was rupture.
Small.
Enough.
A spear thrust forward.
Straight to the torso.
Éreon did not block.
He shifted a degree.
The body left the line—
the free hand closed on the shaft.
Pulled.
The knight was dragged along.
Lost footing.
The blade went under the chin.
Short.
Precise.
He released.
The body fell backward—
hindering those who came.
The crows descended.
Lower now.
Cutting the air above the heads.
The men felt it.
Not as an attack.
As pressure.
Their gaze lifted—
a mistake.
Éreon advanced again.
Fast.
But not uncontrolled.
Choosing.
Always the point of failure.
An opening between shields—
a delay in the step—
an arm that rose an instant too late.
Each mistake—one body.
A knight tried to fall back to reorganize the line.
He could not.
Éreon was already behind him.
The blade crossed the back.
Went down.
Came out through the side.
The man fell forward—
pushing the formation.
"Hold the line!"
The order came stronger now.
But there was already noise.
The shields were still raised.
But they were not together.
Éreon stopped for an instant.
Just one.
Enough to look.
Measure.
The smile did not grow.
But it remained.
And then—
he advanced again.